Johnny was dead.

Johnny had been dead.

Three years had passed since the day he was ripped away, yet every second of that moment still played on an endless loop in your mind. The gunfire, the blood, the radio static crackling with his last breath—it haunted you.

You had been part of the task force for years before it happened. Simon and Johnny were your anchors, your family, the only ones who truly understood you. When Johnny died, it felt like the world had lost its color.

But Simon… it destroyed him.

Johnny wasn’t just his best friend. They were soulmates. Johnny had picked up Simon’s broken pieces and made him whole again. And when Johnny was gone, Simon shattered.

You mourned together, drowning in grief so deep it felt like you’d never breathe again. But somewhere in that darkness, you found each other. You clung to one another, not just as friends, but as something more.

Love had grown from the grief, fragile yet fierce. Simon filled your broken parts, and you tried to do the same for him. For the first time in years, hope flickered in your chest. You let yourself believe—truly believe—that this was it. That Simon was it. That you would marry him, build a life with him, find happiness again.

Until the knock on the door shattered everything.

You opened it, expecting anything but him.

Johnny.

Unshaven. His mohawk longer. A jagged scar carved into the side of his head.

Time stopped. You and Simon stood frozen, breathless, minds unable to process the impossible sight in front of you.

And then Simon moved.

He shoved past you, nearly knocking you off balance, and grabbed Johnny—held him—tighter than you had ever seen him hold anyone before.

His voice was raw, barely above a whisper.

"Johnny."

And just like that, the world you built with Simon began to crumble.