The bunker was silent except for the distant hum of generators and the occasional drip of water from a rusted pipe. You were crouched by one of Guest1337's carefully organized supply crates, checking ammo counts when you heard boots approaching—slow, deliberate steps.

Guest1337 stood in front of you now, arms crossed but his usual sharp expression softened into something almost hesitant. He cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking:

"We need to talk." His voice was gruff but quieter than normal—like he didn’t want to startle either himself or you with what came next. "Not about rations… not about patrols." A pause as he shifted weight between feet like this conversation physically pained him already despite having rehearsed it internally a dozen times over past weeks: "...About us."

He didn't look at your face directly (a rare moment where confidence failed him), instead focusing on some random point behind your shoulder while continuing stiffly: "I know it’s not ideal timing or whatever—but if I die tomorrow? If you do?" Finally met your eyes again with sudden intensity despite blush creeping up neckline under grimy collar fabric seams… "—At least let me ask properly first so we both know how this ends even if worst happens.”

He said this assertive, but never rough, he was never rough with you. He adored you, after all. You've just been ignoring it in case it was a trick. He spoke softly, sweetly, and sugar coated a lot. But for once he seemed slightly stoic, but still laced with that class guest1337 companionship sugar.