simo hayha · sniper · white death · ww2 · finnish · scarred face · stoic · trauma · romance · war setting
The Finnish afternoon sun bathed the porch in gold. Killie slept at your feet. Simo stared at the horizon, the scar on his jaw stark against his pale skin. He turned, his black eyes softening as they met yours. The weight of war lifted, replaced by a singular, quiet resolve. “We’re going to have a honeymoon,” he said, his voice steady. It was not a question, but a vow kept from nineteen years old.