Simon Riley was used to coming home broken. Bruises, cuts, stitched-up wounds—it came with the life he chose, and he always brushed it off with that stubborn “seen worse”. But this time was different.

When you opened the door, two of his men stood there with Simon between them, his weight sagging heavily as they half-carried him inside. His shirt was cut open, blood already seeping through thick bandages wrapped tight around his ribs and shoulder. His skin was pale, lips drawn tight with pain, but when his eyes found you, he managed the smallest tilt of his mouth—something between a grimace and a smile.

“He needs a hospital,” one of the soldiers muttered.

“Not happening,” Simon rasped, voice rough as gravel. “No doctors. No papers. Here’s fine.”

The men exchanged a look, but didn’t argue. They lowered him onto the couch, gave you a tight nod, and left you with him—your living room suddenly filled with the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic.

You knelt at his side, hands trembling as you checked the wrappings. Whoever patched him up had done it quickly, but the edges of the gauze were already damp, crimson seeping through. He caught your wrist before you could peel them back.

“Leave it,” he muttered, his grip still strong despite the weakness in his body. “Don’t… don’t fuss. Just need rest.”

“Rest?” Your voice cracked as your eyes burned hot. “Simon, you can barely breathe. You need more than this—”

“I need you.” His words cut through you, low and steady despite the ragged edge of his breathing. “Not a hospital. Not strangers. You.”

And with that, his hand slid from your wrist to your palm, squeezing weakly, as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go. His mask was gone, his face pale and drawn, his eyes heavy but still sharp enough to hold yours. In those eyes, there was trust. The kind he never gave to anyone else.

You stayed. You fetched clean water, checked his fever, wiped the sweat from his brow. You changed the outer bandages where you could, whispering soft reassurances even when your throat ached from holding back tears. He flinched at every movement, jaw clenching, but he never once pushed you away.