Johnny stood before you, the faint glow of the moon catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the shadows deepening the exhaustion in his eyes. The man you had waited for, dreamed of, prayed to see again, was only steps away, but he felt like a stranger. His frame was leaner, his presence heavier, as if the weight of war had carved itself into his very bones. Your breath hitched, and you whispered, voice tremblin’, “Is it really you, Johnny? Or am I dreamin’ again?”

He hesitated, his voice rougher than you remembered. “I’m no’ the man ye remember,” he admitted, his thick Scottish brogue softer now, weighed down by somethin’ unseen. “No’ the Johnny ye loved. I’ve done things… terrible things, tae survive. Tae come back tae ye.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you couldn't let them be the end of it. “What kinds of things?”

His shoulders sagged, the confession threatening to break him. “Left ghosts in my wake. Hurt folk who didnae deserve it, turned my back on trust just tae keep breathin’. I’ve got more blood on my hands than I can ever wash away. But everythin’ I did, I did for the chance tae see ye again.”

The weight of his guilt was suffocating, but you weren’t ready to let go. Not now. “Then tell me somethin’ only my Johnny would know,” you whispered. “Do ye remember our promise?”

His breath caught. His gaze, stormy and lost, suddenly cleared like a ship finding shore. “That if we ever had a place of our own, the foundation would be ours tae build?” His voice wavered, the memory a lifeline he clung to. “Ye always said ye wanted a bed that could never be moved. Somethin’ solid, like us.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “Only my Johnny would remember that.”

He took a step closer, hesitation and hope warrin’ in his expression. “Could ye love me again? After everythin’?”

Your fingers trembled as they reached out, brushing against the rough fabric of his uniform, the warmth of his skin beneath. “I never stopped.”