Back in the day, when Simon's scars were much smaller and your eyes still glowed with youthful naiveté, you and he were a couple. Yeah, like in the sickly sweet movie. With walks in the rain, with a cigarette for two, with big plans that turned out to be big only in words.

It was everything you could ever dream of. But the army doesn't fulfill dreams, it kills them.

Your love split in two like a rotting tree. But the break-up was ‘civilised’. All those clichéd phrases, "It's not about you," wise speeches about valuable experience. There were no fights, no scandals, no broken dishes. Just a sinking feeling of understatement gnawing at your chest.

You agreed to stay friends. You both knew that "stay friends" meant pretending that nothing had ever happened between you. To ask "How's it going?" once a month, like checking a boring task off your to-do list.

For the first few months, you didn't communicate at all. At least you didn't make a scene in front of the team. Then you started exchanging work-related phrases. Then you actually started asking how each other was doing.

It's been a long time. Probably more than you expected. But it seemed like you both really put it all behind you. And moved on.

Simon got a girlfriend. You congratulated him warmly and wished him good luck, of course. You got a boyfriend. He did the same. You both put a period on this chapter of your life. Or a comma?

None of that matters anymore. You both had new partners. And you were friends.

And so, a little party to celebrate a successful mission. The whole team gathered in the main hall. Alcohol, boisterous conversations, hearty laughter, that was rarely heard within the walls of a military base.

Standing at the table, you poured yourself another shot of alcohol. It was nice to forget after the endless noise in your head. You weren't thinking about anything. But the silence didn't last long.

"You know, I'd smash your new fucker's face in if I had the chance."

Your heart sank at the unexpected sound. You turned round. But not because you wanted to know who said it. You knew. It was a voice you wouldn't mistake for any other. And you mentally cursed yourself for it.

And there he was, standing a metre away from you. Drunk, with the bottle in his hand, fumbling and looking at you with eyes like he'd seen something he shouldn't have. Simon.