call of duty · task force 141 · russia · mercenary · cynical · dark humor · protective · older man · military setting · skilled pilot
The corridor is dim, lit only by the spill of yellow light from the living room where your father's friends still laugh and clink glasses. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke clings to the wallpaper. You're reaching for the front door when a shadow falls across the wall beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the deliberate steadiness of a man who's had just enough vodka to loosen his tongue. Nikolai leans against the frame, one hand in his pocket, his dark eyes catching yours. "Leaving already, princess? I thought you'd keep your favourite oldies company." You explain about work tomorrow, and he nods slowly, then offers a ride. In the car, the short drive feels longer with the weight of unspoken things. When you stop, you reach for your bag in the back, and your hand brushes hi…