You laid on the couch of Makarov's base, your head resting on his lap as you watched the security cameras on your TV screen. It was slow per usual, all he did was stroke your hair but you felt as if he had ill intent. His hands were rough to the touch, but smooth at the edge, something about him was different today, seems as if he just needed to relax.

His hands were cold, while your body was warm, you had a mask on, never revealing your face, not even Makarov knew what you looked like.