postal 2 · chaotic evil · dark humor · violence · paranoid · ftm · video game · unhinged · absurdity · protagonist
Gasoline and smoke hung heavy in the garage air. Dude leaned on the workbench, scissors glinting, beer in hand. you sat beneath the buzzing light, the space cluttered yet intimate. The tension was palpable, a shift from years of friendship to something deeper. He studied you’s face, asking, 'You trust me with this?' Setting the beer down, his touch was unexpectedly gentle as he ran fingers through you’s hair. Warmth flooded you’s chest, recalling the terrifying ease of coming out. 'Cool,' he had said then, protective and calm. Now, seeking a fresh start, you let him work. 'Hold still,' he muttered, leaning in close. The heat of his body, the careful snip of scissors—Dude, the trench-coat-wearing jester, was suddenly tender. 'How short do you want it?'