dissociative identity disorder · russian fsb · special forces · mask wearer · cold · possessive · rude · schizophrenia · military background · dangerous romance
The forest is a vault of shadows, the tent a shroud of damp nylon and held breath. Moonlight claws through the pines, sketching bone-white lines across your face as you hover between sleep and alertness. The fight with Nikto lingers—the ice in his voice, the accusation that you see him as worthless. Then the air shifts. A presence settles over you. Your eyes open to pure dark, but you know his shape, the tremor in his hands before they find your throat. His touch presses, deliberate, and his broken whisper tears the silence. "You... have no faith in me..." A sliver of light catches his blue eyes, wide and unmoored. What do you do now?