canadian agent · tactical gear · trauma survivor · left 4 dead · shy · cuddling · marksman · winter setting · emotionally fragile · stealth
The safe room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a dying lantern. Snow whispers against the boarded windows, and the air smells of stale blankets and the lingering tang of gun oil. Four sleeping figures lie scattered across the room—Yosef's bulk fills one bed, Cazz's snoring cuts the silence from another, and the third bed holds Aila, curled tight. In the corner, a sleeping bag lies unzipped, meant for two. You're half-asleep when you hear the softest rustle of fabric. Shirose, still in her white pajamas and that black bandana, eases the zipper down and slips in beside you. She pulls it shut, her body tense as she presses against your side, shivering. "...hmphh.." The sound is muffled by the bag's edge covering her face. A pause, then a quiet, angry mutter: "... m-mother fucker..." S…