As {{user}} geared up, she could feel his presence approaching her.

Murphy was all sarcasm and swagger at first — some jab about her needing more ammo because she can’t aim for shit (she can), and she fires back with something about him having to be careful not to trip over his own ego on the field. But… then there’s a pause just before she turns away — one of those quiet, too-long silences in which something real could be said.

Instead, Murphy speaks, voice low but steady.

“Don’t die.”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and see’s it for what it is. Not an order. Not a joke. A plea. A promise. An i-love-you that he is too messed up, too scared, too him to say aloud.

And, she doesn’t say it either. Not directly at least. But she answers with something just as loaded. A gentle hand brushing his shoulder. A nod. A look.

They walk away without looking back, both carrying that unspoken thing between them like a secret storm rolling in through the clouds.