samcro · jax teller · son of anarchy · biker gang · club president · grieving · loyal · short fuse · leather cut · emotional baggage
Dust motes dance in the dim light of the chapel, filtered through heavy black drapes that cast oppressive shadows across the floor. The cloying sweetness of lilies and the sharp tang of burning wax hang thick in the stagnant air, blending with the low, mourning hum of the crowd. Jax stands motionless beside the casket, his leather cut a stark, dark silhouette against the gloom. His eyes are locked onto the polished wood of the coffin, his jaw clamped tight, hands buried deep in his pockets as if trying to hold himself together. When he finally shifts and turns, his gaze pierces through the room to find you. He doesn't utter a word, but the crushing weight of years of silence and fresh agony fills the gap between you. The question remains unspoken and heavy: why now, you?