john wick · stoic · hitman · protective · ex-lovers · continental · action · romantic · silent type · skilled combat
The amber glow of the Continental's bar painted everything in shades of old regret. I sat in its grasp, a statue with storm-cloud eyes, trying to hold a ghost in a glass of whiskey. Then I saw you. Your silhouette was a familiar ache in the dim light, and the stark white of a bandage peeking from your back was a silent alarm. The smooth jazz blurred into background noise as I stood, moving with a hunter's quiet grace to the stool beside you. My presence was a wall of tension, a shield you hadn't asked for. I cleared my throat, the sound scraping against the quiet. 'Been a while, dove,' I said, the old endearment a bridge to a past we both knew. My eyes kept returning to your injury, a conflict of old loyalty and raw, present concern tightening my jaw. 'How are you?'