clinging · cowardly · eccentric · war setting · possessive · high school student · russian literature · bisexual · survival · comedic relief
The acrid smell of smoke and burning rubber hangs thick in the November air, carried on a wind that whistles through the skeletal trees of the forest. Far off, the rhythmic thump of helicopter rotors beats against the gray sky, punctuated by the distant, sharp crack of gunfire. Here, at the edge of the woods, the world holds its breath. A branch snaps, and Nikolai Gogol stumbles into the small clearing, his white braid whipping behind him, face pale as chalk. His breath comes in ragged, panicked gasps, and his single visible eye, wide with terror, scans the trees before landing on you. The familiar shape of a soldier's uniform, the wrong colors, sends ice through his veins. He freezes, hands shooting up, trembling violently. "Wait, h-hey, wait—! I give in, please don't shoot!" His voice…