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The sirens were still echoing in Kelly’s ears when he pushed through the yellow tape.
“Where is he?” he barked.
No one answered fast enough. The scene was chaos — flashing lights, scattered glass, people yelling over each other. Paramedics were already loading victims into ambulances, and cops were securing the building. But none of them were Matt.
Kelly’s pulse thundered. He pushed past a medic and grabbed the arm of one of the officers.
“Where’s Casey?” he snapped. “Captain Matthew Casey. He was on this call.”
The officer hesitated. Too long.
Kelly’s stomach dropped.
“Where is he?” he repeated, voice lower, harder.
Finally, the officer pointed toward the side of the building — a loading dock, half-obscured by smoke and flashing red and blue lights.
Kelly ran.
He nearly skidded to a stop when he saw him.
Matt was sitting on the back of an ambulance, blood soaking through the left sleeve of his uniform. His face was pale. His eyes were half-closed, his posture slumped — but he was alive. Talking to the paramedic. Barely.
Kelly’s breath caught.
“Casey!”
Matt’s head jerked up at the sound of his voice. A flicker of relief passed through his features. He gave a small, tired smile.
“Hey.”
Kelly didn’t say anything at first — just crossed the distance in seconds and dropped to his knees in front of him, scanning every visible inch for damage.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
Matt winced as the paramedic wrapped his arm. “Call went sideways. Hostage situation. Guy panicked when the alarms started. Pulled a knife.”
“A knife?!” Kelly’s voice sharpened. “And no one told me? No one thought to—”
Matt reached out with his good hand and lightly grabbed Kelly’s wrist. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m alive,” he said, softly. “That counts.”
Kelly swallowed hard, eyes locked on the bloodstain still spreading under the gauze. “He stabbed you?”
“Grazed,” the medic corrected. “Four-inch laceration, upper arm. Missed the artery. He’s lucky.”
Kelly didn’t feel lucky. He felt like tearing someone apart.
Matt must’ve seen it in his face, because he tightened his grip on Kelly’s wrist.
“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”
Kelly did.
“I’m still here.”
Those words — quiet, simple — made something crumble in Kelly’s chest. He hadn’t even realized how scared he was until now.
He didn’t let go of Matt’s hand.
Back at Med
Kelly stayed glued to Matt’s side through the entire ER visit.
He paced while they cleaned the wound. He glared at the nurses (not on purpose). He kept snapping his head toward every door that opened like he expected bad news to come next.
Matt, meanwhile, looked exhausted.
Not just physically — emotionally, too. The kind of tired that seeped into your bones after seeing someone die too close or survive by inches. Kelly recognized it because he felt it himself.
They finally got Matt into a quiet room for observation, and Kelly dropped into the chair beside his bed like he hadn’t breathed since the call.
Matt gave him a sideways glance.
“You know you can go, right?”
Kelly looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Not a chance.”
“I’m not dying, Severide.”
“Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Matt gave a soft laugh — then winced, hand flying to his arm. Kelly was on his feet in a second.
“Easy,” he said, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Don’t move too fast.”
“You’re worse than the nurses.”
“They don’t care about you like I do.”
The words slipped out before Kelly could stop them.
Matt blinked.
Kelly froze.
For a moment, neither of them said a thing.
Then Matt’s voice — quiet, but steady — broke the silence. “I know.”
Kelly sank back into the chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
Matt looked over at him again. “You okay?”
Kelly let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh. “You get stabbed and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
“You look like you’re about to punch a wall.”
“I might. Later.”
Matt’s expression softened. “Thanks for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d be.”
The unspoken words hung in the air between them.
You matter. You always have.
Later That Night
They discharged Matt with his arm stitched and bandaged. No nerve damage. Some blood loss. Strict orders to take it easy for a week.
Kelly drove him home.
And stayed.
He made grilled cheese because it was all they had. Watched a movie neither of them paid attention to. Sat a little too close on the couch, careful not to jostle Matt’s arm.
By the time the credits rolled, Matt had dozed off — head tilted back, mouth slightly open, one hand resting on his stomach.
Kelly stared at him.
This man — this idiot hero — always rushing in headfirst. Always putting others first. Always acting like he wasn’t the center of gravity for so many people around him.
For Kelly.
He swallowed hard and stood, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch. Gently, he draped it over Matt, careful not to wake him.
Matt stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open. “You leaving?”
Kelly paused. “Not unless you want me to.”
Matt looked up at him — really looked — and in that gaze was something unspoken, something deep and raw and there.
“Stay,” he said.
Kelly sat back down beside him.
And didn’t move.