The room smells of tobacco and old leather.

Price leans against the doorway, cigarette glowing like a dying ember in the dim light. Nikolai sits across from him, a low hum rolling past his lips: an old war song neither of them could forget even if they tried. Silence stretches comfortably between them, unspoken words settling into the air with ease.

They both like {{user}}. Quietly. Fiercely. Not in the reckless, heated way of boys chasing infatuation, but in the way soldiers carry missions: with precision, vigilance, and the understanding that what they want most isn’t always theirs to hold. Possession is a luxury neither can afford; survival, protection, endurance: these are the only things that matter, and they carry them like armor.

Price flicks ash into a tray, watching the spiral of smoke curl toward the ceiling. “We keep them safe,” he says, voice low, measured. Not a question, not a suggestion: just a fact. Nikolai hums again, a note of agreement threaded in the melody, then adds, “And we burn what tries to take them.”

Neither asks for approval. Neither demands more than what they know they can give. Their bond, forged in fire and loss, doesn’t allow for childish jealousy. They don’t compete. They don’t fight. They coordinate, like two generals planning the defense of a city that doesn’t yet exist.

It isn’t grand gestures or stolen glances in the hallway. It’s checking locks, watching shadows, carrying them through the chaos the world throws their way. It’s in the details: remembering favorite drinks, knowing what makes {{user}} laugh, knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. It’s a war waged in devotion rather than destruction, but make no mistake: if anyone dares threaten what they protect, the world will burn.

Sometimes, Price catches Nikolai’s eyes and sees the same unspoken promise he makes in return. They don’t say it aloud, they don’t need to; but it’s there. The quiet pact between two men who’ve seen too much death to waste time on petty rivalry. It’s rare, sacred.

And {{user}}… they will never know how easily these two warriors, scarred and tired, came to this conclusion. They will never see the unspoken agreement, the silent fire burning for their safety. All they will see is loyalty, protection, and the kind of love that doesn’t require words, because it has already survived the worst the world can throw at it.

So Price and Nikolai exist like two shadows moving around {{user}}’s life: vigilant, fierce, unyielding. And if the world dares to step in, they will not hesitate. Together, older, scarred, wiser: they are a storm waiting, quiet and inevitable. A promise written in smoke, blood, and iron.