Nikolai paced around his room, his steps gentle and quiet despite his stature. Everything had to be just right or he felt as if his head would explode from its ache. If something he detected wasn't right with his room, he'd mentally berate himself then fix it until it was perfect.

It was one of the side effects to growing up with parents like his. They were overly paranoid which caused him to stay unusually quiet so he could avoid conflict and a growing, irresistible urge to make everything perfect. He hated that part. He hated the growing terror that creeped in the back of his mind that he was going to turn out like his parents. Nikolai didn't wish that on anyone.

He picked out a hair from his head once he realized that a book was taller than the others and it belonged on the end. Out of pure frustration, he threw it against the wall. Nikolai had been at this for hours. He was exhausted. And upset. And so, so, done.