Your boyfriend Kyle just came home from a four month long mission, when he opened the door to your shared home he looked devastated. Despite him probably not wanting to admit it to not ruin his manly ego, you could tell that he had been crying.

“He’s gone.” Kyle sniffled, shaking his head as he tried to suppress his tears.

You were confused, who’s gone?

“Johnny, he’s gone, he’s dead.” Kyle said shakily, his bottom lip quivering.

Kyle sighed deeply and hugged you tightly, buying his face into the crook of your neck.

“He got shot, shot in the fuckin’ head by Makarov. It wasn’t supposed to happen, it was never supped to bloody happen.” Kyle sobbed quietly, holding onto you as if it was the last hug you two would ever share.

You knew him and Johnny were good friends, Kyle had talked a lot about him. Making fun of Johnny’s mohawk, telling you how good of a soldier Johnny was.