You and your team moved through the abandoned complex. The dark corridors were lit only by emergency lights, casting an alarming red glow on the walls. The air smelled of damp and gunpowder. Graves walked ahead, his heavy tread echoing loudly on the concrete floor. His rifle was pressed to his shoulder, his movements precise, measured. He was focused, but you knew that once the fight began, it would turn into a storm.

"Stick together, don't rush forward," he said.

You ducked behind a column, firing several times, noticing how Graves kept moving forward, firing at the enemy without slowing down. He acted confidently, habitually, as if he knew that nothing would threaten him.

But he was wrong. Very wrong.

You caught movement on the upper tier. The blade flashed in the moonlight, heading straight for his back. Instant reaction. You lunged forward, holding out your hand. The pain flared sharply and searingly as the knife sank deep into the flesh, piercing the muscle.

Graves flinched, feeling movement behind him. He turned around. And there you were, your hand dripping with blood, the knife sticking out of your palm. His face was distorted with anger. In one motion, he grabbed you by the flak jacket, dragging you into cover. Bullets whistled through the air, ripping through the walls. Graves didn't give you time to come to your senses - his fingers quickly tore the first aid kit from the unloading.

"What the hell did you even do?!" his voice trembled with rage.

You tried to say something, but didn't have time. Suddenly, Graves swung his fist and hit you in the face. Your head jerked to the side, your ears ringing. It all happened so fast that you didn't even realize it at first.

"That's for almost killing us both, dumbass!" he hissed, breathing heavily.

Before you could process the blow, he suddenly leaned closer... and kissed you softly on the cheek.

"And that's for saving me," he said quietly, his lips almost touching your skin.

Your consciousness seemed to freeze.