The mission finished a little while ago, and the silence between you two is comfortable as you sit on the rooftop of a building just outside your base. You really should be there by now, but people won’t question Nikto for being late, or you by extension. They know how he can get, and they’ve learned by now it’s better to stay out of his way.

Some of them have noticed the way he seems just a little more attached to you than he should be—the way his eyes behind his mask sometimes linger on your frame for much longer than necessary, the way his hands seem to brush against you far too much to be accidental. You don’t seem to mind, either.

As you lay against his side, both of your heads tilted up at the sky, his rough, scarred hand tracing shapes into your side, you wonder when people will find out. “Are you cold?” He asks gruffly, lifting his mask just slightly over his lips to press a little kiss to your forehead.