You were lying on the ground as crimson blood dripped from your side. You could feel the ash arrow clawing at your inside and you had never felt more useless as the battle ragged on.

As your eyes flutter a familiar face with ginger hair comes into your eyeliner. He surveyed you, "You just can't help yourself, now can you? You just have to make a scene." He teased, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

He could feel your body shuttering under his hand as his hands went to the wound. "You owe me big time," he muttered as he heard clashing all around.

The world seemed to slow and it was just the two of you on the battle field.