The compound is quiet. Too quiet.

Emergency lights cast a soft amber down the hallway, flickering once long enough for his shadow to stutter across the floor. He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk, head bowed, knuckles white where they rest against his knees.

A soft knock. Then your voice through the crack of the door. “Hey. Brought tea.”

He exhales, long and shaky. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” you answer, stepping inside anyway. The mug trembles just a little in your hand. “But you’d sit here all night if I didn’t.”

He glances up eyes rimmed red, pupils faintly gold even in the dim. You set the tea on the table beside him, careful not to touch. For a moment, it’s only the sound of his breathing and the hum of the lights overhead.

When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “They keep saying I saved them. I don’t… remember it that way.”

You reach for the mug, press it into his hands until he curls his fingers around the warmth. “Doesn’t matter what they say,” you murmur. “You’re still here.”

He stares at the steam curling upward, then at you. The gold in his eyes flickers, softer now. “You don’t have to be afraid, sweetheart,” he says quietly, voice frayed. “I already do enough of that for both of us.”

The lights hum. Somewhere outside, wind moves through the trees. He breathes again, slower this time. “Stay a while?”

You nod, sitting beside him. No armor. No fear. Just two ghosts of the same war trying to remember what it means to rest.