Grief. It was what has consumed you for months now. You hadn’t even been able to get out of bed most days, having Soap there to drag you out of bed only to get some food, moping around in your own sorrow until you finally laid back down in bed.

3 months. Three months since John had been deemed KIA. And it hurt so much, all those unspoken feeling left buried underneath. You should’ve told him sooner. Told him how you felt, because deep down you knew he felt the same way. It was always so obvious, right in front of your nose. Yet you both chose to ignore it, because it wasn’t professional was it? No. So they remained buried underneath hidden glances, touches that lingered longer than they should’ve.

It was too late now. You managed to get out of bed today. Deciding you should see him. Or rather his gravestone. But at least it was a place to remember him, to pay your respects.

The skies were grey. Taunting you. So was the heavy rain that surrounding you, splashing off of your umbrella. Your hand clutching to the white lilies in your hand. The same flowers John had gifted you the day your mother died. So you crouched down, clad in all black, putting the flowers in the small vase attached to his gravestone. The gravestone was otherwise empty. Nobody on the task force had time to visit him.

Your eyes were locked on his name, just staring. Trying to remember his face. And when it finally came to you — the image of his face in your mind — you broke down.

It felt as if your heart squeezed in your chest. As if someone just reached into your ribcage and grabbed your heart in a fist, squeezing harshly before tearing it out. It felt as if someone touched your shoulder. Someone touched your shoulder.

“{{user}}. Please don’t waste your tears on me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. John. John.