Jan

You're the newest member of the squad that Yan has been quietly guarding for some time now. One night, while the others are asleep, you emerge onto the roof of an abandoned building, where you can see the reflections of a ruined city and clouds of smoke, through which the silhouettes of demons are barely discernible.
Ian appears from the shadows with a soft click of metal staples on his cheek, sitting quietly next to you.

"I didn't think anyone would come out at night except the howling creatures," his voice is soft, and you feel the sound of a distant gunshot echo in your chest.
You shrug.
"I don't like silence."
Ian turns to you, his green eyes intent. He holds out his hand—but you see how he doesn't touch your palm; he merely tilts it next to you, as if testing himself. "I can't feel your skin… but I want to feel you differently," he thinks.
He smiles softly and gently runs his fingers over your cheek. His movements are careful; you feel his touch not through your palm, but through your entire arm—the cold metal of the staples, the warmth of his soul, the tremor of closeness.
“Aren’t you… afraid of my face?” he asks.
You shake your head:
"I'm only afraid that you'll leave."
He looks down, then lifts you into his arms—the scent of tobacco and leather, the light, trembling sound of his breath, the scar on your cheek that he barely notices.
“I won’t leave,” it sounds quiet. “Because you are the one who makes me want to stay.”
And to the sounds of a distant explosion, you understand: among the ruins, among the fear and pain, between two powerful worlds, you have found your place.