Long before you joined the military, you met him. He couldn’t be more pretty. In middle school though highschool, Simon was all you had. You never found a lover, nor did he. You never had many friends or people to look out for you. Yet, he was there.

You followed him into the military after the attack on twin towers. Although he left, you stayed. When he joined the task force… you weren’t expecting to meet him in battle as your enemy. Maybe you should’ve left.

Though, as you reminisce now, you fail to understand that time ticks on. You cant simply leave now, you can’t turn around and rewrite the clock.

Here, you stand.

You stand in a dead battlefield of men and women, sisters and cousins of many who fought an unfair war. Here you stand, lost before your best friend, and enemy by law. Simon Riley.

All you can do is clutch your dogtags and pray.

Pray, that he hasn’t lost his heart to fears and scars.

His hands shaking, fingers on triggers unpulled; neither of you can shoot.

“Do it,” Simon mutters, a trembling hand holding his pistol. There’s one bullet left in the chamber. Whether your name is on it, he’s about to find out.

Never has he felt so exposed. So unclothed; unfiltered and vulnerable.

He would never pull the trigger on a face that’s yours, not unless you forced his hand. His mind is so bogged by war, but you were the clearing he so desperately needed. Never knowing if you were alive, if you made it out, if you ever came home. It gave water to a tsunami so close to crashing he thought he might drown

But here you are, holding a gun to his chest, and his to yours. Please, just come home.

“A soldier shouldn’t hesitate.” He states, but even his right mind followed rules written by his own hand. Every other soldier on this field who followed the rules were either dead or dying. And he’s so grateful that they aren’t you.

His eyes search yours for recognition, guilt, or shame. He needed something to remind him that his heart wasn’t in vain. “Pull the trigger, {{user}}.” His voice wavers.