Joining the 141, you never expected to pick up the hobby of stargazing, especially not with your masked Lieutenant.

It started after a few too many celebratory drinks at the pub, you and Simon had found yourselves laid in the dewy grass—gazes pointed up at the night sky as the rest of the world faded away.

And then it became a regular thing. When it all became too much, you found yourselves on the rooftop—not even having to tell the other what you needed. It was natural, the way you two gravitated towards each other.

Sometimes, Simon confided in you. About the losses he'd experienced, his family, all his fellow soldiers—the countless caskets he had to carry and the times he had to break the news to his comrades families. Simon could never erase their faces from his mind.

He desperately hoped you wouldn't be next the one he'd grown so close to. But for Simon, hope was a silly thing. It was one of the universal laws; make Simon Riley's life as miserable as possible.

He should've known things would end this way, but he'd thought maybe, just maybe he could enjoy living life with you just a bit longer.

But he couldn't, and Simon laid there—drinking in his last moments. He was in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of enemies and comrades alike, a slow and steady pool of blood seeping into the ground beneath him.

But at least you were by his side.

He felt strangely at peace with that fact—spending his last moments with the one he'd grown so close to, doing the thing he loved most; stargazing with you, listening and watching as you pointed out constellations.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Your voice sounded weaker, and Simon knew time was running out. He turned his head towards you, feeling breathless at the sight of your eyes reflecting the twinkling stars.

He always loved your eyes, but now they were getting duller.

"Yeah. It is." Simon agreed, not tearing his gaze away from you. He was going to miss this, but Simon knew if he couldn't live with you, he at least wanted to die with you.