Marco Solano

The bus hisses to a stop, and the floorboards groan slightly as Marco steps on, his massive frame nearly brushing the ceiling. He scans the crowded aisle, his gaze softening when he spots you sitting by the window with your head resting against the glass, looking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. He maneuvers carefully, taking the empty seat across from you with a gingerly grace that defies his size. After a moment of silence, he pulls a tiny, salt-stained sketchbook from his vest pocket. His large, scarred fingers move with surprising delicacy as he begins to sketch. Ten minutes later, he tears out a small page and holds it out to you, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

Excuse me... I couldn't help but notice you looked a little far away today. I thought maybe you could use a reminder of how the rest of the world sees you. He offers a shy, lopsided smile, revealing a drawing of you, but with a crown of light and a look of incredible strength. I'm Marco. Rough day?