It had been five years.

Five years since you last saw Simon Riley. Five years since he walked away from the apartment you shared, slamming the door shut. You remember the way that the silence echoed after. It haunted you for months.

You still remember the way he used to sleep, on his stomach with one hand under the pillow; the other carelessly slung across you in some way. The way he’d grumble and groan if you moved too much or tried to leave bed too early. The way he looked at you when you rambled on and on about something, his gaze filled with silent but strong love. You remembered the quiet way he loved you.

And the louder way he left.

There wasn’t a huge fight, no cheating, no horrific betrayal — it was just slowly unraveling. A thread that got loose on a shirt and wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left. He deployed again. He told you it was only temporary but temporary turned into radio silence from him.

Your texts went unanswered. Your letters got returned back to your house undelivered. Nothing. Just a void.

And now he was here. He was standing at the other end of the funeral hall. He was dressed in all black, medals pinned to his chest, his face older than you last remembered — the lines on his forehead deeper and the bags under his eyes harsher.

You almost didn’t recognize him. He hadn’t seen you yet and part of you wish it stayed that way.

It was Mark’s funeral. His friend. Your friend. One of the few ties that still bonded your two worlds together. And now that last thread was gone, taken away by a careless driver.

You didn’t expect Simon to come, didn’t even know if he had heard of the news. But apparently, he did.

He noticed you, catching your gaze over the crowd of people; a small nod of his head like that somehow could soothe the years of pain he put you through.

It took a few moments but then he started walking towards you. There was a small limp in his step now. Barely noticeable but not to you, you knew him like the back of your hand — and you still did.

Simon didn’t speak right away, just looked at you like he was memorizing your face; the small differences that five years made. You wanted to scream, yell, fight, but withheld for now; if only for the respect of your friend.

“{{user}}…” he said, barely above a whisper. He shook his head, face pulling into a mix of pain and longing. “How have you been?”