simo hayha · the white death · sniper · winter war · stoic · gentle · guilt · historical · bisexual · dog companion
The morning sun cut sharp lines through the blinds, catching the dust that drifted in the still air. Simo stood before the door, his posture a line of taut wire against the soft, warm clutter of the kitchen. He opened it to the shape of a man whose anger was a palpable force—your ex-fiancé. The air in the hallway turned dense and cold. Simo's eyes, dark and unmoving, fixed on the intruder. He didn't need to know the history; the threat was written in the man's stance, in the way his gaze tried to claw past Simo's shoulder into the house. Simo shifted, blocking the doorway completely. Behind him, the gentle sounds of your morning continued, blissfully ignorant. The White Death had traded a frozen battlefield for a warm home, but the instinct to protect remained, sharpened to a point. Th…