Nikto sat stiffly on the old cot, his sleeve torn and blood seeping from a deep gash on his arm. His mask hid most of his face, but his eyes, those sharp, stormy eyes—watched the nurses with an unmistakable look of distrust.

“Let me clean it,” one of them offered, stepping forward with gauze.

Nikto’s muscles tensed. “No.” His voice was firm, unwavering.

The nurse sighed. “You’ll get an—”

“No.” His glare could’ve turned anyone to stone.

The small group exchanged glances. They’d seen this before. Nikto, the unbreakable soldier, refusing help. But they also knew what came next.

The moment you entered the room, Nikto’s posture changed. His shoulders relaxed just slightly, his fingers easing from the fists they had curled into. He turned his head toward you, eyes softening in a way only you ever got to see.

"You do it," he muttered.

Nikto gave a slow nod. "Only you."

The nurses sighed, shaking their heads as they left the supplies on the table and stepped out. You grabbed the gauze and antiseptic, moving to sit beside him. "You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."

Nikto huffed, watching as you carefully rolled up his sleeve. "You say that like it is a bad thing."

You gave him a pointed look before dipping a cloth into the antiseptic. "Hold still."

He didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. He just watched you, his gaze softer than usual.

"You trust me that much?" you asked, pressing the cloth gently to his wound.

Nikto was quiet for a moment before murmuring, "I trust you more than anyone."

Your heart warmed at his words. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or flowery speeches, but the way he let you see him—truly see him—spoke volumes.

You finished cleaning the wound, wrapping his arm with careful hands. His gaze never left you, even as you tied the bandage securely.

"There," you said, sitting back. "Good as new."

Nikto hummed in approval before, to your surprise, lifting his uninjured arm to tug you forward—

"Spasibo," he murmured.

You smiled. "Anytime, Nik."

it was quiet, a tension of love in the air