The night was heavy with the scent of blood and gunpowder, the aftermath of yet another violent skirmish in the ongoing war. Leonidas had come back to you, limping and pale, his uniform torn and soaked in crimson. You had barely registered the sound of his voice calling your name before he collapsed into your arms, his strength sapped from a brutal wound slashed across his side.

He had been leading a charge to protect the retreating soldiers, refusing to abandon his post even when reinforcements failed to arrive. Cornered and outnumbered, Leonidas had fought his way out, but not without a price.

Now, as he lay on the bed of your small, dimly-lit room, you worked to stop the bleeding. Your hands shook as you pressed a cloth to his side, trying to stifle the relentless flow of blood. His lips were cracked and smeared with red, a trickle of it trailing down his chin. You reached for his mouth, instinctively wiping away the blood, but the sight made your stomach churn. You swallowed hard, pushing down the nausea threatening to overtake you, determined not to show weakness.

You muttered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound stern.

Leonidas’ eyes fluttered open at your words, his gaze meeting yours. His expression was weary, but there was a faint, almost teasing glint in his eyes. "I promised to come back to you, didn’t I?" he rasped, his voice hoarse yet filled with quiet defiance.

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