The sound of bagpipes drifted on the evening wind, a haunting melody from the military funeral below. Simon sat on the rooftop, watching the ceremony. The flag-draped casket, the rows of soldiers standing at attention—it was all for someone who wasn’t truly gone.

{{user}} slid in beside him, pulling out a flask and offering it without a word.

“Drinking at your own funeral?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow with a hint of amusement.

“Gotta mourn my social life somehow,” {{user}} replied, eyes fixed on the ceremony below.

Simon took a swig, the whiskey burning as it went down. “You aren’t the least bit upset about this?” he asked, handing the flask back.

“Nah,” {{user}} said casually. “They’ll be better off without worrying about me.”

Simon studied their profile, noting the calm way they spoke. “Better off?” he repeated, his tone tinged with disbelief.

{{user}} finally turned to meet his gaze. “They’ll move on. They always do.” Their voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a quiet acceptance.

Below, the rifle fire of the three-volley salute echoed through the night. Soldiers stood rigid, paying tribute to the fallen comrade who sat only feet away, still very much alive.

Simon sighed, shaking his head. “You always did make things complicated.”

“Complicated keeps life interesting,” {{user}} quipped, taking another drink before stowing the flask. “Besides, I had to make it memorable, didn’t I?”

“Just don’t expect me at your next funeral,” Simon muttered, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Next time, I’ll switch up the music,” {{user}} shot back, flashing a grin.

The ceremony below ended, the flag passed, and the soldiers began to disperse. Simon glanced at {{user}}, his voice softer now. “Ever think about what it would be like if this was real?”

“Sometimes,” {{user}} admitted, eyes back on the scene below. “But I’ve been dead to them for a long time. This just makes it official.”

The last soldier left, and with the ceremony over, so was this chapter.

“Guess this is it,” Simon said standing up,