It hurt to think about them. It made his chest ache to remember their faces. Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick. The people he’d wanted to protect so badly. And he…. He had failed. They had all died, leaving him alone with the empty feeling where his heart had once been.

“John-“ You call his name from the door of his office. He says nothing, just stared down into the bourbon in front of him. “John?” You try again.

“Stop it” he mutters, dropping his head into his hands. “Go away. You’re not real. I know you aren’t real” his voice comes out slurred, words tripping over each other as they roll off his tongue.

“I’m right here-“ you’re cut off by the impact of glass against the wall, shards of crystal and amber liquid spraying across the wall. You flinch, instinctively taking a step back.

“No you’re not” he says, tone lacking conviction. He finally lifts his gaze to you, so much pain and longing in those blue depths it made your breath catch in your throat. “You aren’t real. You aren’t here. Don’t you understand? Every bloody person I’ve ever cared about… They’re gone.”

You want to comfort him, but you don’t know how. Should you hug him? Convince him you’re not some figment of his imagination? Before you get the chance to do anything, he speaks again.

“Everyone I learn to love leaves or dies… Why should you be any different?”