❝… krow's nest …❞

ㅤThe mirror's reflection didn't always feel like your own. Perhaps you carried the hope that one day realization would settle in that it all was just the light bending in the glass, a mere trick of the eyes. You hardly thought much of it, until suddenly it was all you could think about that something was off. That something didn't feel quite right. It was a bug bite, one you only just noticed glancing over it by mere chance. Now that dreaded itch was going to bother you, beckoning nails to scuff over it raw and bloody until the itch was gone.

ㅤBut it was never that simple... was it?

ㅤHands smoothing over skin you've seen time and time again for two and a half decades now, yet still, something was missing; you couldn't place what it was for the longest time. A burning, aching question of

ㅤ"Why?" echoed like a creaking door that shouldn't have opened, over and over as if hoping one day it'd answer back. You were only granted one chance at life, therefore only one body that was yours and yours alone, but it begs the question as to why it never fucking felt that way.

ㅤYou were quiet, despite thoughts buzzing like a swarm of fitful hornets. Going through the motions, one deemed a routine, merely existing alongside life rather than being an active participant in it. On a good day, you were piloting the body, but lately it's felt akin to a malformed paperweight. A gaze that held too much yet also nothing, silence betraying once effortless conversation that had been attributed to you.

ㅤSomething was evidently wrong.

ㅤYet König couldn't quite make heads or tails of it, unsettled by the budding concern sprouting from his sternum upwards to grasp at his heart. Seeing a shell of yourself, he began tilting his head as if trying to get a better look at you. Perhaps hoping something would give away what bothered you so, a silent worry was developing which he could not shake for the life of him, evident by the creasing lines around his eyes. He was feeling a twinge of desperation to sift through the unspoken thoughts. Hardly touching your food was worrisome enough; your silence merely added to it.

ㅤ"Schatz?" His voice was attempting to be gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal rather than a person.

ㅤ"Are you feeling alright?" The answer was painstakingly obvious; he knew that, but there was far more to it than you were letting on. Awkward, fitful gaze glaring down at the ceramic and cutlery, noticing how your jaw tightens in frustration, only to earn a bitter shake of the head, a silent no was the best you could muster. The wooden furniture creaked under his weight, taking full stock of your silhouette as if dotting the places on you that held the most tension. It was one thing that you were quiet; it was another that you gritted your teeth as if biting back feelings.

ㅤNormally, he'd often be the first one most would card to appreciate muted peace.

ㅤHowever, normally, you'd be comparable to a chirping bird. And yet in the present moment, you were anything but. Which was leading his thought process to only one assumption: you're upset.

ㅤExhaling a tepid sigh through his nose, peering into you as if studying the way in which you held onto your feelings, akin to a spring wound too tight, threatening to snap. Or perhaps forcing something far too big in a box that couldn't accommodate it, and yet you did so anyway. No more than a stuffed animal with its cotton leaking out from the frayed stitching, you were helplessly pushing it back in and hoping no one noticed, but König couldn't do much else but notice. This push and pull was sharpened over time; however rare it was, it often resorted to something bothering you. He inquires a rather simple question, perhaps two, but usually words unravel seamlessly to source this issue at its root.

ㅤBut this time, it was... different.

ㅤYou weren't laying out the troubled cards onto the table for him to either solve or listen, so what else is he to do but try again?

ㅤ"Do you want me to stay or should I leave?"

ㅤThis caused you to snap out of the mire of thoughts with one of confusion, "I'm sorry?" which he met with a composed expression.

ㅤHe repeats, "Would you like for me to stay with you or would you like time alone?" with a little more clarity that smoothed the deep creases in your brow line, but splintering into one of almost guilt. It was a heartbreaking sight to see. Noting your lips twinging into a soured frown that left as quickly as it came, seeing you acting aloof or attempting to feign apathy, albeit poorly. You're usually loud, perhaps a bit too chaotic for his liking at first, but the erratic behavior eventually became predictable with time. Your silence wasn't something he'd account for before, not to this degree at least.

ㅤA far longer duration in which you'd be so reluctant to talk for once was a first for him; now his worry was evolving into concern.

ㅤ"Schatzi," he repeats a little more firmly than last time, "I cannot help you if I don't know what's floating around in your thoughts." It came across like he was chastising you, but he wasn't, at least not purposefully.

ㅤ"If someone or something is bothering you, I would hope you'd trust me enough to confide in me."

ㅤBitter silence stretches painfully, eliciting a bit of a frustrated air; it was seldom this difficult to get you to open up. Either this is something that's brewed quietly unbeknownst to him, somehow evading his perception, or it was more than just a superficial annoyance, perhaps hurt from a deeper wound most couldn't see.

ㅤA groan that sounded all too gravelly with something harsher than a mild irritation as you spit out the words, "Do you like even being around me?"

ㅤGears in his head were whirring with motion, trying to question what was lying underneath your words, dissecting them with a poised scalpel in hopes he could decipher the pointed deprecation. Your emotions were always a tangled knot, one of which he sometimes assists in unravelling every now and again.

ㅤThis, however, felt like a significantly tighter coil that nearly stumped him as to where it starts, much less where it ends. The man has loosely mapped a route to navigate your emotional body or otherwise internal world when in disarray, even as unpredictable as it is; there was an off-kilter rhythm to it.

ㅤ"Where is this coming from?" König's voice took a softer tone, lowering his head to try and meet your gaze in hopes you'd give him a hint, even if quietly. He's done his utmost to study you like a science, seeking to understand your behavior when it was disordered or impacted. With how you were behaving, he'd almost wager you were hemorrhaging; this was a complete far cry from nitpicking worries or fretful intrusions that invaded your thoughts.

ㅤYou harshly leaned against the harder, denser kitchen chair's back, sitting across from König. Looking as if you were chewing on your words with how your jaw tightened repeatedly, he'd nearly card this as anger if it weren't the shaky little exhale that was forced from your lungs. You were trying to stay calm or otherwise keep potential tears at bay.

ㅤFinally, as if something cracked, he noticed taut hands grasping fabric pressed against your body until aggressive, deep wrinkles started taking shape. A quiet curse under some exhausted breath before you tried again to speak to him, sounding hoarse from withholding the pain pricking your eyes.

ㅤ"I don't.. bother you, do I?"

ㅤKönig cocks his head forward in a manner of offense at the question, narrowing his eyes as if you told him the sky was falling with a pointed, incredulous look. "No," he shot back quickly, thick brows furrowing deeper than before, "Why would you think that?"

ㅤHe couldn't help but have his blue irises catch how your hands gravitated higher and higher, habitually adjusting the shirt so it could hopefully lie flatter atop your body, desperate to hide what you were born with like a criminal seeking to dispose of evidence you did not wish to be caught dead with.

ㅤAh. So that's it.

ㅤKönig released a short breath of air, feeling a bit of the weight lifted from his heart, having now identified the unspoken yet blaring issue that plagued you. His arm, dense and heavy yet inviting, extended across the lightly decorated kitchen table, calloused palm faced up, paired with an expectant glance that met your bitter one. A smaller palm nestled in his, which he held firmly as if to keep you present and here, with him.

ㅤ"It's hard for me to understand everything you go through," he starts, "What I can do is remind you that I wouldn't be here without reason." A steady, accented cadence chose words that hardly left room to question his intention. Your tense facial features faltered into something fragile, mimicking glass threatening to fracture. A pained wince was all that was left as smaller fingers tightened around his reeking with desperation, seeking shelter in his sandpaper palms.

ㅤ"So you don't... care?" König's peerless gaze lowered down towards the floor for but a moment, thoughtfully considering his words. Knowing good and well, you opposed him with more feeling than thought. You were vulnerable, sensitive. A state needing more assurance than a solution to your bodily-centric plight, a dense mental mire where your own skin never felt like home to you, perhaps closer to a life sentence.

ㅤ"I care for you." He emphasized, eyes flickering to hold your gaze as kindly as his hand did your palm, "I care about you." This was spoken like a reminder, one he'd sworn to not forget nor let you forget either.

ㅤ"Your identity hardly made much, if any difference, once my mind was made up." To him, this was sound logic. He had finally acknowledged the rather persistent, begrudged fuzzy sensations that blossomed into something more; it felt like ages ago now. Between earnest admissions and glances of hands, you two mutually gave name and shape to this thriving fondness, and it became nearly unmistakable once he had come to terms with the fact that he wanted to be here, to stay. With you.

ㅤYour decisions to change your body into something that made you happier wouldn't deter his attraction, nor his mind. Once this wavelength was matched between you both, the path was determined for as long as you'd have him. Additionally, you were equally capable of choosing what was best for you, and this wasn't something he'd intervene in, unless something endangered you. Why would he be bothered by that, let alone love you less?

ㅤ"You're okay with acknowledging me as a man?" Your words sounded doubtful, like you didn't believe him. Despite the questioning tone, König was unwavering. His grasp shifts to sit atop yours, equally as decisive to keep your palm in place on the table. Fingers combed between yours, caging yours in but seeking to provide a weight to ground your jittering palm that betrayed your attempts to mask the frayed nerves that made it impossible to remain still.

ㅤ"There's no reason as to why I wouldn't." Speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. There was this agonizingly, several beats worth of deafening silence that normally König relishes in, but with you? It often meant that poisonous thoughts were threading themselves in your head, which was counter intuitive most cases. At your worst, you suffer in silent bitterness, hoping the storm would pass. Sometimes it never does, urged to close in on yourself and, in turn, shut König out.

ㅤHis grasp tightened, your palm shrinking under his as he holds your tense, balled-up fist in a welcoming grasp of warmth, one that spoke volumes of reminding you that you held a place in his heart and home alike. Hoping, waiting with honed patience to allow more than just vague, ambiguous half-truths.

ㅤ"You are the man whom I care for most," he speaks fluidly, leaning forward in his chair with a subtle creak, all to have his line of sight meet with yours purposefully with keen intent, even if you hid from his notice.

ㅤ"I would not continue this relationship if I were not certain, much less be willing to support you and your journey. I am here because I want to be, and choose to be, schatz."

ㅤ"I'm tired of looking like this, of feeling like this," the voice that was spoken wasn't yours, it soured with burning want for something that wasn't feasible right now.

ㅤPlaying back each stabbing sensation that occurred during conversation throughout the day, the week, perhaps months now, all contributing to a constant reminder of what you aren't.

ㅤ"Tired of being referred to as a fucking girl."

ㅤYour eyes began to take a glossy finish, recognizing that familiar quivering of your bottom lip as he released your shivering hand. In one fluid motion, he grabs you by your wrist, pulling you to your feet. More guiding than leading you over to the living room of his home. You barely even put up a fight, not that you were able to contest him, hardly took a sliver of his strength.

ㅤA tug on your arm eases you into his lap, hoping the closed distance may be the necessary balm to the wounds you bled out from, the ones he couldn't see. König knew this was just another storm for you to ride out; it most often was the case with your internalized conflicts, but this specifically was a recurring struggle. One that his intellect or cunning couldn't truly solve, so he did the second-best thing to try and ease the ache.

ㅤ"... 'm sorry for being difficult." Your voice sounded so unbelievably pathetic, earning the Austrian man's scoff, letting out a singular breathy laugh, which often rips an unappreciative pout from you.

ㅤ"Difficult? You think this is difficult?" He affectionately chides, thumbing your cheek as his expression softens into something a little more sincere, "Nein, you aren't being difficult, you're merely struggling."

ㅤHis features form the subtlest traces of a smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, "Though I am a little cross that you think I'd cast aside what we've established, all because of... what? Choosing to bind your chest? To bear a masculine name? You wound me, schatz."

ㅤKönig felt the tugging of a comfortable smirk, seeing your flustered scowl, knowing it was void of any actual malice, all due to hearing the Austrian drone on about your festering insecurities so candidly. He knew how much this meant to you; he sought to lighten the mood enough to shift your expression from defeat to your usual fire. He holds you tightly to his shape, pressing a devout kiss to your temple as if hoping it would heal what hurt most; this gesture held unspoken promises in physical form.

ㅤ"You nor anyone else is capable of forcing me to stay," his words carried that quiet confidence he's mastered over the years. Voice rumbling in his chest as your head nestled into the crook of his neck.

ㅤ"Next time, tell me if these thoughts begin to bother you."

ㅤFingers tracing absent-minded shapes into the back of your neck, drawing little sigils of soothing comfort. Tension from your body began dissolving little by little, harsh boiling water dialed back to a mild simmer.

ㅤYour skin still itched with a deeper discomfort, but it was manageable, and you weren't drowning. With a bit of assistance, you were brought close enough to the surface to allow air into your lungs and properly take a breath of air. Sinking deeper into the softer cushions of the loveseat, a woolen sound approving hum, or at least something akin to it, was breathed out.

ㅤ"I can't bother you every time I feel or think this way—"

ㅤ"Let me be the one to decide when I feel as if you're beginning to talk in circles. I'll say otherwise, until then? I want to know."

ㅤHardly, if ever, was there room to argue against König. His polite nature was equally resolute when the need called for it. It lent well from his militant background, commandeering dozens of equally hardened personnel in his regiment.

ㅤYou were hardly as difficult as you claim to be; seldom was there pointless yelling. Occasional bickering or disagreements, but it was tempered with understanding. Eventually coming to the conclusion that you often had a reason for feeling the way you did. Your worries and (admittedly senseless) fretting had a cause that was simple enough to rectify. A solution, soothing, or perhaps the space to bitch and moan about what irked you that specific day of the week.

ㅤEventually, your stubbornness relents, seeing how that König's insistence and no-nonsense attitude were outpacing your worries. Cruel, internalized dialogue slowed, the speed at which it spread emulated annoying cigarette embers rather than a rampaging fire. He doesn't admit to it much, but he appreciated the heart you wore on your sleeve. It was a stark contrast to his ironclad bulwark, which intends to keep you safe and secure in his care. If it means speaking louder than your thoughts, then let the torrent of intrusive thinking loose; he'd pick them off one by one.

ㅤKönig rests his forehead pressed against yours, seeking to tether you to the earth along with him, as if he were the only one strong enough to keep you from floating away.

ㅤ"Whatever your thoughts impose upon you, you shall endure. But, you will not endure it alone, you have my word."

ㅤThis earns a half-smile from you, a decisive sign of progress in the uprooting of weeds that occupy your mental palace. If that wasn't enough, König could feel your body taking its natural shape when resting against his, like pliant dough that his hands knead into loving shapes with practice.

ㅤ"Thank you," you mumble, "for being patient with me."

ㅤA dry, almost humorless-sounding huff vacates itself from König's lungs, yet it contrasting his ever-reverent embrace. Softening of the edges of his sarcastic remarks, "Caring for you doesn't call for gratitude, schatz." He teases, but in a way that harbors something warmer.

ㅤHe was hoping to earn that infamous little eye roll, even if a subtle one. The buzzing died down, even if temporarily, your mind felt safer again. Swaddled by the feeling of heavy arms cradling you to a broad chest radiating heat, soothed by the thrums of his heart.

ㅤKönig hopes that even if he was a man of fewer words, there was a wish held close to his heart:

ㅤㅤMay you never doubt how much he loves you in earnest.

♚ König. . .

ㅤ✦ He would love to see your artwork, in any format. I will, in fact, die on this hill! This fact about you was one of the most exciting things he ever learned! While his expression bears more semblance to drywall on most days, you could see how hues of blue in his eyes widened ever so slightly. Attentive eyes gaze over works new and old alike. Stunned silence, it was subtle, but the twinges in his expression were slight, seeing your studies and drafts that you thought were "Not good enough" to finish. Not good enough? They were remarkable to him. He'd scoff at the remark in offense, insulted on your behalf, clearly. ✦ This walking mountain is moved when seeing your sketches become finalized pieces. Your art of creation is always a wondrous marvel. There's something special about seeing you specifically, tuning out the rest of the world, and being fully submerged in the motions. He feels privileged that you let him be a witness to it, one of which he does so in quiet, appreciative solidarity. ✦ Honestly, he would take this chance to just stare at you (affectionately). You're too deep in your own little world—likely with headphones on. Consuming your audio of choice as you pen your ideas to paper, be it on actual paper or on a more digital medium. ✦ If you ever, and I genuinely do mean EVER, take the time to draw his portrait, he'd assuredly get misty-eyed. Perhaps as a birthday or anniversary gift, presenting it sheepishly, likely fretting over the quality several times over before he takes in the sight of the parchment, canvas, or other medium of one's choosing.

ㅤ"Mein schatz..." His voice falters, something that König rarely displays, but he's learned it since sharing a stark portion of his life with you. In his hands was something far more precious than gold, taking the shape of parchment framed by smooth, ochre colored wood. Thumbing over the glass as he saw his reflection, but mirrored in coal and ink. Nervous palms clasped together as you eyed König's expression with unbridled anxiety that overcame you, digits smudged with lead and charcoal that you forgot to wash off earlier. Swallowing back the itchy, sheepish cough that was crawling up your throat. He was staring at it, painfully quiet. Your mind was admittedly buzzing, immediately fearing the worst, but you needed to hear it.

ㅤ"Do you... like it?" God, your apprehension stringing the words together was palpable. Angling your head to peer towards the man whose face was obscured by the dark colored cowl. It took a second longer, but eventually you flinched in response to seeing his questioning gaze snap up to meet yours, "Like it?" Detecting almost.. doubt, or perhaps offense? It was hard to tell; your nerves were practically fried leading up to this, mouth snapping shut before you could even ask him to elaborate. The accented German cadence softens, "I've no words that would do this justice," he punctuated this with an assuring nod, "It's..." You see, his hand palms something away from the corner of his eye, "It's incredible, maus. Thank you."

ㅤ✦ Without question, König saved that to his phone or obtained a copy of it in the pocket of a Kevlar vest. Something tangible that you earnestly made for him, with the intent of capturing him as your muse onto parchment. Between photos of you, he keeps little traces of your existence to himself, ones that comfort him even in instances he's miles away. Parchment long since creased from how many times he's opened it and closed it, weathered and worn, but it's something you made for him to keep. These items that were made or once owned by you are invaluable; no amount of money would loosen his grip on these treasures gifted to him. You, as well as anything you make, are precious belongings he'd protect indefinitely. ✦ In a long-distance relationship, via deployment or otherwise, you'd often share what you're working on. Be it still images or (stable internet be willing), lulling him to sleep with delicate humming whilst sharing your screen. He'd watch you work on projects; perhaps he was feeling a bit of what one would refer to as being homesick, though he'd never admit how comfortable your silent focus made the halls of your shared space, it felt a little less empty with you around. ✦ You've felt insecure or inadequate about your work before, surely. While he'd be a little dry-worded, he'd want nothing more than for you to constantly be up his ass about what you do. Frankly, he has a hard time wrapping his head around such nagging worries of your worst inner critic. Make no mistake, maus, he understands and empathizes. But to him, you're his entire world, and there was something almost intimate seeing you draw start to finish, pouring love into the littlest of details that held meaning was something he'd jot down as his favored aspect about you. ✦ He is and always will be your biggest supporter. He wouldn't let a moment slip past him to allow you to think otherwise of yourself or your skill. Even if you find your talent lacking compared to others, he'd sooner perish than skip a chance to remind you of your talent and hard work! The way you breathe life into fictitious subjects always drew him in, especially with how you drew faces and eyes. He's noticed you often mimic the creases yourself when focusing on expressions, not that he'd ever tell you. He enjoys observing you, nor would he dare break your concentration. ✦ Frankly, if this passion of yours is important to you, it's important to him. For as long as you'll have him, you are his partner and vice versa, and he'd be honored to share in your joy because you are his joy. Allowing him is a luxury he'd never take for granted.

♜ Krueger. . .

ㅤ✦ Sebastian is a rather interesting subject, because you'd think at first he'd pay little to no mind. Hardly seeming like the type who'd bother you much once you tune into your quieter little corner of the world. ✦ However, it doesn't help when his steps are deafeningly quiet around the house. Half the time, you're flat out unaware of his immediate presence for several absurdly long minutes. A comically long duration before the inkling of someone standing behind you finally sinks in, which allows him a chance to peer over your shoulder with calculated interest, which has been... piqued, of sorts. ✦ You hardly mind his presence at all (unless he scares the piss out of you, of course). Recently, he's had a harder time walking past you; your little drawing activities have taken up quite a bit of your devoted time. He's not one for the modern digital media, but he isn't willfully much less purposefully ignorant of your interests, schatzi. Perish the thought. ✦ That being said, he's not too partial to being separate from you; Krueger possesses a fondness for physical touch... when he wants to be and when he decides to initiate it, otherwise it's rather closeted, "like a cat," you'd tease. He'd feel almost a flicker of diluted annoyance not having you at his side, accustomed to you often vying for his attention like usual. Clearly, something has to be done to have his needs met, but your work shouldn't be disturb which led him to break the silence with a... compromise.

ㅤSebastian's hazel colored eyes bore down at the pen wavering in indescribable shapes as you draft up thumbnail sketch, after thumbnail sketch, an aimless little hum filled the silence. Fabric creasing against his chest as he folds his arms, huffing in feigned irritation, "Schatzi?" tilting his head to the opposing side to get a better glance at the profile he's come so used to admiring. Your head snapped up at attention, hearing Krueger's voice in a mild startle. "Hm? Yes, Sebastian?" You spoke in that same, frustratingly sweet tone that indicated genuine curiosity. As if you hadn't been attached more to your work than him for weeks that were inching towards a month now. It was unlike him to initiate something so juvenile, he'd think; it was a little unbecoming of him. His body took a step back, tilting just out of the way to gesture towards the vacant sofa, extending his left hand with the calloused palm facing upwards. Leaving little room to question what he needed from you, or so he thought. However, this only earned a confused little head tilt, and in kind a drawn-out drag of air resulting in a sigh from him.

"Come," He beckoned, "Bring your little drawing things if you must, but I need you here." His tone left no room for argument; this wasn't a request but a need, of which you were more than happy to fulfill once you understood what he was looking so gloomy for.

ㅤ✦ He now sees a character design you've drafted up and, admittedly, curiosity does get the better of him. Your mind works in such a mysterious way that he found it admirable how easily you tap into a creative fountain; your works imitate the fantastical nature that is unlike the modern-day world you and he live in. You know what... he'll bite, asking the following as such, "What has kept you so busy as of late, liebling?" His chin points towards the screen of your digital canvas, displaying an array of unfamiliar shapes and colors. ✦ You blink aimlessly before the question properly sets in, "Oh! This is a commission for someone who paid me illustrate a character for their light novel!" He nods along, allowing you space to invite him into this little world of yours. Revealing to him the various concepts tossed back and forth between you and your client. ✦ Sebastian is (quietly) fascinated by how your artistry blooms into something with evident depth. Keenly taken notes, thorough correspondence, clearly exhibiting your attention to pedantic, minute details―it's so (annoyingly) endearing. He's come to find himself enamored, and perhaps even entertained by your eccentric interests. Your artsy fixations are ones that vastly differ from his, but these are distinctive traits he's come to welcome and even adore you for. It was odd to find himself out of his element, listening to babble about medieval nonsense, but it was enough to keep his attention on you, perhaps even drawing you closer into his figure. ✦ Krueger threw out a piece of comedy, a snarky remark of how he'd look in such a world of whimsy, given that your subjects of focus are often fantasy. Oh boy, he shouldn't have said that because now you have ideas. The only thing barring you is, frankly, time and free will, which can be easily juggled if it means chasing the shiny, indulgent idea. That same night, you made no hesitation to burn the midnight oil to manifest the visual, as a treat for working so diligently with your clients lately. ✦ He'd be unable to outwardly admit to it, but he'd save the drawings that poured unfathomable amounts of love and effort into. Sebastian found himself shockingly taken by the idea of you imagining him in a knight's garb rather than tac pants and Kevlar. Tickled by the thought of you seeing him as such a gallant protector rather than something that reeks of subterfuge and serpentine cunning... He struggles most days to give a name to the feeling that's blooming under his chest; he'd feel a little ridiculous. This same sensation that makes his stomach feel light and fluttery, his heart feel like a frantic bird caged by bone instead of metal. That same one makes his cheeks and ears warmer than normal, one he'd be quick to deny or distract you from with a silvery-tongued remark and well-placed, affectionate kiss.

♞ Nikto. . .

ㅤ✦ There's something about Nikto that gives me the impression he wouldn't even ask. However, malysh, please don't mistake this as disinterest. He's just unsure how to articulate such a... loaded question. You've been glued to your desk for hours now. This isn't something he's really savvy with, honestly. ✦ He often does that uncertain, but curious, animal head tilt. One where he just quietly observes each subtle movement, noise, or expression that catches his eye‒you two more often than not just kinda "co-exist" together in the same shared space. Talking is seldom, if ever, forced, honestly. Both of you were comfortable in peaceful, silent company, which is more than enough between you two. This tranquil life is more than he'd ever dare to ask for. ✦ Instead, I can see him bringing you sustenance and fluids; you're keeping yourself so, so busy. You need to eat and drink at some point. Things he knows you like, things that he's memorized by heart. It's always the quiet observers who have an internalized backlog of your preferences. It was one hell of an adjustment when you made the off-handed remark that you like a specific blend of tea, and he ensured you'd never run out. ✦ Little did he know, you were working on a passion project in indie development. Working alongside a few other individuals, you were the one designing characters for a visual novel. Intended to concept a protagonist who's built, you're not exactly familiar with drawing these stockier shapes. Think professional dead lifter types, which distantly reminded you of Nikto. ✦ He couldn't help but notice that the usual focus is now tightly knit with frustration. The quiet, apathetic glance he shot your way went unnoticed, far too deep in your own thoughts to really pay any heed to the brewing worry. He needed to say something... anything to snap you out of this mental limbo that apparently deafened you...

ㅤHis accented voice rumbles out, "любимый?" ("Beloved?") with a practiced rolled tongue, a pet name you often respond to well with blatant affection. But this time your reaction was... delayed. Far longer than he's gotten accustomed to, minutes behind, before your head eventually was torn away, several beats afterwards, when he chuffed to snap you out of this irritating trance. Eyes darting around the room until they rest on a marred silhouette with a piercing gaze that paralyzed most, "Huh?"

ㅤ"Something... troubles you." This was less a question, more a point of observation as his forearms leaned against the edge of your desk. Frankly, given his build, his attempts at hovering over you were more towering, but this wasn't something that inspires worry... most of the time at least. You managed a shaking of your head, at first in confusion by what he meant, "Trouble me?" but seeing the flicker of blue irises gesture towards your drawing surface, it finally dawned on you.

ㅤ"Oh! No, no, I'm okay!" It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the answer Nikto was looking for. His torso curved inwards to lean downwards, closing the gap somewhat to study your expression intently with the clinical detachment he often wore. "Your expression says different... will you allow us to listen? To... help?" His voice tugged something earnest from you, then came the scuffing of a wooden chair to sit beside yours.

ㅤ✦ Eventually, the bear resembling a man's shape whittles and cuts through a mire of spiralling to source the root of your worries. Frankly, it'd cause you to wrinkle early with all of this quiet overthinking; he couldn't solve the issue if he couldn't see it or hear of it. As prompted, you're airing out your grievances with this project being out of your comfort zone. It's hard to come up with a concept that you're happy with, and you've deadlines to meet. He listens to you diligently; he may not understand the full weight of your plight, but if it matters to you, then it matters to him. ✦ You don't know how exactly, but eventually, somehow, you ended up enlisting Nikto's assistance. His figure is close enough to the concepts the head of your team posted on your inspiration board. ✦ Somehow, that incorrigible art block just... magically vanished; it was mind-boggling even to you. Nikto didn't understand, given all he did was slide you a few photos and pose for your creative use. What he notated were the creases on your brow line softened, if not gone entirely, so he'd consider his intervention a success. ✦ You find yourself looking at the game's protagonist (whom you coyly suggested be named "Andre" for no suspicious reason at all), and you're elated. Proud of it, too! He bears Nikto's likeness in more than a few aspects! Aside from the build, of course. Nikto has been watching you manifest artistry from nothing. Finding himself left only with silent reverence upon seeing you in your natural habitat of creation was... breathtaking. However, he couldn't help but notice his heart thumping against his ribcage a little harder, seeing his likeness in something you made. It was... flattering? Is that the word he's feeling? Seeing how you took characteristics that elicit hardship or grief, yet you captured his image with a calm, quiet, confident air. Was this how you saw him, truly?