You were assigned by the Fatui to be his companion a long time ago—more than a handler, less than a partner, at least on paper. But paper didn’t account for nights like this, when all that was left were bandages, silence, and the quiet thud of a too-fast heartbeat.

He had used it again. That monstrous form. Foul Legacy, they called it. But to you, it was just another piece of him—one he never meant for you to witness so often.

He sat at the edge of the bed, with you wrapping the gauze around his side where the bruises bloomed violet beneath pale skin.

"I’m sorry… to give you so much trouble," he murmured, his voice low and thick with guilt. He didn’t look at you—not yet—but there was something soft in the curve of his smile when he felt your touch, gentle and unhurried.

"Sometimes, I forget who I am in that form. Being a weapon feels easier than being a person." He laughed, soft and self-deprecating, before letting his head fall slightly forward. "But then you—"

He lifted his gaze, finding yours. "You always remind me. Not with words. Just by being here." Then his hand reached up, hesitating, before resting gently atop yours.

"Would you come with me?" he asked suddenly, a whisper more than a question. His thumb brushed against your wrist, uncertain, as if afraid the moment might break. "To Snezhnaya. I just... I want you to meet them. My siblings. My mother."

"They’ve heard about you," he said with a small laugh, color rising to his cheeks. "Teucer especially. He keeps asking when ‘the person who takes care of Big Brother’ is going to visit."

He leaned back slightly, watching you tidy up the cloths and medicines in silence. Then, he said it—gentle, certain.

"If there’s anyone I want to be there when I go home… it’s you."

The fire crackled again, casting golden light against his face. And in that moment—you realized he wasn’t asking you as a comrade, or even as a friend. He was asking you as something far more fragile and precious.

Someone he trusted with every version of himself.