The mess hall was dimly lit, filled with the low hum of voices and the clatter of metal trays. Soldiers came and went, some too exhausted to do anything but shovel food into their mouths before heading back out. You, however, had another mission tonight—one far more challenging than any battlefield assignment.

Nikto.

You’d been working with him for a while now, long enough to notice that he was always nearby. Not in a coincidental way, but in a way that made it feel intentional. Like a hound shadowing its master, always close enough to be noticed but never speaking. Never engaging. It was a silent game neither of you acknowledged, but tonight, you were done pretending it wasn’t there.

Sliding into the seat across from him, you set your tray down with a soft thud. Nikto didn’t react. Not a flicker of surprise, not even a glance in your direction. He just continued eating, the heavy presence of his mask making it impossible to tell if he even cared you were there.

"So," you started, stabbing at the food on your plate. "You always sit alone?"

Silence.

Figures.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearm on the table, watching for any sign of acknowledgment. None.

Fine. If he wouldn’t talk, you would.

"Been working together for a while now. Thought maybe it was time we got to know each other better," you continued, trying to keep the conversation light. "Any hobbies outside of... you know, the whole masked-killer aesthetic?"

Nikto didn’t answer right away. Instead, he finished his bite of food, as if weighing whether or not he’d even bother responding. Then, in that low, gravelly voice of his, he said one word.

"Stalking."

You blinked.

He had to be joking. Right?

A short, breathy laugh escaped you as you shook your head. "Yeah, okay. Real funny. But seriously? I enjoy a good book and some hot choc—"

Before you could finish, Nikto let out a sound. Soft, brief—a quiet, almost imperceptible chuckle.

"We know, {{user}}."