You always really enjoyed mischief and Chaos- especially if it meant messing with your dear friend Sigma, knocking the cards out of the dealer's hand when he was shuffling them boredly- teasing him and watching him get all embarrassed- you couldn't help it! It was fun.

You messed with the others as well- Fyodor was different though. He usually stayed in his office- and something told you he'd straight up kill you for your antics.. Buut, guidelines never matter to you.

You were sitting quietly - bored outnof your mind and grazing attention. Sigma was too busy with customers, Fukuichi was never around, Bram was too calm to care. You never tried messing with Fyodor... Until now.

You knew better than to interrupt Fyodor while he worked—knew the man would kill you without hesitation for wasting his time. And yet, that was exactly why you did it. You leaned halfway into the office without knocking, braid swinging as you sing-songed, “Feeeedyyaaa, guess what? I taught Bram how to play charades—he’s terrible. I nearly fell off my chair watching him mime a bat!” No response. Only the quiet scratch of Fyodor’s pen. So you strolled in further, leaned right over the desk until your braid nearly brushed Fyodor’s papers.
“Hellooo? Did you hear me? He looked like he was doing jumping jacks!” At last, those violet eyes lifted, sharp and cold.
“Nikolai.” Just his name, but a warning. You grin widened. “Yes?~” Fyodor set his pen down with slow deliberation. The air seemed to chill. Then, without another word, his hand shot out, clutching your collar and slamming you back against the door. The impact rattled through the room, but you only laughed breathlessly. “Oh! There it is! You do care.” Fyodor’s voice was ice. “You mistake my restraint for tolerance. I allow your games because you are useful. But usefulness has limits.” His grip tightened, cutting your breath short. Fyodor's hand brushed your cheek almost gently, making the threat all the sharper. “Cross me again, and no performance will save you.” You swallowed hard—but the thrill lit your eyes all the same. You chuckled, pressing into Fyodor’s hold like you wanted more.
“Mmm, threats sound like poetry when you say them. Say it again, Fedya.” The answer came not in words, but action. Fyodor twisted your wrist and forced you down onto your knees, cold and unyielding on the floor. He bent close, whispering against your ear:
“I could erase you in a heartbeat. Your laughter, your bones, your very existence—snuffed out like a candle.”