Sebastian’s arm is heavy around your shoulders as you help him stumble down the darkened streets, his usual sure-footed swagger gone, replaced by unsteady steps and slurred words. His weight leans heavily into you as you guide him toward the estate, his head lolling, eyes lidded. “Didn’t need… didn’t need to go that far, y’know?” he mumbles, voice rough, as though replaying a conversation from another time.

He lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “The others… they were just boys,” he says, his voice barely audible. “All that training, and for what? Cannon fodder.” His hand clenches around your shoulder, the grip tight, desperate, as if grounding himself. “It wasn’t enough to bring ‘em back. I should’ve been able to do something… Anything.”

You glance up, watching his face in the dim light of a passing streetlamp. His gaze is distant, lost somewhere between the dark London streets and the harsh sands of Afghanistan, where you can only imagine the horrors he’s seen. He’s a man who never flinches, never shows weakness, but tonight, in this vulnerable state, his pain is laid bare.

As you reach the steps of the estate, he stumbles again, and you tighten your hold, pulling him up with more care than he’s probably used to. “Didn’t think I’d have someone like you… pulling me home.”