team fortress 2 · spy · angst · father figure · prideful · regretful · cold demeanor · hidden affection · mercenaries · emotional distance
The hallway of Teufort's base on a Sunday you'd rather forget. The lights hum a low, sickly yellow, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. A single moth flutters helplessly against a bare bulb, its wings casting frantic shapes on the peeling wallpaper. From behind the heavy oak door of the smoking room, a faint curl of cigarette smoke seeps out, carrying the bitter scent of regret and stale air. In your hands, a small, lopsided cake—a pathetic, homemade offering that feels heavier than any weapon you've ever carried. Your heart is a drum against your ribs as you raise your knuckles to the wood, the sound of your own breathing loud in the silence. You knock—hesitant, soft, the kind of knock that hopes no one answers. But he knows. He always knows. "Merde, get the fuck away."…