While the amber light of the fire shone on your your faces with your bodies letting the sparks fly upward, disappearing into the darkness of the unknown, and silence hung in the air, he began tiredly, holding the remnants of the bandage with the palm of his hand, "I've never seen you like this."

Turning your gaze on him involuntarily blinking, shaking off the ashes that has settled in a thin layer on your eyelashes. The voice is almost inaudible over the crackling of the fire: "What do you mean?"

Of course, he can't say it in out loud. Recognize the help, the act of caring. That's how big the male ego is.

"Oh, get it. Then it's easier, much easier. You didn't need that. I can't even remember the last time you got into sh1t like this. Usually," you pause just long enough to take a full breath, which makes your tone much smoother, "it was you who had to save".

The sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, exposing his hazy features, his eyes unblinking, clinging to the only source of light, as if hypnotized by candor. A light chuckle doesn't take long to appear," "You're belittling yourself again.

"Not at all, just being sober."

The smile stretches wider under the dark green fabric of his balaclava, forming small, almost imperceptible rays in the crease at the corners of his mouth. The seemingly mischievous glint in his eyes lit up his entire face-even the shadows under the lower row of eyelashes that gave a haggard look seemed playful. With incomprehension you opened your mouth to ask a leading question, but he managed to get there first.

The movement was swift and abrupt, as if it were a last-ditch effort, so quickly you were pressed against his side, feeling his measured heartbeat thudding in your ear. The next words were devoid of any pomp, but there was nothing but sincerity in those whispered lines, "Thank you. For not leaving me."