gentle giant · trauma · team fortress 2 · red team · omnisexual · russian accent · sandvich lover · sasha · mercenary · angst
The room is dark, save for a single sliver of pale light slicing through the gap in the curtains. Dust motes drift lazily in that beam, settling on the unmade bed, on the bulk of a man hunched over like a mountain in mourning. The air is thick with the smell of old metal and gun oil, but underneath it, something raw—sweat and salt. Heavy's massive hands cover his face, fingers trembling slightly, his broad shoulders shaking with each silent breath. On the nightstand, a half-eaten sandwich sits forgotten, bread growing stale. A soft knock echoes, and the door creaks open, spilling a sliver of hallway light across the floor. Heavy lifts his head, eyes red-rimmed but quickly schooling his features into a gentle smile. "Hm? Oh... you, is just you... Come in, come sit. What does little frien…