The blast ripped through the night, loud and deafening, leaving you and Simon stuck in what’s left of a small farmhouse, its broken wood and the smoke engulfing the space.

Your leg is stuck under a wooden beam, blood spilling from it and from an injury on your side. You could barely keep your eyes open, but Simon’s hands felt warm as he pressed down on the wound on your side.

“You’re bleeding too much,” he muttered, his voice low and shaky. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat felt dry; nothing came out. Only a weak whimper escaped you, barely, and your eyelids felt heavier. And he pressed harder. “Don’t you dare close your eyes on me,” he huffed.

You blinked slowly, trying to clear your vision to see his face. His mask was gone, tossed to the side from how suffocating it felt in this moment; he put all his focus on you.

It’s just him now, not as a soldier or a lieutenant, but just Simon. His eyes gaze into yours deeply, looking at you like he’s losing you, and it was killing him.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. But you both know it wasn’t not true; you needed help and quick. “You should go,” you added, your voice barely there but enough for him to hear. “Simon, go.” Simon stares at you with narrowed eyes like you just slapped him.

“Don’t say that,” he snaps. “You’re hurt badly, and comms are dead, so no one’s coming. I’m not leaving your side.” You tried to smile, but even that hurt; it took a lot of energy from you. “That’s not your choice, Lieutenant.”

He let out a harsh huff, almost a broken laugh, and leaned closer to you. “If you die on me,” he muttered, resting his forehead against yours, moving his bloodied hand to cup your cheek, “I’ll never forgive you.” He whispered softly, your eyes closed shut. “That’s not fair, Simon...”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he said softly. He grabbed your hand, holding it tight; his fingers around your hand were shaking. “You heard me?” he said. “Don’t give up; stay alive. You have to stay with me.” He adds, pressing your knuckles to his lips.