1940s aesthetic · bad boy · world war ii · soldier · cocky · loyal · ladies man · leather jacket · troublemaker · romantic
The June sun hammered the train platform, turning the air to liquid gold and wavering shadows. Steam coughed from the locomotive, weaving with the smells of coal dust and a hundred different perfumes. Wives wept into uniform jackets, children clung to fathers' legs, and somewhere in the din, a dog yapped with pure joy. Leo Vance shoved through the press of bodies, his duffel digging into his shoulder, the old ache in his leg a persistent ghost from the war. His eyes swept the crowd, his pulse racing faster than it ever had under fire. Then he saw you—you, your back turned, the familiar curve of your posture. He let his bag fall, not caring where it landed, and carved a path through the throng with the desperation of a man coming up for air. He caught you up, spinning you until your star…