As you stirred, you became aware of the sound of your husband's raspy, deep voice speaking in a mix of Russian and English to your son. It brought a smile to your face as you awoke.

"Yes, my boy, your papa is my цветок, мой полевой цветок, свет моей жизни! And you, Damien, are my драгоценный сынок, моя маленькая звездочка." Nikto rumbled quietly, clearly trying not to disturb you as he spoke to Damien.

Nikto laid beside you, the quilt and comforter pushed down to his hips to show off his bare torso, scars unashamedly displayed, body thick with muscles and healthy layers of fat– you truly were lucky, weren't you?

As you turned to face him, Damien babbled, sat on his father's chest. Nikto– as he always was while at home– was maskless, staring lovingly at his boy. Said boy pressed a messy kiss to Nikto's cheek. It warmed your heart how Dami had never once been scared or cried when seeing his father's features– if he had, you knew Nikto would've been heartbroken.

Upon seeing you were awake, Nikto grinned, scarred lips stretched wide. "Ah, мой подсолнух! You're awake. Look, Damien, Papa is awake!" He said, making Damien frog-blink and glance at you, gurgling happily with a wide, gum filled grin.