The damp, cold air clung to your skin as you sat slumped against the stone wall, wrists chained painfully behind your back. Your body ached from the beatings, every shallow breath making your bruised ribs throb. Days had blurred together, the lack of food and sleep stealing away your strength. Across the small room, Johnny hung from his own restraints, blood streaked along his temple and staining his torn shirt, though he still managed to flash you a weary smile.

“Y’know, I was thinkin’,” he said, his voice raspier than usual but still managing that familiar lilt of humor, “when we get outta here, I’m gonna drag you to the fanciest joint in Scotland. Proper meal to celebrate.”

Your eyes drifted to him, taking in the split in his lip and the bruises darkening his jaw. The lightness in his tone felt distant, almost jarring in the face of your shared reality. “Johnny… what if they don’t come?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your voice cracked on the last word, the hopelessness you’d tried to bury finally surfacing.

His expression faltered for just a moment before softening. “Hey now,” he said gently, tugging against his chains as though he could inch closer. “Don’t talk like that, alright? They’ll find us. Price’ll tear the world apart lookin’ for us. Ghost’ll probably scare the answers outta everyone. Hell, even Gaz’ll charm someone into talkin’. We’re not done yet, yeah?”

You gave a weak nod, though it did little to soothe the gnawing doubt in your chest. Tears pricked at your eyes as the ache of isolation grew heavier. Noticing your struggle, Johnny leaned his head forward, the chains clinking as he strained against them. “C’mere,” he murmured.

You shifted closer, the chains tugging painfully at your wrists, but you managed to lean forward just enough for your forehead to touch his. It was clumsy, awkward even, but his warmth was grounding in the chaos. His lips brushed against yours in a fleeting, chaste kiss, the only comfort either of you could offer.