It had been fifteen years.

Fifteen years since Simon Riley had last laid eyes on {{user}}. Back then, they had been just lads in uniform, training side by side, pushing each other past the breaking point, dragging one another through mud, blood, and fire. They had shared cigarettes on rooftops, half-whispered dreams in foxholes, whiskey on nights they couldn’t sleep.

Brothers in arms, yes — but both of them had always known it was more.

That drunken kiss, sloppy and desperate, had said the words they never did. And then the morning came. Orders tore them apart, sent {{user}} to another base. No real goodbye. Just distance. Just years.

Now Simon was back on base after a long debrief, bone-tired and half lost in thought as he stalked down one of the quieter hallways. Boots echoing against concrete, fluorescent lights buzzing faint overhead. He turned a corner — and froze.

There he was.

Older now, same as Simon. Shoulders broader, face marked with the kind of scars only war leaves behind, rank stitched sharp on his chest. But the eyes — those hadn’t changed. Dark, steady, familiar in a way that punched the air out of Simon’s lungs.

For a moment neither of them moved. The corridor stretched between them, heavy with fifteen years of silence. Simon felt his pulse slam against his ribs, harder than it had in firefights. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this, not after everything, not for a man. But Christ, he did.

Their eyes met.

Simon’s voice came low, rough, breaking the silence like a crack of gunfire:

“…Didn’t think I’d ever see ya again.”