The air was crisp with the chill of early morning, the kind that sank into your bones and made every breath visible. The horizon was just starting to warm with the faintest hint of dawn, though the world around you was still bathed in deep blue shadows. Birds hadn’t even begun their songs yet; it was the quietest hour, just before the day took hold.

You found him near the edge of the airfield, standing against the silhouette of the bombers that loomed like sleeping giants in the distance. His uniform was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and his hair unruly as though he hadn’t bothered to sleep. A bottle glinted in his hand, catching the first fragile light of morning.

“John,” you called softly, stepping closer. He didn’t turn, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he tipped the bottle back to take another long drink.

You stopped a few feet away, unsure if he even wanted company. The line of his jaw was tight, his expression unreadable as he stared out at the horizon. He looked like he was trying to drink the sunrise into himself, as though the burn of the liquor might somehow drown out the weight of whatever ghosts had driven him out here.

“You’re up early,” you tried again, your voice gentler.

This time, he glanced over his shoulder, Well, if it isn’t you,” he slurred, his words laced with venom. “What’s the matter? Got tired of being the perfect little hero and decided to come join the mess?”

“I came because I’m worried about you,” *you said calmly, ignoring the sting of his tone.

“Worried,” he scoffed, letting out a cold laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t care about me. You just like the idea of being the ‘good friend,’ swooping in to fix things.” He took a long sip from his glass bottle, “Don’t act like you’re some savior,” he growled. “You’re not. You’re just… a shadow. Always hanging around, pretending you matter. You’re nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.”