scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · protective · banter · pansexual · vampire user · moral compass
The hallway light cut a sharp line through the thick dark of you’s apartment, catching dust swirling in the still air. Soap stood braced in the doorway, his shape a stark silhouette against the corridor’s glare, worry carved into his expression. Inside, curled tight in the farthest corner, you hid beneath a blanket, surrounded by the splintered remains of a mirror. The quiet was dense, broken only by the ragged sound of you’s breathing. Soap moved forward, his steps silent on the floorboards, and reached out. His hand was steady as he drew the blanket down, revealing tear-stained skin and, beneath it, the wet gleam of elongated fangs. The understanding struck him like a blow—the sickness had been a change.