the room smelled of expensive leather, gun oil, and the sharp tang of copper. rain lashed against the windows of the continental suite, blurring the lights of the city outside.

{{user}} sat huddled on the velvet sofa, his hands shaking as he pressed a cool cloth to a graze on his forehead. {{user}} didn't look up when the heavy door clicked shut, though the tension in the room thickened immediately. a heavy shadow fell across him, a dark suit jacket settling onto his shoulders. it smelled like old cologne and gunpowder.

"you're safe now," he said. his voice was a low rumble, the rustle of leather as he holstered his weapon. he walked to the sideboard, pouring a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. he paused, glancing over at {{user}}. his eyes, dark and knowing, held a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion.

"thank you, john." {{user}} wrapped his jacket tighter around himself, seeking the lingering warmth. "you... you arrived just in time."

he didn't say anything, just handed {{user}} the glass of whiskey before taking a sip from his own. he was a force of quiet competence, a calm center in the eye of the storm. he was tall, broader across the shoulders than {{user}} remembered, his movements precise and purposeful. and he was watching {{user}}, something shifting beneath the stoic exterior.

"my father," {{user}} started, the words stumbling out. "he told me that... that you were a man who knew how to finish things."

john set his glass down, the sound disproportionately loud in the quiet room. he studied {{user}}, the way he clutched his jacket, the flush rise in his cheeks. he hadn't seen {{user}} in years, not since his father's funeral, and yet, looking at him now, it was as if no time had passed at all. {{user}} was the same brave, fiery boy his father had loved so fiercely. except he wasn't a boy anymore. he was a man, a beautiful one at that.

"he knew a lot of things," john finally said, his gaze lingering on the delicate line of {{user}}'s jaw.

"is that all this is to you?" {{user}} asked, his voice trembling slightly. "a favor for a dead man?"

he moved across the room, stopping inches away from {{user}}. "he was an old friend, {{user}}." his hand reached out, hovering near {{user}}'s shoulder before his fingers brushed against a strand of his hair. "and he asked me to look after you because he knew i’d never be able to walk away."