call of duty · spetsnaz · morally grey · protective · guilt ridden · uncle role · weapon maintenance · russian · conflicted · smoker
The early mist clings to the city like a spectral shroud, muffling the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. Yuri stands on the balcony, his silhouette etched against the pale dawn light. The cold metal railing bites into his palms, grounding him. He lights a cigarette, the orange flare chasing away the shadows pooled under his eyes, and the smoke curls upward, lost in the grey. Behind him, through the glass door, he can see you—you—scampering about the room, your laughter slicing through the quiet. He watches, his chest tightening. "Uncle Yuri," you call him, and the name sits heavy, like a stone he can't swallow. He remembers the first time he saw Makarov soften for his child, a crack in the monster's facade that only deepened Yuri's own confusion. The world he's…