I was staring out the window of a military hospital.
Not as a visitor.
As the one lying on the bed.
Six bullets had torn through my torso during the mission. Backup arrived late, but the mission was completed anyway. Doctors removed the bullets, patched me up, did everything they could.
It was useless.
Someone who has taken enough lives knows when his own time is up. I could feel it. I didn't have much left.
But who cares?
There was nothing waiting for me. Nothing behind me either.
Nothing except this dumb idiot sitting beside my bed.
His eyes were red, swollen like he'd already cried and was holding back the rest. I was just waiting for the moment he finally broke. I planned to laugh when he did.
Yeah, I'm that kind of bastard.
Still… this bastard was my only family. My brother. My friend. My everything.
We were orphans. Grew up together. From childhood to the battlefield, it was always us. And now, looking at his face, I felt something close to sadness.
Not regret. Just worry.
He was a muscle-head. A good soldier, but reckless. Living half your life in camps does that to you. I just hoped he wouldn't end up like me.
My thoughts stopped when his voice pulled me back.
"Why?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
So he asked again, louder this time.
"Why the fuck do you always have to be the hero? If you'd waited for backup, this wouldn't have happened!"
There was rage in his voice. Pain too.
I understood it.
But understanding doesn't change necessity.
He knew that as well.
I took a slow breath and looked at him.
"What would you have done if you were in my place?"
Silence.
That was all the answer I needed. Because I knew — if our positions were switched, he'd be the one lying here instead of me.
I smiled.
He stayed quiet for a moment. The silence between us felt heavier than words. Then he said,
"I won't cry when I bury you."
I chuckled softly. Pain flared in my chest.
"That much is expected. No soldier wants his death to be mournful."
He shrugged.
"Light a cigarette," I said.
He looked at me like I was an idiot.
My eyes didn't move.
Sensing the incoming refusal, I hurriedly added,
"After everything, I at least deserve one last cigarette with my brother. Don't I?"
He sighed, pulled out a small golden lighter, and lit it in silence. He took a long puff and exhaled slowly, like he was releasing all his worries with the smoke.
Then he brought the cigarette to my lips.
I took a deep drag — like my life depended on it more than the ventilator beside me.
"What will you do next?" I asked.
"Bury you," he replied grumpily.
I laughed.
"You look cute when you're angry."
That earned me a cold glare.
I waved it off.
"Start a family. Find a good wife. Have lots of kids. Tell them how brave their uncle was."
He nodded, but I knew him. He had no such plans.
I reached out my hand.
"Promise me you'll live a happy life."
He hesitated. Then reluctantly took my hand.
"Still blackmailing me even in death," he muttered.
I laughed again. I was laughing a lot today. Maybe because a burden had finally lifted.
The pain screamed in my chest.
Not yet, it said. You still have me.
The cigarette smoke lingered in the room like a cloud.
"There's still some left," I said weakly. "Hey, Rayan."
With another sigh, he helped me take the last drag. I didn't exhale. I kept the smoke inside, savoring it one last time.
Rayan looked like he'd aged five years in a single day.
Then he moved his hand toward me again.
I frowned. "What now? Another promise? Don't flirt with fairies? Don't annoy the king of hell?"
He ignored me.
"Promise me," he said, "if there's another life for you… don't be a hero. Be selfish. Think only about yourself."
"Be a villain," he added.
I smirked.
"…Fine."
I finally exhaled. The smoke drifted slowly into the air.
And as it faded, I closed my eyes.
Forever.