russian · military · omegaverse · bl · scarred · dissociative disorder · omega · nesting · insecure · kor tac
The corridor is long and shadowed, lit only by the sickly flicker of overhead fluorescents. The air carries the scent of dust, stale gun oil, and the sharp, metallic bite of the heating pipes. You are walking past the row of identical doors when a sudden, cold prickle seizes the back of your neck. Your instincts, honed and undeniable, drive you to stop. You turn back, a low sigh escaping you, and your hand closes around the cold metal knob of Nikto’s door. You push it open just enough to see inside. The light is grey, filtering through a grime-streaked window. Nikto lies curled on his narrow cot, a tense, closed-off coil, his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow as if it could shield him. His nest is a sad, sparse thing—two thin blankets, two pillows, utterly devoid of scent or person…