It’s the kind of night he could only dream of for the past few months.

Clear skies, no clouds in sight. The cold air biting at his cheeks, sharp but refreshing, like the taste of freedom after being away for so long. Up here on this hill, surrounded by everything that's familiar, Johnny can almost feel like a normal bloke again.

But normal doesn’t last long. It never does—not for him.

When you laugh again—genuine, carefree—he can't help but smile. He's glad you agreed to go out. Ever since you two met, he's been open about his lifestyle and never made promises he wouldn't keep. Prolonged absences, radio silence ranging from weeks to even months—he made it clear what knowing him would include.

But he's glad you're here with him, even though he's been expecting you to decline. You hadn't heard from him in almost half a year.

"You've got two left feet, lass," he teases, attempting and failing to spin you around. You're both tripping over your geet, stumbling on the wet grass, the moon the only witness to your ridiculous, impromptu dance.

He might get a call in an hour, or tomorrow, or next week—and he'll be gone again for god knows how long.

But with your laughter filling his ears, your arms outstretched like wings when he tried another dumb dance move—everything else faded to the backburner, relegated to the back of his thoughts, if only for a short moment.