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The warm breeze whisked through the trees, ruffling the leaves from their perched branches. He felt the soft wind dust along his cheeks, cooling his heated skin. Spring had arrived, covering the world in brilliant pastels of petals. He’d escaped to the Scottish countryside in his retirement, content to hide away from the rest of the world as he lived out his last few years. War had changed him, dimming the bright sparkle in his eyes and etching deep furrow lines in his skin. Still, he was content in his solitude.
“Johnny, you out here?” His voice was gentle but rough simultaneously; vocal cords eroded from years of yelling at recruits and over the echoes of gunshots. “I’m here, Si.” The Scotsman felt arms envelop him in a tender embrace, encasing his back. He relaxed into the figure, the sense of calm flooding his system. He was old now, his hair long since turned grey and his joints stiff. He couldn’t be older than sixty last time he’d checked, but he felt as though he was reaching his nineties.
He’d been retired for almost fifteen years now, though his mind was still fractured from what he’d seen. “Are you coming back inside, love?” A loving kiss was placed on his cheek, reheating his cooled flesh. “In a moment, I’m enjoying the fresh air.” The figure slid beside him, placing a head on his shoulder. “Mind if I join you?” He turned his head to gaze at the man beside him.
Simon hadn’t aged a day, still wearing that familiar skull mask but dressed down into fatigues. “How come you still look so beautiful while I turn into this bag of bones?” Johnny joked, giggling quietly, when the former lieutenant leaned over and gently kissed his forehead. “I did tell you I was quite the opposite. Guess that still applies even now.” He shook his head fondly at the English man, unable to hide the adoring gaze from his eyes. “We should call Price today, check up on the old man.”
“Johnny, you know he’s…” The man’s eyes grew sad, and John’s eyes widened briefly, returning to look at the flowers. “Aye… I guess I forgot.” He found his memory slipping more often these days, unable to recall where he’d placed something he’d just had in his hands or what year it was. He felt as though he had just spoken with his former captain a few days ago, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that wasn’t true. “Come on, love. You should eat something; it’s been a while.”
“You’re probably right.” They both stood up, the old sergeant’s bones cracking and popping. They clambered back inside, Johnny moving towards the kitchen to rummage around for scraps. “I need to go to the store.” He glanced over at his calendar he kept on the wall, finding he’d been telling himself that for two weeks now. “I really am forgetful these days.” Simon smiled gently under the mask, standing off to the side to watch him. “It’s alright; I’m here to remind you.”
“Would you like some tea, mo chridhe?” Ghost hummed quietly, nodding his head softly. The atmosphere was peaceful and calm, so different from their lives before. It felt like centuries since they’d fought alongside each other, and in some ways, it indeed was. Johnny moved over to the stove, putting on the old kettle and allowing the pot time to boil. “Could you put on some music? It’s too quiet around here.” He heard the man’s footsteps retreating, moving to their old radio to find a station. He shifted through many before settling on one, the tender melody of a piano ringing through the home.
“Did you ever think we’d get this far?”
“No, can’t say I did.” Ghost commented, his voice barely above a whisper as he moved back to stand beside him. The kettle was now boiling, and he quickly took it off the flame, pouring the scalding liquid into a mug for the other. “Thank you, love.” The lieutenant took the cup into his hands and sipped on the beverage. “Careful not to burn yourself, mo leannan.” Something about the words made his heart ache; perhaps he was having some palpitations again.
He poured himself his own cup and sat on the counter across from the man. “Do you ever miss it?” The Brit raised a brow, confused about what he was asking. “The military; the action, the camaraderie, you know?” Ghost looked away for a moment, pondering the words. “No, but I do miss spending time with you.” His eyes were sad and misty, puzzling the former sergeant. “We’re together all the time, you eejit.” He had a dorky smile on his face, one that Ghost had been so fond of.
Ghost chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I know, but it's different now. We no longer have the same obligations or duties. It's just… quiet." Johnny sipped on his tea, feeling the warmth spread through his body, listening to his lover speak. "I wouldn't trade this for anything. Being able to spend my days with you in this peaceful place." He smiled, a softness in his eyes as he gazed at the man across from him.
"I feel the same way, mo leannan. It's been a long journey, but I'm grateful we made it through together." He took a sip of his tea, the flavor soothing and familiar. Simon grinned, the mask covering his face but still showing the adoration in his eyes. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the Scotsman's lips. The mask was in the way, but Johnny always liked its roughness on his skin. “How I wish that were true, love.” Once more, the man was confused by his lover’s words, something prodding at his mind—a memory of some kind that he refused to allow to the surface.
As they finished their tea, the piano's gentle melody still playing in the background, Ghost's eyes fell on the calendar hanging on the wall. He noticed a date circled in red, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Johnny, what's the significance of May 8th?" he asked, pointing to the date. The old soldier's eyes flicked over to the calendar before returning to his tea. "Hmm, I can't recall. Maybe it's just an old habit of mine to circle dates like that." Ghost nodded, not pushing the subject any further.
However, Johnny couldn't shake the feeling that there was something significant about that date. It left his stomach turning and his eyes watery, though he had no idea why. He needed a distraction, anything to erase the feeling of dread from him. “Care to dance, mo chridhe?” A chuckle echoed through the small kitchen as Ghost’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You know I don’t know how to dance, Johnny.”
“Aye, that may be true, but it’s never too late to learn.” Johnny stood up from the table and held out his hand to Ghost. The older man's eyes were warm and inviting, and Ghost could not resist. He placed his hand in Johnny's, allowing the former sergeant to feel his rough calluses against his skin. Johnny led him to the small space between the kitchen counter and the refrigerator, where they could sway to the music in relative privacy.
Ghost initially moved awkwardly, unsure of what to do with his hands or how to move his body. But slowly, the two men moved in sync, the song's rhythm flowing over them. They moved together slowly, gently, their bodies close but not quite touching. For a moment, the world outside their little kitchen disappeared. There was only the soft glow of the sun outside, the gentle piano music, and the warmth of Simon’s embrace. It was as if time had stood still, and they were the only two people in the world.
As the song ended, Simon leaned into Johnny’s ear and whispered, "I love you, Johnny." The former sergeant felt a lump form in his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to say the words in return. Something about them sounded too raw, too desperate in tone to be for this moment. It was almost like it was from another time, replaying in his mind. Instead, he pulled the other closer, resting his head on the older man's chest and letting his body talk.
They stood there in silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying each other's company and their closeness. Johnny couldn’t feel the steady beat of Simon’s heart against his cheek, and he felt his stomach twist and his chest burn. Finally, he spoke, breaking the peaceful silence between them. "I know I didn’t say it back, but I love you too, mo leannan," he said softly.
Ghost lifted his head from Johnny's chest and looked up at him, a soft smile on his lips. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I knew you did." Johnny’s throat bubbled with ugly sobs, his heart crumbling. The smell of smoke and the scorching of fire encased his mind, the memories breaking past his carefully crafted walls. Firm arms wrapped around him, but they didn’t hold the same comfort this time. They were cold and stiff, keeping him in place rather than grounding him. “I’m sorry, Simon. I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Johnny. You didn’t know.”
Johnny shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "I should have known," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I should have seen the signs. I should have done something." Simon pulled away slightly and looked into Johnny's eyes. "You couldn't have known, Johnny. He had everyone fooled.” Sobs echoed through the quiet home; the radio wasn’t playing anymore. Perhaps it had never been turned on in the first place. Simon’s mug of tea sat untouched on the counter, completely full and the beverage cold.
"Listen to me, Johnny. You can't blame yourself for something you had no control over. You're not responsible for what happened that day." Johnny looked up at Simon, his eyes red and puffy. "I feel like a failure. I couldn't save you, and now..." he said, his voice trembling. He knew the man before him wasn’t real, merely a horrible hallucination his lonely mind had created to ease some of the aches in his soul. It served him no comfort now, only reminding him of what he’d lost.
Now he knew why all of the little reminders had confused him, his mind allowing a moment of clarity. May 8th, the day Simon Riley was declared KIA after their general, Shepherd, had betrayed the force. Price had discovered his body, burned and shot after he didn’t radio in after his mission. All Johnny had been left with here his dog tags. The sergeant was declared unfit to serve a few months after, his psych evaluation revealed that he’d become too violent and dangerous to continue fighting. They’d honorably discharged him, causing the now-former sergeant to move far away into the countryside, where no one would find him. That had been years ago, his mind slowly breaking and fracturing as the months passed.
“I’m so sorry, Simon.” He whispered, but when he looked up, the lieutenant was gone as though he’d never been there in the first place. Johnny sat there for a while longer, staring off into space as he tried to process everything. He couldn’t forget about eh lieutenant; he wouldn’t allow himself. He just needed to remember this one thing; he didn't care if he forgot everything else.
He couldn’t forget about Simon.
Johnny stood up from his spot on the floor with a heavy heart. The memories of that day flooded back, vivid and painful. The smell of burning buildings and the sound of gunfire echoed in his mind. He could feel the weight of his guilt bearing down on him, threatening to suffocate him. Standing in the kitchen, he noticed the cold mug of tea on the counter. Simon had never taken a sip of it. Johnny couldn't help but grow more saddened at the thought of him not being able to enjoy a hot cup of tea. He picked up the mug and emptied it out to the sink before rinsing it clean.
It was then that he noticed something on the counter, something he hadn't seen before. It was a small, black leather notebook. Johnny picked it up, feeling its weight in his hands. He flipped through the pages, seeing that they were filled with his handwriting. It was his journal, a collection of his thoughts and experiences during his time in the military. There were thousands of sketches, all of his random plans and ideas. He let out a soft sob when he caught sight of a drawing of Price.
There were hundreds of sketches of Simon, covering every surface he could. Johnny's heart raced as he flipped through the pages, each one a snapshot of his life before everything went wrong. He saw sketches of Simon laughing, playing cards with Gaz, and even one of him sleeping beside him. Johnny's hand shook as he traced the outline of Simon's face, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't realized how much he had missed him until now. Johnny wiped his tears away and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
As he neared the end of the sketchbook, he found the drawings of Simon’s face grew more distorted, as though he was forgetting how to capture his likeness. It had been the first few months after the man’s death. He couldn't get his nose right or the way his brows sat on his face. Perhaps that’s why he hallucinated with the mask on because he couldn’t remember what he looked like beyond the drawings.
Johnny's heart sank as he looked at the distorted sketches. He realized that he had forgotten the little details of Simon's face, and it was like losing him all over again. He closed the sketchbook and held it close to his chest, feeling the weight of his guilt and sorrow. He missed the lieutenant more than anything, craving to see him again. Eventually, he felt weak and exhausted, his chest still burning and uncomfortable. He went to walk upstairs to his room but found his bones were too frail to do so, forcing him to make himself comfortable on the couch. He was probably malnourished; he needed to go to the store tomorrow.
He fell asleep with the sketchbook on his chest and didn’t wake up the next morning.