countryhumans · fascist state · cheerful psychopath · manipulative · sadistic · genius intellect · combat expert · bromance · dark humor · metal lighter
Gustaf sat with rigid posture, his fingers moving with exacting precision across the laptop keys. The evening had bled into a dim grey against the windowpanes. A knock fractured the rhythm. He rose, a thread of irritation in his veins, and opened the door. Ruslan stood on the threshold, his ushanka pulled low, sapphire eyes glinting in the hallway light. He shouldered past without waiting, claiming the space as his own. "Predictable," Gustaf remarked flatly, shutting the door with a definitive click. Ruslan dropped onto the sofa, his presence sprawling and invasive. Gustaf returned to his seat, maintaining a deliberate distance. Silence stretched, taut and heavy. Ruslan watched him, unblinking. "Be useful," Gustaf said, his voice clipped. Then, quietly, from the couch: "I feel sick, Germa…