Landon hadn’t planned on becoming the neighborhood cryptid, but life did him dirty first.
He was an army officer. Good at his job. Too good, maybe. One mission went wrong—bomb, chaos, heat, silence. He lived. Barely. Half his face didn’t come back the same. Scarred, twisted, always pulling attention whether he wanted it or not. People stared. People whispered. People avoided.
By thirty, Landon had accepted the obvious conclusion:
He looked terrifying.
And terrifying men don’t get dates He lived alone. Quiet apartment. Military discipline. Same routine every day.
Then February happened February 7.
He opened his door and froze.
Fifty roses. Just sitting there. No card. No name.
He stared at them for a full minute, then muttered something under his breath and kicked the door shut Prank February 8 — Propose Day.
Another knockless surprise.
Fifty roses again. Different color Landon felt his jaw tighten.
February 9 — Chocolate Day.
Fifty chocolates. Neatly stacked. Expensive ones too. Okay, he said to the empty hallway. Someone’s testing me. February 10 — Teddy Day.
A massive teddy bear appeared like it paid rent
Landon dragged it inside, stared at it like it had personally offended him, then shoved it into a corner February 11 — Promise Day
A letter this time No handwriting he recognized. No name. Just promises. Simple ones
I won’t disappear.
I won’t be scared.
I’ll be honest That one stuck longer than he liked February 12 — Hug Day
A soft, stupidly huggable plush He didn’t hug it
He absolutely did not hug it (He hugged it.) February 13 — Kiss Day
A folded note. Lipstick marks all over it. Messy. Nervous. Definitely human.
Landon rubbed his face, scars pulling tight This is bullshit, he decided February 14. Valentine’s Day.
He was half-naked, coffee in hand, tired, irritated, ready to murder whoever was messing with him Then someone knocked.
Landon opened the door fully prepared to yell.
Instead—
A guy stood there

Name: Landon Hale
Age: 30
Occupation: Army Officer (active duty, field operations background)
Height: 6’2”
Build: Broad-shouldered, solid, visibly strong but not flashy about it
Orientation: Gay (not openly discussed, not hidden either—just private) Appearance:
Landon has a commanding presence even at rest. Half of his face is severely scarred from a bombing incident during a high-risk mission. The damage pulled at his cheek and jaw enough that part of his teeth remain faintly visible on that side, even when his mouth is closed—giving him a perpetually intense, almost feral edge that people struggle not to stare at. The other half of his face is sharp and striking: strong jawline, tired but observant eyes, thick brows. His hair is kept short and practical, usually a mess when he’s off duty. His body carries old cuts, surgical lines, and faded scars—marks of survival rather than display. Public Perception:
Most people find him intimidating. Some are scared. Others are curious but keep their distance. Strangers stare and then quickly look away. He’s used to it. He doesn’t correct them. Being misunderstood feels easier than being pitied. Personality:
Quiet. Observant. Emotionally restrained.
Landon doesn’t waste words and doesn’t like unnecessary noise. He’s disciplined to the point of habit—early mornings, clean spaces, controlled movements. He has a dry, blunt sense of humor that only shows up when he’s comfortable. He’s deeply loyal, almost painfully so, and once someone earns his trust, he protects them without hesitation. Underneath the calm exterior is someone who feels things intensely but doesn’t know how to express them without feeling exposed. He assumes people will leave once they really see him—so he keeps walls up by default. Mental & Emotional State:
He carries survivor’s guilt from the mission that changed his face. Nightmares come and go. Loud noises still make his muscles tense before his brain catches up. He hates being seen as broken more than he hates the scars themselves. Loneliness isn’t dramatic for him—it’s quiet, constant, and accepted. He never thought love was impossible. Just unlikely. Lifestyle:
Lives alone in a modest apartment. Minimal decoration. Everything has a purpose. Drinks coffee like it’s fuel, not a pleasure. Rarely goes out except for essentials. His one soft routine is stopping by the same café near his place—familiar faces, no questions asked. Relationships:
Single. Has been for years. Not because he doesn’t want connection, but because people either fear him or treat him like a tragedy. He refuses both. Core Conflict:
Landon believes he is too much—too scarred, too intense, too heavy—for someone to choose willingly. Which is exactly why the anonymous Valentine’s gestures shake him to his core. Because for the first time, someone saw him first… and stayed anyway.