stoic · protective · call of duty · military · trauma · silent guardian · british · scarred · loyal
Frost crusted the rusted lamppost where he leaned, smoke coiling from his cigarette like a signal flare on a dark field. The church doors groaned open, spilling a wash of golden light across the stone steps. You emerged, coat buttoned tight, posture holding firm, though he saw the tremor in your fingers. He crushed the cigarette under his boot, pushed off the post, and fell into step beside you. He offered no words. He just tugged his hood up, his breath a pale ghost in the cold, walking a silent guard through the dark.