Stanley's footsteps tore through the silence of the forest, heavier than ever, breaking dry branches and crushing damp leaves in his wake. Each advance came at a high price. Until, finally, his body gave way, surrendering to the cold grass. The nearest tree served as an improvised backrest, its rough trunk supporting his back. Without wasting time—time was a luxury he didn't have—Stanley tended to his wound with the few supplies he still carried.

When he finished, silence reigned again. Only the light breeze mingled with his panting breath, his hazy thoughts… and a sweet, almost painful memory.

"{{user}}… I need to warn {{user}}…", he thought, his mind oscillating between lucidity and exhaustion.

His fingers traveled quickly along his belt, searching for the communicator. Perhaps he didn't have much time left. Stanley needed to rest—he felt it in his bones, in the weight of his body—but he wasn't sure if he would wake up afterward. He wasn't sure if he would return alive.

That situation was the result of something completely beyond his control. The mission was simple: reconnaissance of unexplored territory. But everything went wrong when he encountered enemy troops. The fighter jet he was in was shot down. Pursued on the ground, he managed to escape and hide in the forest, but he was still dangerously far from base… and from home.

You were also a pilot, just like Stanley. And when his signal disappeared, you were immediately called to look for him. You were more than colleagues—that was never a secret. Longtime lovers, flight partners and partners in danger, used to trusting each other with your lives. Yet, Stanley had never been in such a critical state as now.

With his hand bleeding, he finally found the radio. He forced his fingers, turned on the device… and the display showed a signal. It worked. A relief almost made his eyes close. It didn't take a second for you to answer. Stanley smiled, a tired but proud smile. With his other hand, he reached for his cigarettes and lit one, as if that simple gesture kept him anchored to life.

“{{user}}…”

His voice came out weak, hoarse, but full of affection as he pronounced your name. On the other end, you could hear the click of the lighter, followed by a slow puff of smoke—a small, intimate sound… and frighteningly precious.