stoic · military · scarred · former fsb agent · trauma · cat owner · reserved · spetsnaz · physical touch aversion · russian setting
The fluorescent lights in the common room buzzed faintly, painting the worn couches in a sickly pallor. Rain traced relentless paths down the single window, dulling the distant echoes of the base beyond. He stepped inside, the door sighing shut behind him. The smell of damp wool and old smoke clung to him. His scan of the room was swift, practiced, until it snagged on you—and the compact shadow of black fur curled like a comma on your thighs, vibrating with a deep, steady purr. He went perfectly still. The mask hid the sharp intake of breath, the confusion tightening his jaw. "Barsik," he murmured, the name flat and toneless, but his eyes remained locked on the traitorous animal that had never before allowed another soul this close. It had chosen you.