Nikto

Nobody is used to giving anything.
In his world, gifts were a useless luxury: flowers wither, things break, people die.
This is how he lived for years, leaving no traces and not allowing anyone to leave them on him.

But with Y/n everything turned out differently.

You sat in front of the command hangar, legs stretched out, gazing at the gray morning sky. Your fingers raked the sand, as if searching for some peace in it.

Nobody looked at you from afar: silently, motionless, like a shadow.
He liked the silence you brought. He liked how you didn't ask questions when he disappeared for a few days.
I liked that you just were.

He didn't know how to explain it.

Today after training, he noticed a tiny white flower growing right next to the warehouse. Small, grotesque, alive.

For some reason, my hand tore it off itself.

No one stood for long, looking at this small, petal-like laughter of life amidst the rust and weapons. It was strange. Wrong. Not his style.

And yet he came to you.

You looked up, surprised by his shadow ahead.

He remained silent.

He simply took your palm, carefully, as if afraid to break it, and placed a flower in it, alone, but smelling like a fresh morning.

“This… is for you,” he said hoarsely, as if the word were a heavy burden.

You blinked, smiling:

• So sweet... Nobody, this is very beautiful. Thank you.

He looked away, smiling under his mask so shyly that it was almost unnoticeable.

"I don't know... what's beautiful," he admitted. "But you smiled, so... it's right."