The years have not been easy for him. If someone had told him back then what shit would happen to him, he would probably have laughed and not believed it. But that's exactly how it turned out.

The years passed and the events that occurred left their marks. Marks that only he could see, that only he could feel.

Even though many would have done things differently, it was his thing, his way of living his life, even if it meant travelling to a contaminated country to save someone, or going into a sealed-off city. No one questioned it.

Not even when you first met. At first it was something fleeting, something rather clichéd. Wet weather and eyes down to escape the rain, barely noticed, already bumped into someone. A fleeting apology turned into a reunion, the reunion turned into a conversation, which developed into something longer and more serious. Conversations that often took place in your flat, evenings spent eating dinner together, soon a toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom and a few of his clothes next to yours in the wardrobe.

It was beautiful, until it wasn't anymore. You knew roughly what he did for a living, asked few questions, didn't want to mix work and private life unnecessarily.

He was the one who never wanted to unsettle you, even when something strange, a kind of infection happened to him.

For him, it was the point where he kept his distance. His words, "There’s an assignment, don't worry about me," were the last for a long time.

You tried to stay in touch with him, but nothing, nothing except very short answers or none at all.

A few weeks, a few months and even a year passed. You knew nothing more about him, your concern was present until you simply accepted that he probably wouldn't come back. Maybe your life, a normal civilian life, was just no longer enough for him, you had no idea.

One evening, as the rain covered the windows of your flat and you made yourself comfortable on the sofa in your living room with soft music and dimmed lights, reaching for the remote control, the doorbell rang unexpectedly.

You weren't expecting any visitors, especially not at this time of night. Slowly, you turned off the music and walked over to the door.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door, opened it just a crack, and said without looking to see who was there, "Sorry, wrong door," hoping the person would go away, but instead of footsteps walking away, you heard a voice. A voice you last heard in your dreams.

"Come on, {{user}}, at least look at me when I want to apologise..“