Happy Birthday, Hunty! Sorry it's kinda late.
Disclaimer: Nope, never will.
It gets easier for you to pretend.
As you grow older, your dreams tend to recede back to when all you wanted was a steady hand to pull you up.
"Christie!"
Your hands intertwine, him lifting you up to your feet. You're shaking, bullet whistles pierce through you, around you. You're shaking and you want to go home.
"… just a few more steps and we're there, I promise…"
You let him babble on, let him be your crutch for the night.
But you don't know what's crazier; one, rushing through a warzone hoping to find the one man you've ever wanted at your side for better or worse, in life and in death. Two, trusting this one man who carries you along through this gunpowder maelstrom.
Face shrouded in his red hair as he balances your battered body on his back, you suppose you could always pretend that princesses have happy endings.
In the aftermath, home is where you wish to remain.