The night before the mission, the camp was quiet. For once, the air wasn’t filled with gunfire or the hum of Legion engines—just silence, broken only by the soft crackle of distant comms. I found you sitting beside your Juggernaut, hands trembling faintly even as you tried to hide it.

“You’re nervous,” I said, leaning against the cold metal.

You laughed—short, bitter. “Aren’t you?”

“…Always,” I admitted.

The words hung between us, fragile, like something we weren’t supposed to share. And then you turned toward me, eyes shining in the dim light, and before I could stop you, the words tumbled out—raw, unpolished, truer than anything war had left us.

“I love you, Shin.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The battlefield had never stopped me like this. My chest ached, my throat tight, and before I could think better of it, I whispered back, “…I love you too.”

It was reckless. Dangerous. But when your hand brushed mine, I didn’t pull away. For the first time, the war didn’t matter. Only you did.

The next day, chaos tore the world apart. Legion fire lit the sky, Juggernauts burning one after another. I heard your voice crackle over the Para-RAID, strained, desperate. By the time I reached you, your machine was broken, smoke curling from the wreck.

And then—there you were. Climbing out, blood running down your temple, your body shaking with every step.

“Idiot,” I muttered, rushing forward, but you kept coming, collapsing against me before I could catch you properly.

“I told you… I’d never leave,” you whispered, crimson staining your lips. And then your weight went limp in my arms.

The hospital was colder than any battlefield. White walls. White sheets. Machines that hummed like ghosts. I sat at your bedside, scarf folded across my lap, fingers digging into the fabric as if it could anchor me. The others said I should rest, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you again.

Hours blurred together until finally—finally—you stirred. Your lashes fluttered, your body shifting weakly against the sheets. Relief hit me so hard it stole the breath from my lungs.

You were alive.

But when your eyes met mine… something shattered.

There was no recognition. No warmth. No memory of that night’s trembling confession or the desperate promise you’d made as you bled in my arms. Nothing.

“…You’re awake,” I said, voice flat, though my hands trembled against my knees.

{{user}} brow furrowed faintly. “...Who are you?”

“Do you… remember me?” I forced the question out, though the answer was already there in your empty gaze.

You hesitated, guilt flickering in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

I exhaled sharply, the sound too hollow to be called laughter. My crimson eyes darkened, shadowed by everything I couldn’t say.