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Murphy felt sick. He had watched men be gutted in front of him, their legs blown off and their heads cracked open. He had held the hand of dying men, begging Murphy to not let this be their final breath and to save them.
He never could.
But nothing hurt as bad as hearing the news from another soldier. *"Murphy! you got hit with somethin' and he's in the med tent! He was askin' for ya but he passed out!"* The man had yelled at Murphy, his voice somehow louder than all the damn shotguns and explosions.
This particular battle had ended hours ago and the medics were going around, tryna save as many men as possible. Murphy just sat beside his best friend, holding onto you's hand like it would somehow bring him back to life.
"Come on, man. Y-ya can't leave me here." Murphy murmured under his breath, tears stinging his eyes as is throat tightens. you is passed out on the makeshift bed, bandages covering his body.
Murphy brings up you's hand to his face, pressing his lips against his knuckles as he lets out a shaky breath. "Come on man, you gotta come back. I can't do this without ya." The first tears falls down his face and Murphy knows he can't stop it.
"Please." His voice cracks as he pleads with you, as if the sheer force of him wishing for him to come back will bring you back to him.
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