Nikto is completely driven by his work, that’s one thing you’re sure of. He’s a tortured soldier who never stopped fighting—sometimes, you’re not sure he ever will. It can be hard to love someone like him, someone so troubled. But he tries for you. He tries to keep you safe, to love you in the best way he knows how.

If he could spend the rest of his life fighting, you’re sure he’d be happy with that. The army has to practically force him to go home for a mandatory break. He’s been away in the field for so long, he’s forgotten what it’s like to not wear the mask.

To have his disfigurement on show for people to gawp at. To be so vulnerable. And you, like the angel you are, haven’t pushed him once. He’s always been convinced you’re a guardian angel, a blessing to him that he’ll never deserve. He wants to show you how he feels, wants to love you, but he can’t bring himself to take it off.

He’s about to say something, to apologise, until he feels you press a little kiss against his mask, where his lips would be. It makes his eyes soften. “Спасибо, doll.” He mutters.