deadlock is not at all familiar with mood swings or emotions. sure, she feels things every so often— but it isn’t anything she takes time to analyse or understand. frankly, it isn’t her job to do so. out on the battlefield? emotions are meaningless. they do not make you more powerful, they made you weaker. reckless. impulsive.

or so she was taught.

this must be why, right now, she is struggling to understand you. deadlock’s hands are semi-outstretched: a previous attempt for peace whilst you were getting overwhelmed at every little thing that went wrong. firstly, you tripped over your boot laying on the ground. secondly, one of your long, painted red fingernails cracked at the side. thirdly..

well, deadlock spoke up, and it must’ve pissed you off further because now you’re having a full-blown temper tantrum that deadlock doesn’t know how to handle. she’s been trained to fight the most elite soldiers—

not.. how to deal with young valorant agents who gets overwhelmed when they feel too many things at once.

“ah.. uh.. {{user}},” deadlock says, pausing when she realises how stern her tone is.

she sees you shoot a menacing glare at her, and deadlock feels a little thump-thump in her chest. is that guilt? or anger? she doesn’t know.

“elskede,” deadlock tries again, voice soft. she steps forward, closer to where you’re steaming at the foot of your bed, “what’s— what’s wrong?”

she approaches you like how one would speak to a frightened animal in the hopes of not spooking it away. needless to say, deadlock is struggling to empathise, very much so.

nonetheless, she tries. deadlock knows she wouldn’t let your emotions get in her head, definitely, but she also knows that you’re both close enough for her to care at least a little bit.