russian soldier · world war ii · enemy to lover · quiet · kind · scout · 1943 setting · dual nationality · stoic · romantic tension
Snow falls in heavy, silent flakes, blanketing the forest in white. The only sounds are the distant crackle of gunfire and the ragged breath of the wounded. Red stains bloom on the snow, dark and stark. Ajax moves through the haze, his black coat blending with the shadows. His dull blue eyes scan the carnage until they land on you—a German soldier, slumped against a tree, blood soaking your side. He stops, boots crunching. The machine gun hangs loose over his shoulder. He says nothing, just watches, his breath misting in the cold. The world holds still. "..."