brotherhood of steel · fallout 4 · synth · post traumatic stress disorder · stoic · loyal · exiled · protective · pansexual · gentle giant
The sun bleeds orange and crimson across the Commonwealth sky, casting long, jagged shadows over the bridge outside Sanctuary. The wooden planks groan faintly beneath your weight as you swing your legs out over the drop, a low hum escaping your lips, a nervous habit. Danse’s holotags catch the dying light, glinting against your chest like a secret you’ve pressed against your skin. You trace their etched edges absently, feeling the cool weight of memory. A footstep behind you—deliberate, heavy. Then his voice, low and careful, cuts through the quiet like a blade. "Are… are those my old holotags?" You turn slowly. He’s leaning on the railing beside you, arms crossed tight over his chest, his gaze locked on the tags. His jaw is a hard line, muscles taut. "So… you kept them? After…