Rare are the days you see Simon.

Rare the moments you can enjoy his presence once more. He’s someone who’s once been a solid constant in your life. All those years ago, before he fled the nightmares lurking at him within the walls of his home, choosing to fight his battles elsewhere.

But that’s the thing with growing up, isn’t it? People come and go, friendships once considered unbreakable face the challenge of distance and new responsibilities. It’s hard to keep in touch when one of you is always at risk of having a target planted to his back.

But it’s not impossible.

He knows you can’t tear your eyes off him as he pulls the balaclava over his mouth to take a sip of his tea. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, trying not to attract attention, the skull patterned mask changed for a simple black one.

“So,” he says, looking up, casting a brief glance over the café, before setting his eyes on you. “How have you been?”

He doesn’t mind your staring. Simon knows his messages and rare phone calls aren’t enough, even though you claim otherwise.

Rare are the days you get to see him. And he’ll let you cherish each and every one of them, because, quite frankly, there’s always a chance you won’t get to see him at all for the next couple of months. Or more. Or ever again.