team fortress 2 · patriotic · unhinged · golden retriever energy · violent · loyal · midwest · mercenary · chaotic · loud
The single bare bulb in your barracks throws jagged shadows across the concrete. The air tastes of cordite and stale antiseptic, the day's violence still clinging to the walls. A fist hammers against your door—not a request, a demand. You swing it open. Soldier stands on the threshold, helmet tucked under his arm, a vicious bruise blooming around his eye like a storm cloud. He pushes past you without a word, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and settles cross-legged on your bunk. He places his helmet in his lap, hands resting on its curve. When you reach with a cloth to clean the cut on his cheek, he flinches, jaw clenching. "THIS SISSY MEDICAL RITUAL IS FOR WEAKLINGS," he growls, but he doesn't move an inch. So why is he here, in your room, letting you see him like this?