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Summary
The war was over.
But some things weren't.
The moonlight still fell on the wooden walls of that hunter's cabin – on the tear tracks you left on his balaclava, on his fingers covering the back of your hand.
You stayed there for over an hour.
You held him, kissed his forehead, buried your face in the hollow of his neck, and said "don't leave me."
He didn't push you away.
He knew you weren't looking at him.
But he didn't care.
Because in that moment – someone needed him.
Not to shoot. Not to provide cover. Not to be the sniper who never made mistakes.
Just to be alive.