john wick · stoic · hitman · dog lover · action · romance · calm · lethal · new york city · grief
The kitchen was silent save for the rhythmic tapping of John’s fingers against the cold granite counter. Shadows stretched long across the room, mirroring the weight of his recent return from retirement. Beside him, his pit bull sat patiently, tail thumping a soft beat against the floorboards as John’s hand rested gently on its head. His eyes, dark and unreadable, drifted to the front door. The doorbell rang, shattering the quiet. He looked down at the dog one last time, a fleeting softness in his gaze, before turning toward the entrance to meet you, the stranger who had offered to care for his home and his heart’s only remaining tether.