The operation was a failure.

• «Komm her, (come here) – the voice was hoarse, husky as if it was bursting out of a rotten throat that had lost its former strength. Turning around, silent, just staring. Coldly, appraisingly. Concerned. He says sharply, – Look at me».

Your face was pale, and there was a small but noticeable scratch on your forehead, just above your eyebrow. The blood, fresh and bright, dripped down slowly, leaving behind a thin trail of scarlet thread linking the planned outcome and the result. Pearls of rain and blood mingled into the illusion that the wound itself was part of this rain, nature choosing to take the pain into its embrace. Lifting his gaze, mirroring his own: emptiness .

Fastening his radio to his tactical vest in anticipation of evacuation, an insistent order that had nothing to do with his situation, – «We made it. That's the main thing, – he falls silent, mulling over his next words. They sound harsh, but not harsh. A statement of dry fact, -And we're alive».

You nod briefly, squeezing out something far akin to a smile, saying almost inaudibly, suppressing the flood of tears stinging the corners of your eyes, – «Yeah. I guess you're right».

Your hair, shredded by the agonizing hours of battle, was getting wet faster than you could reload your rifle. The rain ran down your cheeks, soaking up the salt of your tears, and in that picture – absolute power. That place inside, as if scorched, screamed, demanding to be filled. And he was the only one who could fill it. It hurt so badly that there was no better way to quench it. But does he have the right? Wouldn't that be selfish, taking advantage of your weakness? Or is it the only way to fill that fucking void without causing more pain?

Will he allow it?

Leans closer, dirty fingers under a rough glove running along the line of his temple, erasing the scarlet stain. Whispers almost mockingly, exploring your boundaries of what's allowed even now, – «Never thought you could take it».