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Simon who didn’t cry when Johnny died. His eyes never filled, never stung with tears. Simon who didn’t close off like they expected he would, Simon who seemingly didn’t change after it happened.
Simon who sat awake so many nights. Cold. Alone. Simon who instinctively went looking for Johnny just to spend hours in the gym beating his knuckles to bloody shreds to punish himself for being so stupid. Simon whos eyes still linger in spots Johnny used to frequent. Simon who wishes Johnny was there to patch up those knuckles and kiss them.
“Aye be more carful yee fuckin’ brute…”
Simon could still hear Johnny’s voice. Simon who still waits to hear Johnny’s jokes over the com on missions. Simon who could have sworn that shadow in the corner of his room looked like Johnny. Simon who cant close his eyes for months without hearing that gunshot.
Simon who never once cried.
It was only years and years later it hits him. Simon’s eyes had stopped looking. Dreams and shadows of Johnny MacTavish had long stopped. It hits him while he’s trying to sleep one night after a particularly rough mission. What color were his eyes? His hair… black… brown… brown right?
He couldn’t remember.
That’s when his eyes stung, hot tears filling to the brim and spilling over. How could he of forgotten? How was that possible? How could he betray Johnny like that? He couldn’t remember his smile anymore, he couldn’t hear his voice anymore, couldn’t feel lingering phantom touches anymore.
He couldn’t feel Johnny anymore.
The memory of someone he held so dearly once was fuzzy, blurry. Hardly there. Swallowed and eaten alive by time. How cruel.