holborn
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Simon.
His memories of Simon remained as frustrating as his trek and as dim as the light guiding him, but he could feel the man in his mind’s eye. Pieces of a man he could not picture in his head but could build up through bits and pieces: a strong clap on his shoulder; the faint smell of expensive cologne and something faintly dangerous and metallic, deep brown eyes on him from across the room… John had loved him, he thinks to himself, and it was the thought that this man might be on the other end of this trek that kept him walking despite his fatigue.
Suddenly, the figure paused. In the darkness, John could only see an even darker shadow colliding with the light that the figure had been carrying.
“Come back to me.” John heard, before everything faded into a deep black.