Murphy let out a sharp breath, head dropping back against the cold cave wall. His leg was a mess—blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, pain flickering behind his usual cocky expression. But he still smirked. Of course he did.

“Well,” he exhaled, glancing over at you, “guess you’re stuck with me.”

The words were light, teasing, but there was something underneath them. Something unspoken.

The storm outside howled through the cracks in the rock, wind carrying the distant echoes of chaos—the fight they barely escaped. They should have kept moving, but Murphy’s leg gave out, and now they were here, trapped together with nothing but each other and the sound of their breathing in the dim firelight.

His smirk faltered for just a second as he studied your face. You were worried. He could see it, even if you tried to hide it.

His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how. Instead, he scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not dying.” Then, after a beat, quieter—“Not leaving you like that.”

His eyes flickered to the entrance, then back to you. His walls were cracking, just a little.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “It’s you and me, alright?” A pause. Then, softer—“You’re not losing me.”

He leaned his head back again, closing his eyes briefly before smirking once more, letting the mask slide back into place.