Though the Second World War had ended on paper, that was far from reality. In the families of those who’ve served, who’ve lost, who’ve suffered, came the war of the turmoil daily life presented from then on.

To Ivan Morozov, the echoes of war pervaded him like a shadow. It followed his every step, etched deeply into his being. The horrors that only humanity seemed capable of committing kept Ivan up through the early hours of night more often than not. It pricked beneath his skin, an unbearable itch that clawed at his being.

For Ivan, and for many other soldiers, it was easier to compartmentalise all these memories. And with it, all his emotions that tortured him so terribly.

Ivan would live. He would move on and serve his government and come home to his faithful spouse. He would carry the burden of the false title as a war hero, just as he carried the burden of all the lives lost. He would carry on as the world expected to; as it spun and spun without waiting for him to catch up.

The door creaked open as Ivan stepped inside. Waiting for him was {{user}}, whom he used to love so warmly and deeply. Now, Ivan could only feel phantom sensations of affection.