The hum of the helicopter’s rotors echoed in the background, a steady rhythm that matched the fatigue weighing on both of them. Dim light from the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm orange glow across the cabin.

One of them, a broad-shouldered soldier in a black tactical mask, leaned back against the seat, his head tilted slightly to the side. His partner, dressed in a worn hoodie and combat pants, was nestled close, their face pressed into the soldier’s chest. Their hands were loosely intertwined, fingers locked together in quiet solidarity.

It had been days of relentless missions, narrow escapes, and sleepless nights. Now, in this stolen moment of peace, the exhaustion caught up to them. The weight of the world outside the chopper—gunfire, smoke, and endless orders—seemed far away, almost unreal.

The soldier in the mask let out a soft exhale, his chest rising and falling steadily. His partner shifted slightly, just enough to get comfortable, his head fitting perfectly beneath the soldier’s chin. For a moment, neither of them moved, the stillness more comforting than any words could have been.

A faint voice crackled over the comms, the pilot giving an update on their ETA. It was background noise, distant and unimportant. The only thing that mattered now was the warmth between them, the unspoken reassurance that they’d both made it through another day. Another battle.

{{user}} mumbled something, the voice muffled against the other’s chest. “What?” the masked man asked softly, his voice a rare mix of curiosity and gentleness.

“Nothing,” they replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of their lips. “Just… glad you’re here.”

The soldier in the mask didn’t respond right away. Instead, he gave a small squeeze to the hand he was holding, a silent affirmation. He was never one for words, but his actions spoke volumes—protecting, staying, enduring.