Chapter Text
It was on a cold night like this many years ago.
Like back then, you’d go home late after clocking out of your shift at a nearby cafe. While for him, as a butcher boy, closing and clean-up usually end at 8 in the evening, which means Simon has an hour to wait for you. And around nine or so, you were finally out, and you greet him with an apologetic smile.
“Thank you for waiting for me Simon. I truly appreciate your help,” you opened your purse, giving him a small paper bag. “There were some leftover cookies— chocolate chips— and I wanted to reward you for your effort. As thanks.”
‘You don’t have to give me anything,’ he wanted to say. But he held back his tongue since he knew how you didn’t like it when he rejected your gifts. He didn’t want to see you with a pouting face all the way home. Even if you’d look quite adorable, he had to hold himself back.
He settled with a simple ‘thank you' instead.
On cold nights like these, he’d walk you home for your safety, since there was an increase in crime. Not just in England, but in the world in general. It was becoming unsafe (always was) but now it was more prevalent than ever. He had to protect the people he cared for—his mom, his brother, and his childhood friend— from bigger than the average threats, and more so on an international level.
He felt a tug at his wrist, and his eyes looked down to meet yours.
“You’re in deep thought. What’s the matter? You don’t like cookies? You can give them to your mom if you don’t like them. I’ll give you hot tea next time.”
He pulled away from your incessant tugs, “Though tea would be better, it isn't that.”
“Then what is it? I’ve been calling your name for over two blocks now. Could you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“The world’s becoming more dangerous—“
“Yeah, that’s why I asked if you could take me home with you,” you cut in.
“—so I was thinking about joining the Army,” he confessed, it felt like a weight was taken off his shoulders. You were the first person he ever told. You were wise. And he needed insight about it since he’d expect his mother to stop him out of fear for his well-being. As for his brother… well he’s not in the state to give good advice.
As expected, you were silent from deep thought. And not a minute more you finally said something to him. “Is this what you truly want?”
He nodded.
“You’ve done your research about it? The training, the duties, and how your mother would react?”
“I have my papers ready. I just needed to wait for the opening application date. And as for my mother…” he scratched the back of his neck, “I was actually expecting you to help me with that.”
You gave him a small chuckle, “A man who’s ready to die but isn’t ready to face his own mother? You’re a good man. You’ll fit right in the military well.”
He looked at you, both offended and confused. “What do you know about the military?”
“More than you honestly,” you whispered in a hushed tone, tiptoeing closer to his ears, afraid that anyone but him knew. “You have a good heart and character, and you’re good with your hands. You fit right in!”
“You think so?”
“Trust me, Simon. I know you well enough. Just never lose sight of your goals. There’s a difference between those people with or without them.” You smiled at him, then proceeded to talk about each of your futures on the remaining way home. At his guilty pleasure, he’d walk slower since you weren’t rushing home. The nights he had with you under the same sky were numbered. And he’ll take everything from the remaining time he had with you.He knew he couldn’t do this again since he will be on duty.
Even when he came back, you had moved away and he hadn’t heard from you since. No permanents farewells, nothing. He was truly saddened by it at first, but life went on. Despite the distance, he still took your advice to heart as he reminisced about the nights he shared with you. Even if it meant losing you in the process, he didn’t regret his choice on enlisting.
Many years down the line— after his training, enlistment, and Roba— he rarely indulged himself in tokens from the past. He always drank the night away, but a familiar place caught his attention so he chose to spend it there instead, but only until nine in the evening.
The black coffee tasted the same as it did with other shops, but the cookies didn’t share the familiar taste it had from back then, even if it was the same shop from long ago. It could possibly be because the recipe changed after all these years, or maybe (and he says this with a fraction of melancholic feeling) sweets always tasted better when you were there.
Bloody hell. As if it could. What was wrong with him? Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought he was, before entering the store. He decided to get out. From his experience, good memories gave him a migraine and nightmares, so he tried to leave as soon as he could. He rushed into the door, but something bumped into him on his way out.
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going!” the person apologized, their voice sounded intimate to him.
Ghost had to stop himself from staring at them. The person reminded him of the friend he missed from a long time ago. No. He’s sure. He could never forget you. But he couldn’t believe how you were alive— the last remaining kindness from his past— and meeting him again in a place he waited for you back then.
He felt a tug at his wrist. Their actions were all too familiar. It was like a replay of the cold nights he had lost from his distant past.
“What’s the matter? Are you alright, sir?”
He nodded, still speechless from his sudden meeting. “I am… I’m sorry but are you…” he hesitated. He was afraid that if he said your name aloud, you’ll vanish like in the dreams he had of you before. He whispered a name to them, in a voice so quiet against a reality so fragile.
“Yes, I am. Do I know you?”
“It’s me,” he felt a new weight pressing on his chest, “Simon. Simon Riley.”