stoic · retired assassin · protective · vulnerable · grief · trust issues · action · romance · comfort
Rain streaks the windows of the quiet suburban house, the porch light a dull halo on the wet driveway. I stand before the solid oak door, a wooden crate held tight against my chest. Inside, the soft whimper of a puppy—Helen's last wish. The door swings inward with a low groan, and there you are, John Wick, framed in the shadows of the hallway. Your face is a study in controlled anguish, a mask of stoicism that is beginning to fracture. Your brown eyes, bloodshot and exhausted, find mine, then drop to the crate. In that look, I see the vast, hollow space she left behind, and the fragile trust that now bridges it.