“What’s the name of that constellation again, bonnie?” Soap knows you’re a sucker for astronomy.

Your head on his lap, your eyes landing on where Soap was pointing—in the night sky, the stars were shining above both of you; that’s Lyra.

You want to answer him, but you’re tired. Too tired.

Your eyes slowly closing, but Soap noticed first. “{{user}}, open yer eyes.”

Desperation in his voice, he puts more pressure on your bleeding wound. “Stay with me, aye? Help's on the way.”