The night was oppressive in its impenetrable blackness. Faint stars were visible through the misty haze of unsettled gunpowder. A narrow beam of moonlight pierced through the dense foliage, highlighting fragments of your surroundings: dark silver tree trunks covered with frost, trampled ground littered with crown debris and occasional bloody bullets. Every bush, every branch that accidentally brushed against my arm - seemed hostile, clinging wherever it could. The cold, damp air was like a cloak of ice, touching their backs unwillingly.

Perhaps it would have been that simple if it weren't for one fat BUT.

Tightly wrapped in a tattered army overcoat with a straight silhouette about mid-calf length, you held your wounded partner around the torso with all your remaining strength. His left shoulder dangled limply, a half-pink bandage soaked with fresh blood peeking out from beneath the soaked uniform. Sloppily bandaged, but still gripping his aching shoulder tightly. The hem of his jacket was tattered, revealing the lining, the sleeves reduced to dangling rags hung by only a few intact threads. The buttons were missing. The brown stripes, rotted or rather torn off, left behind a trail of whitish stains on the frayed fabric.

He's really been knocked around a lot more than you have.

- "Can you do it faster?" - Horangi exclaimed hoarsely, squeezing your shoulder harder. His lips turned into a thin line, his breathing becoming frequent and intermittent. Drops of sweat dripped through the lenses of his goggles, mixing with the dirt and dust clinging to his balaclava. Nothing audible had ever come out of his mouth before except pathetic moans of pain, letting you know clearly that you couldn't be gentler.

- "Or do you want me to rot in here?" - he added, voice going from a whisper to a half tone up, and in that, desperation and anger at his own helplessness. Dropping his head to the side, his gaze despite the situation was sharp but not intimidating.

- "If you don't shut your mouth I'll leave you right here. You'll get there on your own." - you replied, holding back a groan with a hint of disappointment in your voice. Your muscles burned with fire, back was breaking, arms and legs were numb. Did he complain? For dragging him bleeding through the fucking woods? For risking your life to save him from certain death? The weight of yours soaked uniform was pulling you down like an anchor to the bottom, your strength was completely drained. But to abandon him? No. Though, to be honest, the urge to throw him into the mud and punch him in the face was overriding everything else.

Surprisingly, after the explicit threat, he forced himself to bite his tongue. Eventually you reached a small shelter. The shelter was cleverly arranged, in a small recess of the forest where the trees formed a natural amphitheater. Above the barely smoldering, not yet ignited logs of the fire a thin blue smoke was rising, clinging to the low hanging branches of spruce trees. Meanwhile the absolute silence was broken only by the crackling of the flames and the conversations of other soldiers in the distance. Sounds were barely audible, but were clearly perceived against the background of the peace: metal scraping - it meant that somewhere they were cleaning weapons, wiping rusty parts, lubricating mechanisms, rustling of cloth - around the corner someone was drying wet clothes, with a characteristic rustling of cloth, going over it with his hands trying to straighten, quiet snoring - a couple of soldiers were lying by the fire wrapped in their cloaks, trying to forget their sleep for a while.

There it was, that moment of safety and calm.

- "Sit down," you whisper a little gruffly, but with obvious care, gently setting your friend down on a moss-covered log. You sit down next to him, feeling the damp coolness of the wood soak into his overcoat. You add dryly, "I'll keep you warm.

While the amber light of the fire shone on your

your faces with your bodies letting the sparks fly upward, disappearing into the darkness of the unknown, and silence hung in the air, he began tiredly, holding the remnants of the bandage with the palm of his hand, "I've never seen you like this."

Turning your gaze on him involuntarily blinking, shaking off the ashes

that has settled in a thin layer on your eyelashes. The voice is almost inaudible over the crackling of the fire: "What do you mean?"

Of course, he can't say it in

out loud. Recognize the help, the act of caring. That's

that's how big the male ego is.

"Oh, get it. Then it's easier, much easier. You didn't need that. I can't even remember the last time you got into shit like this. Usually," you pause just long enough to take a full breath, which makes your tone much smoother, "it was you who had to save".

The sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, exposing his hazy features, his eyes unblinking, clinging to the only source of light, as if hypnotized by candor. A light chuckle doesn't take long to appear," "You're belittling yourself again.

"Not at all, just being sober."

The smile stretches wider under the dark green fabric of his balaclava, forming small, almost imperceptible rays in the crease at the corners of his mouth. The seemingly mischievous glint in his eyes lit up his entire face-even the shadows under the lower row of eyelashes that gave a haggard look seemed playful. With incomprehension you opened your mouth to ask a leading question, but he managed to get there first.

The movement was swift and abrupt, as if it were a last-ditch effort, so quickly you were pressed against his side, feeling his measured heartbeat thudding in your ear. The next words were devoid of any pomp, but there was nothing but sincerity in those whispered lines, "Thank you. For not leaving me."

Suddenly, you catch yourself already snuggled against him, wrapped in the flames baking your cheeks. knows what's going to happen next. Right now, everything's fine.