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John tucks his nose into the crook of Simon’s neck, cold against the fabric of his mask, and Simon can only hold him tighter, letting his own scent wash away every trace of the other alpha.
“Johnny.”
The name comes unbidden to his lips, Simon able to feel the shiver that wracks Soap’s body, the goosebumps that prickle his skin. John’s fingers tighten in his shirt, warm breath against the cloth at Simon’s neck. He’s so close, the scent of him soothing over Simon’s own skin like a balm to the ache that lives buried deep inside of him.
He knows he should say something, do something, but he’s frozen, rooted to the spot.
Johnny is his best friend. His best fucking friend in the entire world and while he knows the man won’t speak on what happened tonight, Simon is offering whatever comfort he can.
But maybe it’s not his to offer. Maybe the reason Johnny went out tonight is because he’s looking for something.