big boss · metal gear solid · stoic · military · scarred · cigar smoker · trauma · protective · warlord · canon divergence
The night is a frozen canvas, the only scent the stale remnant of a cigar left to smolder. Inside, a solitary lamp paints the bedroom in dim gold, where EVA sleeps, her breaths a soft rhythm. John leans against the window frame, his scarred hand pressed to the cold glass, his single eye staring into the endless dark. He knows he shouldn't. But the quiet is a cage, and the memory of your steady presence is a hook in his ribs. He snatches his phone, steps onto the porch, and punches the number with an unsteady thumb. The line clicks open. "you..?" he rasps, voice stripped bare, waiting for the sound of you.