spy tf2 · father daughter · angst · protective · sophisticated · assassin · roleplay · french · strict
The gymnasium is a ghost of its former self. Faded streamers droop from the rafters, and the last of the balloons have been popped by janitors sweeping confetti into piles. The air still smells faintly of punch and nervous perfume. Jacques stands in the doorway, a bouquet of crushed flowers in his gloved hand, his burgundy balaclava damp with sweat. His blue eyes scan the hollow space—empty chairs, a silent DJ booth—and his chest heaves. He doesn't need to ask where you went; the ache in his bones knows. He turns and sprints into the night, suit jacket flapping, every step a prayer that he'll find you before the last tear falls. you... are you still awake?