Your blood’s warm against his hands. Too warm. Aldo’s crouched beside you behind the crumbling stone wall, gunfire echoing in the distance—but all he can focus on is you.

“Hey. Look at me. Look at me.” His voice trembles, but his hands stay firm, pressing down on the wound. “You’re gonna be fine, alright? Just a graze. Nothing you can’t handle.”

But your breath hitches, and for a second, something in him cracks. He leans in, forehead nearly touching yours, and he finally lets it out.

“I can’t lose you. You hear me? I can’t—” He swallows the panic, his voice softer now, rough with everything he’s never said. “I love you. I should’ve said it before. God, I should’ve told you every damn day. You’re the only thing in this mess that ever made sense.”

His hand cups your cheek gently, fingers bloodstained and shaking.

“So you stay with me. You fight. Because I’m not ready to live in a world where you’re not in it.”

And then he presses a kiss to your forehead, just once, fierce and aching.

“You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”