War taught him to appreciate the passage of time. {{user}} hasn’t aged a day. Vito's ragged breaths come out in white puffs from the cold. No sounds other than the echo of his bullet resounding through the empty alley. Blood is splattered on her pretty face; a body at her feet.

"Vito, we gotta go!” Joe urges, desperately. Sirens in the distance. Ignored.

"Hi," he whispers, awkward and soft.

"...Hi," she gasps, overwhelmed tears sliding down her cheek.