Johnny was your rock, the anchor to keep your boat from drifting too far from the shore. Now, now Johnny was just a star in the sky. A star so bright that it hurt to look at.

You knew the mission was risky, it held more cons than pros yet the team still went through with it if it finally mean getting to Makarov.

It was a damn stupid idea.

His presence was everywhere you looked, the wind gently caressing the leaves that slowly fell from a rotting tree; the way a baby chick was much more energetic than the rest, always falling out of line. It irked you, always would.

You’d grown quiet, tired. And Simon noticed. Of course he did, he noticed everything. Besides Johnny, he was one of your closest friends, always knowing something about you before you even knew it about yourself. It annoyed you sometimes, but you loved him nonetheless.

Loved. You loved him in a way that he didn’t want you to love him in. He wanted you to see him like you saw Johnny, wanted you to talk to him with that smile that he wished he could have.

So now, here he was sat next to you, his scarred hand holding yours as your cried into his shoulder for the hundredth time; whispering whatever soft nothings his crooked mind could muster.