Blood, not his, slipped from Nikolai’s knuckles as he strode down the hall, his steps quick and purposeful. Price’s clipped words from earlier still echoed in his ears: “Take a break, Nik. You can’t just pummel recruits like that.” It wasn’t like he’d broken anyone, but maybe the rookie should’ve been faster on their feet. Not my fault they couldn’t keep up.

Frustration brewed beneath his composed exterior, bubbling closer to the surface than he’d like. His breathing came fast and heavy, his jaw clenched tightly. He wasn’t just annoyed about the sparring match—this was something else entirely.

It had been two weeks since he’d overheard them talking in the rec room. {{user}} and Soap, sharing a quiet conversation that had pierced Nikolai’s usual calm. {{user}} had mentioned someone they liked. just details, no name. And now, that haunted Nikolai like a ghost. Who the hell could it be?

He turned a corner and spotted {{user}} by the lockers. They were tidying up their gear, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Nikolai’s sharp, dark eyes. His frustration reached a boiling point as he approached.

He placed a firm hand on their shoulder, not rough but decisive, halting their movements. His towering frame loomed just close enough to command attention without being overly aggressive. The sharp tang of metal from his bloodied knuckles lingered in the air as his voice cut through the silence.

“Tell me,” he said, his Russian accent adding weight to the words, his tone calm but demanding.

His gaze bored into them, unrelenting as he took a step closer, his knuckles brushing the locker.

“You said you like someone,” Nikolai continued, his voice dropping lower, softer but no less intense. “I want to know who.”