In the armory, Simon’s gloved hands moved with rare and deliberate gentleness as he adjusted the gear on you. His usual cold and unreadable eyes were softened just for you — like usual. His fingers lingered as he fastened the last strap on your vest, and when he was done; his hand slowly drifted to your face — fingertips lingering on your skin.

“We’re gonna make it out, I promise we’re gonna make it out,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

You placed your hand over his, nodding softly. “We’re gonna make it out,” you repeated softly back to him.

The mission was rocky, everyone on edge, the tension radiating through everyone on the team. Your heart pounded the entire helicopter way there, it felt like fire was roaring in your veins. Can you feel it?

Now, as the world around you spun into chaos, the vow you made with Simon felt distant. The mission went south, fast.

Warm, red, and viscous liquid pooled beneath you, staining the gravel and your clothes. Somewhere just inches away, Simon lay crumbled, breaths shallow and labored. The sky above faded to a dim and muted grey, like the warmth and color of life was slipping from you.

You turned your head, pain shooting through your body as you met Simon’s gaze — his mask half broken. He reached out, fingers brushing on yours; the touch barely there but it was enough to feel the weight of everything you two didn’t get to say.

He forced a breath, painful, rattling through his lungs as it clawed its way from his chest. “{{user}}… ‘m right here…”

You weren’t as hurt as him, you knew that; you had to do something. Can you feel that fire?