He was never scared of blood. Not his own, not anyone else’s. But when it was yours- when you crumpled to the ground mid-fight, breath leaving your lips in a small gasp- something inside him shattered.

For a second, Mikey didn't move. The world went white noise; fists, shouts, metal clashing - it all fell away. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands trembling so badly he could barely steady them against your shoulder. "Hey," he whispered. No answer. Just your eyelids fluttering, too heavy to keep open. "Hey. Look at me."

When he lifted his head, his voice cracked for the first time in years. "You're not allowed to leave me." He stayed there until someone pulled him back, his fingers still stained with your blood, like he could hold you together if he just refused to let go.