I jam my hands deeper into my pockets and keep moving. I’m too aware of every thought, twitch, and stupid memory of his mouth so close to mine I could taste his breath.
We didn’t even kiss. That’s the messed-up part. If we’d crossed that line properly, at least I’d have facts to work with. Yes, you kissed a Russian sergeant in the equipment shed, Caiden. Congratulations, you’ve achieved ‘disaster’ on hard mode.
Instead, we just hovered, suspended in that tiny space between maybe and definitely. My brain keeps replaying it ona loop. You almost kissed him. You wanted to. He wanted you to.
I stop walking and lean my shoulder against one of the fence posts, exhaling hard. This isn’t just about him, I know that much. This itch has been under my skin for years.
Every offhand slur in a barracks or joke about “batty lads” and “pervs” is thrown around like punctuation. Every time, I laughed along or stared at my boots. You learn how to look, how not to look, and keep the wrong parts of yourself zipped up under the uniform.
I managed it for years.
Then I got flown to Russia and dropped on a base with Niko Zakirov and his chaotic little brother, and suddenly all my carefully stacked boxes are on the floor.
Niko, with his stupid gold-ring grin and his engaged-straight-dad energy, whom I can’t even be properly in love with because I actually like him and because life is cruel.
Then there’s Ari. Who is... what, exactly? A problem, temptation, chaos gremlin with a smirk? He’s been in my space since the briefing, picking at my seams, poking my soft spots, always seeing through me. I should stay well away. Instead, I’m out here in the dark thinking about his mouth. “Losing it, mate,” I mutter under my breath. My voice fogs the air, then vanishes. “Get a grip.”
Footsteps crunch somewhere behind me and I close my eyes. Please just let it be some random patrol I can salute and escape. Someone who isn’t— “Leaving the country without permission, Varrik?”
Oh, fuck me sideways.
He picks the exact second my guard’s down as if he’s been here the whole time waiting for the right moment. I turn my head and see him walking along the perimeter track toward me. His hands in the pockets of his field jacket, snow caught inthe mess of his hair, and I spot a fading bruise along his jaw that pulls my gaze like a magnet.
He stops a couple of metres away, but that’s still too close. I can see the grey in his eyes even in this dirty yellow light.“Just getting air, Sergeant,” I say.
“Mm.” His gaze flicks briefly to the trees beyond the fence, then back to me. “You’ve chosen a very dramatic place to breathe.”
“Didn’t realise there were assigned oxygen zones.”
“There are,” he replies. “You’re in the brooding corner. Dangerous levels of thinking happen here.”
A huff of laughter escapes me. “I’ll try to keep it under the legal limit.”
“What’s the punishment for overthinking where you’re from?”
“Ah, they send you to a therapist,” I say. “Or war.”
He snorts. “We skip the first step.”
The wind knifes between us, and I tuck my chin in, fighting a shiver. He notices, of course. His eyes narrow slightly, tracking my shoulders and the tight set of my mouth.
“You look like shit,” he says conversationally.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” I reply. “I’ve been working hard on it.”
“You’ve been walking around all day like your clothes are made of barbed wire,” he adds. “Even for you, that’s a lot.”
I grit my teeth. “Been watching me that closely, have you?”
He gives me a look that says ‘obviously.’
“You flinch every time someone gets too close. Today, you even flinched when Niko put a hand on your shoulder. That was new.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Maybe I just don’t like people touching me.”
“You don’t mind it normally when it’s him,” Ari says quietly. “Or you didn’t, before.”
Before we nearly kissed. Before I grabbed his shirt and confessed I wanted to. My mouth feels dry. “You’ve been taking notes, have you?”
