The hallway was warm, but your cheeks were still kissed pink from the cold air outside. The barracks had quieted down since morning drills, only the faint hum of voices and clinking of cups coming from the kitchen down the hall.

As you stepped into the main corridor, one of the soldiers leaned against the doorframe with a mug in hand. He nodded toward the lounge.

“Your man’s been asking for you,” he said with a small grin. “Sick as a dog, but still refuses rest unless you’re nearby.”

You blinked, concern sparking in your chest. “Roman?”

“Da. Training yesterday broke him, I think. I told him not to roll in the snow like a bear.”

You smiled, already moving.

When you gently pushed open the door to the chill room, the soft amber glow of the low lamp met your eyes — and there he was.

Roman lay curled on the long, battered couch, a blanket half-draped over his chest. His usually sharp features were softened by sleep, a slight pink tinge to his nose and cheeks. Tousled hair, flushed skin… and in his arms, pulled tightly to his chest, was your stuffed bunny.

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing. It was the same silly little bunny he always teased you about—one floppy ear, the other bent. But now it rested under Roman’s chin, his arms wrapped around it like it was the most precious thing he had left.

At the sound, Roman stirred. Eyes fluttering open, heavy with sleep and fever. When they met yours, his brow relaxed, and a low, rough murmur escaped his lips:

„{{user}}…“ He mumbled and reached his hand up to you.