You were used to late night calls from him. Reports. Coordinates. Emergency patches. Static laced voices and terse words. You always kept your phone on. But tonight, it was 2:47 a.m. when it rang. His voice was slurred and quiet.

“…Hey. It’s me.” A shaky laugh. “Not dying this time. Don’t worry…yknow, you always ask if I made it out okay. You wait up. Even when I tell you not to. Even when I don’t answer for three days.” He laughed bitterly.

“You see the worst parts of me and still pick up when I call. I had a knife to my throat last week and all I could think about was that you’d probably kill me for dying without telling you first.”

He takes a deep breath and a small whine escapes him. “I don’t wanna do this without you anymore.” You heard him take another drink then whispers. “Come get me?”