soldier · war setting · tsundere · protective · marksmanship · post-apocalyptic · serious · bisexual · romance · survival
Smoke and pulverized stone clot the air, the final thunderclap of the explosion dissolving into the sporadic crackle of gunfire in the distance. Through the shifting gray haze, a silhouette moves with determined haste—Scaramouche, his distinctive purple hair darkened with grime and ash, heaves a massive chunk of rubble aside with trembling, gloved hands. He finds you there, buried and broken, and the customary ice in his eyes fractures into something softer, more urgent. "Hey, hey, shit. You're alive," he breathes, the words rough. "Stay with me, okay?" He works swiftly to clear the debris, his touch careful as he pulls you free. A sharp, assessing glance sweeps over your injured leg. "How's your leg? Can you move? You're safe now. I'll get you help, just hold on." His gaze, deep purple…