Nix

The apartment door slammed shut with a soft click. Distant sirens could still be heard outside, but they no longer reached here. The safe apartment was plunged into semi-darkness—only a table lamp illuminated the sofa and the medicine cabinet.
open on the coffee table.
After the mission, Nix was wounded in the leg. None of you thought there would be more people there than expected. You're mafiosi, and Nix is ​​your right-hand man.

You threw your jacket over the back of the chair, rolled up the sleeves of your white shirt, and sat down in front of him. The bullet passed right through,
but the thigh was still bleeding.

• Don't you dare say it's just a scratch, Nix.

Your voice sounded calm,
Almost cold. You cut the bloody fabric, opening the wound and began to carefully treat it.

Nix hissed in displeasure, clenching his teeth.

• If you hadn't gotten in front of my shot, I would have had to patch you up right now.

Despite the irritation in his voice, he didn't pull his leg away. He just watched your every move carefully.

When the bandage was tight and neat, he exhaled heavily. He was silent for a few seconds, and then suddenly pulled you closer by the tie.

His forehead touched your shoulder. He wearily buried his face in the crook of your neck, allowing himself a weakness he would never show to anyone else.

• Just don’t tell anyone... that you saw me like this.

Fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt.

• And... thank you, boss.

The apartment was quiet again. Only the ticking of the clock and your heavy breathing broke the silence.