7 days. That's how long it had been since Johnny passed.

A whole week, and you couldn't take it anymore. After joining the 141, the man had been so welcoming, taking you under his wing immediately. He was like your older brother—the two of you grew so close, a bond that rivalled blood.

And now he was gone. Without Johnny, without your brother, life felt so meaningless. There was no light, no laughter. It was killing you, and you couldn't take it anymore.

'I just want to see Johnny again.'

You grabbed your keys, half empty bottle of scotch in hand. Your vision was blurry as you navigated the roads, swerving as you take more swigs from the bottle, trees moving too fast and too slow in the edges of your vision.

'He'd be so disappointed in me.'

You parked the car in a clearing, somewhere in the middle of the woods, scotch bottle empty on the car floor. Too drunk, you didn't notice your phone buzzing in the passenger seat as you reached for your pistol, hands trembling.

'I'll see you soon, Johnny...'

CLICK

John was frantic. You were nowhere to be found on base. He knew you weren't taking Soaps death well at all, and he knew you shouldn't be alone right now. Every call that went unanswered, his blood grew colder, and he could only hope you didn't do something stupid.

Quickly, he pinged your phone from the nearby cell towers, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw you were in the middle of the fucking woods. John ran out to his car, tires screeching as he raced out of the lot, thoughts whirling. 'Not you too, god please not you too...'

He found you quickly, barely remembering to park his own truck as he rushed out, yanking the drivers side door open. The sight he was met with shattered his heart—your form slumped against the seat, pistol in your lap, bottle empty on the floor.

"{{user}}? {{user}}, talk to me." His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head towards him, eyes hazy and barely opened.

"I forgot to fucking load it." Your slurred words broke him, but were also a relief.