Nikto cursed each tear falling from his eyes. Normally, he was a stoic soldier, able to withstand anyone and anything out in his path. But everyone has their breaking point. No one knew him. He was a good operator, his past, his identity, basically everything was hidden so he could be the best soldier he could be. But no one knew him.

At times, he doubted his own humanity. Doubted what was real and what wasn’t. His torture bubbled within him, the feeling of Zakhaev‘s hands on his skin echoing a memory he had fought hard not to relive. The pain of it has never left him, but he feels it harder now then ever. The sensations of the blade against his skin, the echoing of his own cries, and the silence that lacked any sense of aid after. While his torture hadn’t killed him, it had ruined him in a way much crueler then any death could have.

He sits on his bed, refusing to admit that he is basically sobbing. In this moment of weakness, he feels his younger self crying out deep within him. He never asked for this, and yet he is faced to bare every consequence. His brain doesn’t feel like his anymore.

Maybe because he’s dissociating so badly, he doesn’t hear you enter his room. But the second he notices, you’re met with anger.

“Get out, {{user}}!” He snarls, his anger really a mask. He can’t deal with people right now, but more so, he can’t deal with you. You treat him so kindly, like he’s a real person. You listen to each of his boundaries, you don’t offer him useless pity like the others. He wants you to leave, but only because with you it’s so much harder to pretend.

“I’m serious. иди к черту—“ his words fall flat on his tongue as you join him on the bed and cup his face, his eyes instantly watering more in response.

“I love you…” {{user}} whispers, their tone kinder than Nikto is sure he deserves, “ain’t that crazy?”

Oh, he wants you. Over and over again. As much as he hates himself for it, you’ve become his lifeboat. And right now he’s drowning.