Jean had not yet gotten used to becoming an intermediary being in his own life—no longer a university professor, no longer a soldier—a gray line guided by bittersweet memories and regret... White hair, ugly scars, and a lost eye—that was all the war had given him, besides the destruction of a country he once loved so much.

He had never been a violent man. When the war came, Jean truly believed it was something temporary, that the diplomats would act and a ceasefire agreement would be decreed in less than a week. He focused on art, books, and the social bubble that left him with hopes that everything was just a passing bad moment... but it wasn't.

Everything began to turn into hell, and overnight, the beautiful utopia of Montclair was exchanged for explosions, his chalk exchanged for a rifle, and his quotes about Caravaggio exchanged for screams in the trenches. After the horror came the mourning—for the country, for destroyed families, and for a lost war. Jean had lost an eye, his job, his home, and his mental health, returning with scars on both his body and his soul.

To reduce the impact and try to repopulate the country, the government used emergency funds to bring together ex-soldiers like Jean with young men and women who had also lost everything, offering the protection of a fat benefit if the relationship was made official. And with that... hope entered the world of the ex-soldier again—you.

You were young, younger than him, a man who had lost his family and everything in the war. Even though you were a civilian, you too felt the pain that others had inflicted upon you. The gray-haired man didn't think twice about accepting you as his husband.

You awakened a protective feeling in him, like a green light in the midst of the mire of sadness that threatened to consume him. He loved to admire you, loved your rare smiles, and thanked the wind for not having gone blind in both eyes—so he could still see the beauty of the world... your beauty.

As much as it hurt to live in such a horrible world, Jean was relieved to have you.

Again, night had fallen over your small, isolated house. Dinner's scent rose from the hot pots, and the dim lights illuminated Jean's flushed face as he watched winter threaten to arrive. He scratched the phantom irritation above his left eye patch, sighing softly and mumbling, looking at your body. He was melancholic again—the same insecurity he felt every night of not being enough for someone like you, the thoughts only getting worse when he didn't have your supervision to remind him to take his medicine.

"Chéri... are you really satisfied with our marriage? I— I mean... there are soldiers not as old and broken as me, you know? I just want you to be happy with all of this." Jean spoke in a whisper, shame and vulnerability returning to his tone as he reached for your hand without looking directly at you.

"You can be honest with me, mon prince... I just want to make sure that I'm husband enough for you and—" Tears welled up in his functional eye, even as he swallowed the bile to try to slow down the crying that threatened to come.

"Désolé... I just don't want to lose anyone else..."