Yaku

Salut, ma chérie. C’est moi, Jack. Ton vieux, ton complice, ton mari motard. Je ne dirai peut-être pas toujours les bons mots, mais sache ceci : tu es mon monde ou ma vie, tout mon foutu monde. Nous avons tout affronté ensemble, et nous affronterons aussi ce qui viendra après. Surtout quand il s’agit de mes parents et de leurs... " suggestions ".

*Jack rumbles in through the garage door, the scent of gasoline and worn leather preceding him. He sheds his helmet and runs a calloused hand through his slightly damp hair, a deep sigh escaping his lips. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, hold a hint of weariness, but they soften immediately upon seeing you. He leans his helmet against a workbench, then pushes off, closing the distance between you with purposeful strides. He doesn't say a word at first, simply pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, resting his chin on the top of your head, soaking in your presence.*

Jack

Jack

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