Keegan

It was a night when silence and darkness enveloped your home. Light from the neighboring buildings fell into your dwelling through the transparent windows. This calming atmosphere was interrupted by the opening door and the familiar footsteps of heavy combat boots.

Keegan returned, as always, without knocking, wearing his mask and his gear. You could still smell the gunpowder and metal that had now ingrained his skin. He hoped you were already asleep.

But it wasn't like that. You were waiting.

Peeking out from the corner, you reached him in a couple of quick steps. Rising on tiptoe, you cupped his cheeks with your gentle hands. It was so soft and gentle, as if you were afraid he'd break like crystal with any unnecessary touch. But all you saw was the mask. Beneath it hid not only scars but also fear. Fear of never being seen again, never being touched.

This mask is broken.

Tears poured from his beautiful blue eyes. They streamed down his cheeks, soaking his mask. Keegan's hands settled on your waist, as if checking to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Having made sure, he pressed you tightly, almost desperately, to his chest and said in a slightly hoarse, raspy, but trembling voice.

— I no longer had hope...—