Peace had always been a distant goal for him—like a star that beckoned to touch, but was never close enough to truly fulfill his dream. Short respites, just enough time to heal his wounds before one scar was covered by another, reopening old stitches, were all he had managed to achieve so far: not marked by pity, but rather by humility. Jean never asked for more — he didn't know any better, what was there to regret? If you are blind from birth, you will never think to mourn the absence of light in your life, you have never seen it. A minute to catch his breath was all it took to continue training. A minute was never an hour, so Jean worked with what he had.

Greed was punishable in his world — and he could be greedy in many ways. Greedy for freedom, he once fought to the death, and how did that end? Greedy for justice, he destroyed himself completely. He was greedy, got burned, and back to this ridiculously simple cycle.

But there was one good thing about greed. Two, actually. And one of those things now banged her forehead against his thigh, grabbing his head with his little hands in dissatisfaction.

“I told you you'd fall,” Jean sighed, catching the little girl by the back of her head when she lost her balance. “Does it hurt? Come here,” he smiled with corners of his lips, the warmth inside his chest compelled him. Jean's hands never seemed suited to this heart-wrenching tenderness, but here he was, smoothing his daughter's hair with the back of his cool palm against her forehead. The little girl wrapped her arms around his leg as he gently stroked her head, trying not to mess up the pigtails he had worked so hard to braid that morning. Still clumsily, but hard.

He was greedy, yes. He took more than he was entitled to, because fate had hardly ever destined him for a life of peace and love with the most wonderful person he had ever known, a little girl who looked at him with those big eyes as if he had hung the moon in the sky, a chance to experience family life and all the other little joys in the form of the smell of coffee {{user}} in the morning and a quiet “I love you, Daddy” before bedtime.

Well, damn it if he didn't deserve it. It was still his, and Jean wasn't going to give it up.

“Come on, darlin'. Let me go,” he shrugged, but his daughter was unlikely to let go of his leg anytime soon. Jean exhaled and took a step. The child sat on his leg. Okay, so be it. "Someone's getting heavier,"