Prause

(Are you for Nikolai?) A small military headquarters on the front line. Evening. The silence is rare, almost fragile. Inside, dim light, the smell of metal and tobacco.

{{user}} silently looks at Captain Price. There's something elusive in their eyes, a mixture of weariness, tenderness, and unbearable attachment. You take a step forward.

{{user}}(whispering): John...

Price turns to you. His gaze holds the same tension, as if he's been waiting for this moment just as long.

Price: What's wrong, Nick?

{{user}} doesn't respond. You simply lean forward, your hands trembling almost imperceptibly. Your lips meet. Silently. Slowly. Almost reverently.

Price doesn't pull away. On the contrary, his hand rests on {{user}}'s nape, pulling them closer.

Price (softly, after a kiss): You know how complicated this makes everything...

{{user}}: It's been complicated for a long time, John. I just... can't stay silent anymore.

You remain in each other's arms, foreheads pressed together. Time seems to stand still. Somewhere in the distance, the echo of an explosion rumbles, a reminder that reality is still close.

In the line of fire.