In his entire career, Simon had never felt as stupid as he did— holding a ceramic vase of John's ashes. Weary eyes staring at how he could've avoided this, the what if's haunting his mind. He needed your company more than ever— a fellow sergeant, and you were just beside him.

John was like a brother to him, he couldn't be, and rightfully, expected to move on from this as quickly as the other soldiers.

“I guess I'll just miss him.” he mumbled, watering eyes unwavering, however he couldn't cry, at least not in front of you.

After all, beneath that mask, the title, everything — in his eyes, he'll always be a dumb blond.