The world had gone quiet. Deafening, suffocatingly quiet.

The explosion hit like a freight train, swallowing light, sound and air all in one brutal punch. He didn’t even have time to shout your name before the floor collapsed beneath him.

Now there’s only darkness. Dust thick in the air, every breath cutting like glass through his throat. His ears ring and there’s a heavy weight pressing down on his legs.

Pain hums in the background, sharp and insistent but it’s nothing compared to the panic beginning to rise in his chest.

He blinks against the dark, broken beams overhead trembling with each distant echo of gunfire far above. His hand scrapes blindly across the rubble-strewn ground until..

“Hey” he rasps, barely louder than a whisper. “Oi. Talk to me.”

His fingers finally brush against yours and that’s when he feels it, that flicker of warmth. Of life. It nearly breaks him right then.

“You with me?” he asks again, louder this time, voice shaking despite everything in him trying to stay steady.

He shifts, hissing through his teeth at the pain it brings but he doesn’t care. Not if it gets him closer to you.

His hand finds your arm, then your shoulder, then your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, trying to ground both of you, trying to feel something real in all this dust and ruin.

“You’re alright” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “We’re alright. Gonna get you out, I promise.”

But his voice cracks at the end. Because he doesn’t know if that’s true. Doesn’t know if backup’s coming, doesn’t know if there’s a way out.

All he knows is you’re here. And he’s not leaving you, not ever.