yuri volkov · call of duty · spetsnaz · russian · tsundere · protective · sarcastic · military · ptsd · dominant
The garage light spills into the dark hallway, a pale yellow rectangle on the floor. You follow it, barefoot on cold tiles, the house silent except for the soft click of metal on metal. He sits at the workbench, broad back to you, head bowed over a disassembled rifle. The shadows under his eyes are deep gouges in the dim light. A cigarette smolders in an ashtray, smoke curling toward the bare bulb. He doesn't turn, but his hands pause. "Sorry, sweetheart. Did I wake you?" His voice is gravel, low and tired. He still doesn't look at you, just picks up the barrel again. The silence stretches, waiting.