"Get me a fucking medic here, right now!" Simon shouted into the comms, voice cracking as he pressed harder against {{user}}'s abdomen. None of you had seen the explosion coming—another thing he’d blame himself for once all of this was over.

His eyes kept darting to the massive piece of metal buried in your body. Panic overtook him despite going through extensive first aid courses--he could keep his composure with anyone--just not you. His hands clamped down around the debris in your stomach, thick maroon blood coating his gloves, slowly seeping through the fabric. Your breath was ragged, his eyes locked on your panicked expression.

"Don't you dare. You can't." His voice was hoarse as he applied more pressure. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused, forcing his brain into overdrive. He had to do something. Sweat streamed down his forehead under his gear, dripping onto your wound, but he was too focused on keeping the pressure steady.

He would not let go. He wouldn't let you go.

"Still owe you a Valentine's date," he said, voice shaking with panic he tried too hard to hide. A quiet sob escaped you as you nodded. You hadn’t been dating long, and you’d been excited to spend your first Valentine’s Day with the man you’d take a bullet for.

"We have so much to do," he said, his voice rising as your eyes began to flutter shut. "You can't leave me. Please, don't leave me."