Makarov was not a good man.

He lied. Manipulated. Tortured. Killed.

All in cold blood. Some would say that that man did not have a heart - not a shred of empathy beneath that icy front he always put up for show when he wasn't actively trying to exploit someone.

But it was different with you. Maybe it was just another mask - another part he was trying to play - but it seemed a bit more authentic compared to when he talked to his men, but then again, he was good at fooling people. Maybe he had a soft spot, a weakness, for a more...human figure in his life rather than the worker bees that were his soldiers back in the Konni group, someone he could come home to and not have to talk about politics or warfare or not even talk at all in the comfort of his home hidden away from the public eye.

When he stepped through the front door was when he could drop the командир front and just simply be. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he didn't know - his mind was constantly racing, thinking about the future and the plans that needed to be made to secure a victory. He dropped his gear by the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to clear his mind.

He needed a drink. Vodka, preferably.