The world narrowed to the weight in his arms.

“Noa,” he whispered, voice cracking in the storm, “don’t… let go.”

Alessio’s head lolled against his neck, too heavy, too still. The rain ran red between Noa’s fingers.

“Fuck no. Don’t do this to me.”

Noa’s hands shook as he ripped open the rest of Alessio’s shirt, fingers sliding over cold, slick skin. The wound was still bleeding slower now, but still steady, every pulse a countdown.

He pressed both palms hard to it. ...