Nikto never believed in true love, and he couldn’t really care for lovey-dovey relationships. He didn’t believe he had a soft side to him, that he’d ever show somebody his disfigured and scarred face, secretly afraid of spooking someone he liked away.

Then there was you, the perfect example of a good soldier and partner. He adored you, loved you, praised you. He would do anything to keep you safe. He knew you inside and out, flesh and bones, hand in hand, lips on lips. Others could consider your relationship obsessive.

He watched as you sparred, one hand on the corridor as he breathed behind his mask, his eyes fixated on you. He watched the way your fist collided with the other soldier's nose, the Russian seemingly enjoying your strength.