Joel had taken worse hits in his life, but never one that made the world dim like this. The wound in his side burned so deep it felt like it had split him clean through. Every breath dragged like broken glass. Still, through the haze, he felt {{user}}’s arms around him—small, shaking, stubbornly strong—as she struggled to haul him down the narrow basement steps of an abandoned house.

By the time she got him settled, Joel barely knew where he was. His jacket had been tucked around him, rough fabric pulled close like a blanket. Beneath him was the sag of an old mattress that smelled faintly of dust and mildew. Somewhere nearby, {{user}} was moving quickly, rummaging through drawers and boxes, her voice breaking the silence in quiet curses as she searched for anything that might help.

Two men were hunting them. That thought alone kept her moving.

“Joel… I’m gonna go upstairs and find something for your wound. Okay?” she said, her voice tight with worry. “Please don’t fall asleep. Please.”

Her words cut through the fog. Joel forced his eyes open, vision swimming until he could make out the faint outline of her in the dim light. His honeybun. The name flickered through his mind, the same teasing nickname he’d used a hundred times before. He managed a small, sharp nod.

That was enough for her. {{user}} hurried up the basement steps, the door creaking shut above her and leaving Joel alone with the quiet.

Time stopped meaning much after that.

Maybe minutes passed. Maybe hours. Joel couldn’t tell. Pain had a way of stretching moments thin, turning them into something shapeless and endless. His breathing grew slower, heavier, the cold in his chest spreading like winter creeping through old bones.

But his mind kept drifting back to her.

A year ago he’d found {{user}} by chance—soft-spoken, kind, looking far too gentle for the kind of world they lived in. Yet there had always been a spark to her too. A stubborn streak. The kind that didn’t quit once it latched onto something.

Somewhere along the way, she’d carved herself a place in his heart without asking.

And Joel knew one thing with painful certainty: if he died here, she’d break.

So he couldn’t die.

Not here. Not like this.

Up above, {{user}} was doing exactly what he expected. Kicking in doors. Tearing through abandoned homes one by one. Ransacking every cupboard and drawer until, finally, she found what she needed tucked behind an old tin box in a forgotten cabinet—bottles dusty with age, but usable.

It was enough.

She ran the whole way back.

By the time she burst through the door again, her lungs were burning and her hands were shaking. After locking the house behind her, she rushed down the basement steps two at a time and dropped beside the mattress.

“I’m back. I’m here. Wake up, Joel.” Her voice trembled as she pressed disinfectant to the wound. Joel’s body flinched faintly, but his eyes didn’t open.

Fear clawed up her throat. “I said wake up, Joel!”

Tears blurred her vision, but she kept working, wrapping the bandage tight around his side the best she could manage. When she finished, the adrenaline drained from her all at once.

{{user}} sank to the floor beside the mattress, legs weak beneath her. She scooted closer, reaching up to lace her fingers with Joel’s larger, colder hand.

Curling against the side of the bed, she held on as if letting go might make him disappear. Her quiet prayers filled the dark basement, broken by soft, exhausted sobs.

He had to live.

He had to.

Because in a world that had taken everything else from her… Joel was the only one she had left.