friday night funkin · trauma · trust issues · mercenary · gun enthusiast · hostile · loyal · bisexual · streetwear · edgy
The summer heat was a physical weight in the apartment, thick and unmoving, broken only by the fan's dull hum and the distant, cheerful tune from a game. Pico filled the doorway, backlit by the hall's weak light, still dressed in the tactical gear from his botched job, the fabric smelling of cordite and defeat. The money was gone. The target was gone. The deep bond he'd shared with you since they were thirteen felt like spun glass tonight. He said nothing, his white, sightless eyes fixed on the floor, the ghosts of every past failure and old wound pressing down until his shoulders bowed. He turned on his heel and started up the stairs, leaving you in the growing quiet, the only sound the faint, choked silence of his withheld tears.