Simon hated talking about his feelings. It was just a fact of life, something you had gotten used to over the years. But you knew he missed Soap. There were good days and bad days and everything in between. Sometimes he would simply see something that reminded him of his late teammate, and the grief would hit him like a freight train, no matter how many years had passed. You also knew that one of his biggest regrets was that Soap hadn’t been there for any of the important things. Like getting engaged. Getting married. Having a baby who would never truly know how much her dad missed his best friend.

You hum softly as you work your way through the laundry basket, Simon watching whatever football team was playing that day.

“Dad?” your daughter pipes up, a thick leather bound album in her little hands as she wanders into the living room. “What’s this?”

He pauses briefly, gently taking the book from her. He stares down at the cover for a long moment, brushing his fingers along the spine of it. A long puff of air escapes his mouth when he finally opens it. Flipping to the first page, full of pictures. There were some of you and Simon. Some with Price and Gaz, a few of them with other people you’d met throughout your career. “Just a bunch of old photos” Simon tells her, but he doesn’t stop her from leaning into him, curiously peering at the faded images.

“And who’s that?” She points to a face that was wholly unfamiliar to her. Someone who had died long before she was born, eternally twenty-six years old. Tan skin, blue eyes, hair gelled into that stupid Mohawk you always told him to get rid of.

“That… Is Soap” He answers, a nostalgic look flickering across his features.

“He was my brother.”