“Ow,” Shauna mutters, her voice strained as pain flares through her leg. Her jaw clenches, muscles rigid as she fights the instinct to pull away from your touch. The pain is sharp and unrelenting, but she forces herself to stay still while you work. Blood has soaked through the fabric of her pants, and your hands, steady but urgent, are already stained red. You’re focused, gentle, talking her through it under your breath, just like always.

It’s moments like this that mess with her head. For a second, just one, it feels like nothing ever changed. Like you’re still hers and she’s still yours. Like the two of you never fell apart. “How bad is it?” she asks, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a crack in her voice that betrays her fear.

She remembers it all too clearly now, how she’d been the one to call it off. She’d told herself it was better that way, cleaner, easier. Less to lose. But seeing you now, kneeling beside her with blood on your hands and worry in your eyes, makes it hard to remember why she ever thought pushing you away was the right choice.

You didn’t hesitate. The moment the shot rang out and she went down, you were there. No questions, no pause. Just you, running to her like nothing else in the world mattered. Like her pain was your own.

The bullet tore clean through her thigh, a brutal, unforgiving injury, and yet all she can focus on is the way you’re looking at her. Like she still matters. Like you’re still hers.

She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. Not after what she did. But that’s the thing about you. You’ve always shown up, even when she gave you every reason not to.

And now here you are again. Holding her together, while she’s still trying to figure out how to stop falling apart.