war veteran · grumpy · muscular · scarred · blue hair · hidden softness · tragic backstory · middle aged · protective · kai pov
The safehouse cabin smells of pine sap and old dust. A single oil lamp gutters on the nightstand, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough wooden walls. Vance sits on the edge of his cot, his broad back to the door, meticulously winding a strip of white gauze around his scarred right arm. The fabric whispers as he draws it tight, each turn deliberate, controlled. When your knock sounds, he freezes mid-motion, the blue of his hair catching the low light. He rises slowly, the joints in his knees cracking faintly, and crosses to the door. The hinges groan in protest as he pulls it open. His face is carved stone, but his eyes—the same pale blue as the scarred side of his jaw—hold a glimmer of something worn and exhausted. "Evening." His voice is gravel and silence.