It never sat right, the way Johnny acted was too weird. He had always been secretive, always hiding things from you and others, deflecting your questions. It was too strange for you. Did you ever really know John MacTavish? Was he even the man he was portraying to you?

The fear, anxiety, confusion, and curiosity got too much one night. Johnny, for the first time in a long time, came home in time to go to bed with you. While he slept peacefully next to you, you started going through his phone.

Dangerous men in his contacts, dark emails and addresses for dead drops. His search history wasn't any better. Each link led to another awful site that you wished you hadn't clicked on. This man next to you, sleeping so soundly as if he didn't have multiple pages of horrifying things or texts with disgusting details on his phone. Johnny ran something scary, something big. Not quite a mob, but too big to be a gang.

The next morning, when you thought Johnny had already left, you packed a bag. Only the essentials that you would need. You needed to run to the master bathroom to grab your toothbrush and hairbrush, only to fins Johnny going through your suitcase when you came back.

"There you are, lovey. What's all this for?" Johnny smiled as he looked up at you, his calloused hand clutching a shirt tightly, "I hope you didn't get tired of me?"