Crimson streaks mixed with the water, trailing down his cheeks. Scars—fresh, raw, angry slashes—cut across his skin. His hands… his hands were smeared with blood, red against pale knuckles.
I stood frozen, gripping the staircase railing tighter. My vision blurred—not because of the dim light or the rain, but because tears had begun spilling uncontrollably from my eyes.
For a second, my mind betrayed me.
Julian… why are you here…?
But no—it wasn't him. This was June. The realization was sharp, immediate, like waking from a fogged dream.
And yet… I couldn't understand why I was crying so much, why sorrow twisted so fiercely inside my chest as I stood there, watching him so utterly broken.
"June…" I whispered, my voice trembling before I even fully realized I'd spoken.
He slowly lifted his gaze toward me, standing at the staircase halfway down. His dark, rain-soaked lashes framed those familiar eyes, eyes that had seen too much tonight. Droplets slid off his jacket in thin rivulets, pattering faintly against the wooden floor, mingling with the spreading stains.
"Hannah…" His voice was soft, almost tender, breaking the stillness like a fragile thread. "Why aren't you asleep?"
I didn't answer. I simply took the remaining steps down, one by one, until I stood right in front of him. Up close, the injuries were clearer—the deep cuts on his cheeks, the faint bruising beneath his skin, the small tremble in his fingers. I could barely hold myself together as I looked at him.
"Are you… okay?" I managed to ask, but my voice cracked, hoarse from restrained sobs I hadn't even noticed forming in my throat.
A heavy ache pressed down on me, sorrow curling through my bones as I stood there helpless, unable to do anything but stand in front of this broken, bleeding person.
He met my eyes. The way he looked at me—raw, unguarded, almost grateful—sent another wave of grief through me. It was the kind of gaze that reached straight into my heart, past all my defenses, past logic, straight into something wordless and aching.
The last memory I could recall—if this was a dream—was of him saving me. Soldiers surrounding me, dragging me away, and then June, appearing like a ghost through smoke and violence, pulling me out. That felt like yesterday. But now… now it felt as if time had passed even here, in this strange, stitched-together world of dreams and memories.
"Hannah," he murmured gently, "go upstairs. I'm all right."
I shook my head.
"No…" The word left my lips barely audible. "I'll help you with your scars."
For a moment, a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the sharpness of the bruises and cuts. It was weak but genuine, and it nearly shattered me.
Without a word, we began climbing the stairs again, side by side. I went ahead, knowing he was struggling, feeling each slow, uneven step behind me. I wanted to look back—to see how badly he was hurt—but I kept my gaze forward, not trusting myself not to cry harder if I saw his face again.
We reached the dining room, its quiet familiarity somehow distant now, a thin veil over reality. I rummaged through the shelf until I found the first aid kit, placing it gently on the table.
He sat down slowly, wincing slightly, and I took the seat across from him. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.
"Your cheeks… and your hands…" My voice was barely above a whisper as I glanced at the cuts, forcing myself to keep my touch steady. "Is this all?"
A faint smirk appeared again on his lips, worn but still playful.
Without a word, he pulled up his left pant leg, revealing a deeper, angrier wound stretching from his elbow down toward his shin. Blood welled there, darker, heavier, staining the fabric.
"This is all," he said, as if it were nothing—like he was telling me it might rain tomorrow, or that the tea was still warm.
"…"
I couldn't say anything. My throat felt locked, knotted with too many emotions pressing at once. I really… couldn't.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the antiseptic and ointment from the first aid kit, my fingers fumbling with the cap.
"You said you wouldn't go near the soldiers today… or anywhere they'd already been," I finally managed, my voice hoarse, wavering. "Then how… did you get this hurt?"
June gave a soft chuckle, barely audible, as if laughing might hurt too.
"I didn't plan to," he admitted, his tone carrying that familiar self-deprecating warmth, "but when I saw those children… they were roped up in the basement. I couldn't just walk away."
I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. "And…?"
"I got them out. Took them back to their towns." His eyes softened, almost wistful. "Their parents were waiting for them."
I swallowed again, pressing my lips together tightly. My heart squeezed at his words, equal parts sorrow and relief swirling through me.
"That's… that's a relief," I whispered, focusing hard on the movements of my hands.
I gently dabbed the antiseptic onto the cuts on his left hand, watching the red smear and thin trails of diluted blood curl away with the liquid.
Parents…
The word hit differently. Their parents waiting, reuniting with their children—that image alone made my throat burn. And suddenly, without warning, memories of my own parents crept up like shadows at the edge of my mind. I imagined their faces, blurred by time, and wondered where they might be now. If they were alive. If they remembered me. If they missed me as much as I missed them.
Tears welled again, but I clenched my jaw, willing them to stay hidden. I couldn't let them fall. Not now. I needed to stay steady, just for this moment, just to take care of him.
Silence wrapped around us after that, thick but not uncomfortable. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic cracking of the fire burning steadily in the stove, casting a flickering orange glow across the room.
But even through the silence, I felt him watching me—really watching me—with that gentle, steady gaze that always saw far too much. Even though I didn't lift my eyes to meet his, I could feel his presence like warmth pressing against cold skin, steady and unrelenting.
And then his voice, quiet and careful, broke through the stillness.
"Do you… miss your family, Hannah?"
I froze for just a second. The question, so gentle yet piercing, landed right in the softest place of me. I let out a slow breath, forcing calm into my voice.
"I'm pretty sure they're doing all right," I murmured. "Somewhere."
Finally, I lifted my eyes to his, and the space between us shifted—charged, intimate, raw. The light from the fire danced in his gaze, those deep, beautiful eyes reflecting nothing but sincerity.
"I'll see them one day," I added softly, managing a faint grin before looking back down, moving carefully to tend to his other hand.
June leaned back slightly, considering me, and then spoke again, voice low but firm. "I've heard people are taking refuge down south. In the safer camps. I could go… I could find them for you."
My head shot up instantly, my voice sharper than I intended. "No. Don't do that." I shook my head, determination burning in my chest. "It's dangerous between here and the southern camps. You could get caught—or worse. I won't have that on my conscience. What if you—what if you don't make it back?"
He didn't flinch. If anything, a soft, amused breath of laughter escaped him, as though I'd said something adorably naïve. "I wouldn't get caught," he said, almost teasingly.
I looked up sharply, frustration swirling with fear.
"How can you be so sure?" My voice cracked, betraying me. "Do you even know… how much I worry…?" I stopped myself, teeth catching my lower lip, but the words were already slipping through, too honest to stop now. "Do you know how much I worry every time you go out there?"
His grin turned tender, almost apologetic. He tilted his head, eyes fixed on me with that steady, maddening warmth.
"But I always come back," he murmured softly, his voice slightly muffled, like the words themselves were vulnerable, like they were only meant for me.
I lifted my head slightly and began working carefully on the fresh scars on his cheeks. Our faces were close—too close—and I could feel his steady gaze resting on me, intense and unblinking. As I gently rubbed the antiseptic over the reddened skin, he squinted slightly at the sting. I softened my touch, coaxing the ointment across the raw patches with as much tenderness as I could manage.
My heart quickened, pounding in my chest like a wild drumbeat. The proximity between us was electric; his eyes, dark and fathomless, held mine in a way that made everything else fade away.
"I just want my family to know…" I whispered, meeting his gaze with a quiet smile, "that I'm with really good people now—so they don't have to worry about me."
A small grin curved his lips, and he nodded in understanding.
For a moment, I hesitated, then let the thought I'd been holding back slip out. "So… I was thinking. Since you, Angela, and Albert all go out to rescue trapped people, maybe I should get trained too. I want to help. I want to join you."
June looked at me and let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
"No, you stay here, Hannah," he said in a low voice, the hint of amusement barely hiding the disbelief.
But I was serious. "I mean it. I want to be useful—to help you all." I kept my hands steady as I applied ointment to his cheeks, but I felt the heat rise in my face. His gaze was unwavering and so very deep. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed by how close we were.
"I don't want to lose anyone."