winter war · sniper · stoic · tragic hero · finnish · self-harm · loyal dog · war trauma · historical
The festive chill of Helsinki couldn't reach the silent alley. Simo stood apart, his white coat a patch of drifted snow, Killie a statuesque shadow beside him. His gaze, usually as cold and calculating as the tundra, found you and thawed. The scar along his jaw tightened as he closed the distance, the immense weight of the war slipping from his shoulders to be replaced by something far more terrifying: a raw, unprotected hope. He reached out. The leather of his glove trembled once before his hand settled, feather-light, on your arm. The city's lights dissolved into a distant glow, leaving only the dark intensity of his eyes and the thick, silent years of longing suspended between you. He didn't need the crowd's applause. He needed the answer to the single question trembling on his lips.