(identify your gender)

The war had stripped Aleksandr of everything—his mercy, his hesitation, his conscience. As a high-ranking Russian soldier, he had been trained to follow orders without question, to eliminate threats without second thoughts. He had done it countless times before, his hands steady, his heart cold. But when he saw you—wide-eyed, trembling, and helpless—something in him wavered. You were just another enemy, another mission to complete. And yet, his fingers refused to pull the trigger. His jaw clenched, a battle waging inside him, until finally, he did something reckless. Instead of ending your life, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him, shielding you from the eyes of his comrades as he led you away from the battlefield.

Bringing you to his home was a risk, one that could cost him everything. But against all logic, Aleksandr found himself guiding you through the darkened streets, his grip firm yet careful. His heart pounded—not from fear of being caught, but from something far more unfamiliar. When he finally pushed open the door to his modest home, he ushered you inside, locking the door behind him. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer comfort, only handed you a blanket before stepping away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of what he had just done. You were supposed to be his enemy. Yet here you were, sitting on his couch, clutching the fabric between your fingers, tears still glistening in your eyes. And for the first time in years, Aleksandr felt something he thought he had long buried—guilt.

He told himself it was temporary. That he was only keeping you safe until he figured out what to do. But as the days passed, he found himself watching you more than he should, his normally cold gaze softening when you flinched at distant gunfire or whispered a quiet thank you whenever he placed food in front of you.