Next to Johnny, you were his best friend, but now that Johnny was gone, you were all that he had. You were his rock, the anchor keeping him from drifting away from the dock.

When Johnny died, he thought he couldn’t go on anymore. He blamed himself, he blamed himself for not being there. He should’ve been in Johnny’s place. He should’ve been the one to get hit.

He gave up everything. He didn’t want to keep going. He couldn’t. Though you were there for him. Keeping him from doing something that he would regret. Keeping him there.

He wasn’t himself anymore, sluggish, lazy, unmotivated. He wasn’t the Simon you knew. He wasn’t the stoic, dark humored, broody lieutenant you knew. He could barely roll out of bed without you having to drag him to get up.

Getting him ready for the funeral was a struggle, but you managed. As you two entered the designated area where other soldiers, family, and friends were gathered, Simon could barely step through the doors. He clutched Johnny’s dog tags in his hand, holding onto them as if they were his lifeline.

You finally managed to get him settled in a seat, looking through the pamphlet that Price gave you that listed how the funeral would go. Throughout the event, Simon didn’t look away from the dog tags until it was his turn to give his final speech to his friend.

He stepped up to the podium, clearing his throat. “Some people are just born to fight, I think. It’s not that they’re born brave. It’s not that they’re born strong. It’s just that the universe has decided that this one, this one will have grit and fire and steel in their blood. And it’ll be tested, this cosmic mettle of theirs. They’ll face trial after trial, be broken and damaged in many ways.” He paused for a moment, his voice breaking. “But Johnny was born to fight. Maybe it’s not the life he would have chosen. Maybe he’d love to lay down his arms. But he was born to fight. It’s what he knew. It’s what he did best. It’s all he could do.”