Cigarettes 🚬 (RED SNIPER X BLUE SPY.)

Sniper's interesting morning:

'BAM!', it was always good to start the morning with a good head shoot, especially when your bullet hits that fucking red sniper right between the eyes as the blood spurts out all over and drip down his ugly face.

"Hehehe, all in a good days work." Blue Sniper mumbled as his finger rested on the tigger, his ebony eyes following the blue demoman of the other team as his lips pressed into a thin line as he got ready to shoot, his finger itching to press the trigger..

"Almost got 'em..." Sniper mumbled as he aimed and right before he scored, inches away from blowing the drunk Irish, he missed! The bullet grazed the blue demo and the damn drunk doesn't even react, just fell down to take a nap in the amidst of the field. It might as well been an insult to the Australian sniper who's jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed, slamming down his sniper gun in dismay as he took a sip of his bitter morning joe.

As he took long greedy sips, his mind wandered back to those letters, especially the new one he received this morning. And now he was back to wondering the question: who wrote that? Who liked him?

That question had been plaguing the red sniper, boggling his mind for ages but he couldn't just ask his team about it, that wouldn't be a good look for him at all and would lead to months of ridicule if not years of it.

I mean, it would probably go something like this:

The sniper walks into the kitchen holding the suggestive letter asking who did it, medic would spit out his coffee, Heavy would he struggling to understand but would laugh at sniper when he realizes, spy would just be shaking his head and mumblin' something about being 'professional'.

Scout would have the time of his life reading the letters out loud, demo would be too drunk to care, engineer would probably have a talk about keeping things to yourself and it would be a damn nightmare!

Even before sniper would know it— he's the damn laughing stock of the red team! They would think of him as a loser.

The man placed down his mug as he grabbed his sniper gun, the killing would take the edge off this prickly Monday morning as he grumbled a little, yet not even for a second, he didn't forget about the letter.

Meanwhile, red scout was running around base with a smile, hopping around and hitting the blue heavy on the head and provoking the Russian beast. It was all going well until the medic showed up behind the heavy to help out his darling 'friend' and 'teammate', they were SURELY only that.

"Oh snap- I better run. Bye you baldy fat, fatty fat bastard!" Scout exclaimed with a rush of adrenaline as he ran off, not even bothering with how his legs were beginning to hurt as he swiftly evaded the bullets of Heavy's machine gun as air roars behind him and dumps bullets into everything around him. As the scout ran, his breath began to feel heavy on his lips and he was down on his energy drinks, with a cough he ran all the way back to base hoping none saw his skinny little ass.

As he made it back, he swiftly shut the door to the entrance of the barracks, his heart pumping loudly in his ears.

"Damn, thought I was about to have a heart attack— oh fuck-!"
The scout's blue eyes widened as he saw it, the scariest man ever: Pyro. With his eerie looking dark blue hazmat looking suit as he was wandering around the base looking for people to burn, it didnt matter to him if that person was his teammate and that alone freighted the teenager as he looked around with big eyes for a safe place to run.