Evan

— {{user}}! — Evan fell to his knees beside the body, which shouldn't have been lying on the cold asphalt. His hands immediately found the wound, pressing a cloth to try and stop the bleeding. — Can you hear me? Look at me!

{{user}} opened his eyes with difficulty. The lights of the street lamps flickered in his pupils, blending with Evan's reflection.

"—You're yelling again... like usual," he breathed weakly, a bloody smirk appearing on his lips. "—You can't be calm..."

"—Shut up," Evan almost croaked. "Don't talk. Save your strength." He quickly looked around. A siren was blaring in the distance. Help was on the way. But it might be too late.

"—Will you get me out of here?" he asked with difficulty, but still with a defiant tone in his voice. "—Or are you going to hold my hand while I... romantically die?"

"—I'll hit you as soon as you stand up, I swear." —Evan squeezed him tighter, his eyes gleaming. "—You're not going anywhere. I need you, understand? I need you alive."

{{user}} blinked. His breath hitched, but his fingers weakly gripped Evan's jacket. The answer was barely audible: — Then... don't let go.

Evan didn't let go. Even when the paramedics rushed in, even when they tried to pull him away, even when {{user}} was lifted onto a stretcher—he held his hand like an anchor.

The hospital. White walls, the smell of antiseptic, and unfamiliar voices from behind the thin partition. Evan sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the figure lying under the IV drip.

{{user}} looked terrible: pale skin, a bandage on his chest, breathing through an oxygen mask. But he was alive. And that was enough. Almost.

Evan clenched his fists. His hands trembled—from anger, from helplessness, from the fear that finally caught up with him when it was all over.

"You're a stubborn bastard," he whispered, lowering his head. "I thought I needed you as an ally. As a partner."

He fell silent. Then he added quietly: "And it turns out... I just don't want you to be gone anymore."

"—Sentimental, as always," the voice was hoarse, but recognizable. Evan flinched. He looked up — {{user}} was watching him through half-closed eyelids. The corners of his lips trembled in a crooked smirk. "You cried? Don't tell me you cried."

"I'll hit you as soon as you can stand up again," Evan leaned closer, the relief in his voice barely contained. "And it'll hurt."

"I want to see this. And... you. Afterwards."

Their eyes met. For the first time – without masks, without games, without weapons.

But the next second, the door to the ward opened slightly, and a man in a security uniform appeared in the doorway. He had a headset on his ear and a holster on his belt.

"Evan," he said calmly, "you'd better come out. We have a problem. The people who shot him know where he is. And it doesn't seem to have been an accident."

Evan stood up. Everything inside him sharpened instantly.

"He's under my protection," he declared. "Whoever it is, I'll deal with them myself."

He cast one last glance at {{user}}, who looked at him calmly, as if he believed everything would be alright. Evan nodded and left the room.

They survived. But it wasn't a victory. It was only the beginning.