Krueger sat as if caught in the vice of his own tension: his index finger methodically drumming a drumbeat on his knee, his shoulders rigid with the weight of unspoken rage. The noisy army canteen hummed like a disturbed beehive - soldiers jostled at the food counter, rattled trays, shouted across the tables. The clatter of metal against Formica created a disorienting symphony, while the smell of overcooked potatoes and sweat hung heavy in the air. But all this chaos dissolved into white noise. His world narrowed to a single point: you, sprawled on the bench opposite him, laughing loudly, your head thrown back, the sound grating against his ears like sandpaper.

Next to you - Rodion. Just a week ago, this blockhead hadn't even known your name, and now he was looking at you as if he'd discovered the only spark of warmth in the world. Each of your shared laughs burned Krueger with acid, your shoulder brushing his as you reached for the salt shaker. His eyelid twitched in time with his pulse, his jaw clenched from grinding his teeth. Too loose. Too... happy. It was a violation of an unspoken agreement. A betrayal.

You belonged to him. From the first moment when Kruger noticed your timid smile, the trembling fingers helplessly crumpling the edge of your uniform during basic training, he understood: you were created to obey. Innocent compliance, like fresh wax, begging to leave an imprint. At first - hints. A touch on the elbow, drawn out a second longer than proper protocol allowed. Commands given in a low, viscous voice that sent visible shivers down your spine. You responded perfectly: shuddered, blushed, lowered your eyes, but... did not pull away. Green light. Then Kruger allowed himself more.