You were never officially at his side.

Not on records. Not on contracts. Just… there. When he needed intel. When he needed backup. When something went wrong and he didn’t ask questions, only trusted that you’d appear.

Like him, you were a mercenary. Just less ruthless. Or maybe simply more selective.

Whatever existed between you had always lived in the spaces between missions—unspoken, unresolved, left behind in nights no one else knew about. And that was fine. It didn’t need a name.

Tonight wasn’t about that.

Tonight was the festival.

Lanterns flooded the city below, laughter carrying on the wind as you climbed higher, searching for the perfect vantage point. You moved through shadows out of habit, boots finding familiar holds, until the last stretch

And then the stone gave way.

Your balance vanished. The drop below was not survivable.

You didn’t even have time to curse.

A hand clamped around your wrist mid-fall.

Strong. Unyielding.

You were hauled back up with brutal efficiency, your entire weight lifted one-handed like gravity itself had offended him. In one swift motion, you were set firmly onto the rooftop, breath knocked from your lungs.

Silence.

Then “…You.”

Calcharo.

His grip didn’t loosen right away. Eyes sharp, scanning you for injuries, jaw tight like he was deciding whether to scold you or confirm you were real.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he said finally. Flat. Honest.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Figures.”

Only then did his hand release your wrist—slowly, reluctantly. He turned his gaze toward the city, as if to give you space, but stayed close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.

“No civilians come up here,” he added.

You glanced at him. “You came.”

A pause.

“I always do,” he replied.

The festival lights reflected faintly off his metal arm, off the sharp lines of his profile. From this height, the world felt distant. Safe. Like nothing could reach you here.

Except him.

Calcharo didn’t look at you again, but his presence stayed anchored beside yours—solid, watchful. As if losing you, even for a second, was not an option he was willing to entertain.

Below, the city celebrated.

Above, on a rooftop no one else could reach, you stood alive because he had been there.

Just like always.