John had once heard that love was watching someone die.

Truthfully, he had found it stupid and didn't understand what it meant.

Now, he understood entirely.

The Greeks had it right. Four different words for four different kinds of love. The highest form of love. Agape. Unconditional love for a person despite of character flaws or weaknesses, despite how screwed up and awful that person may be, how much they annoy you, and yet you still love them. That love was the truest and most rare and most powerful and yet never thought of.

So John gave up saying "I'm not gay" and trying to explain it to people because how can they understand something they've never felt?

They had never felt that heart wrenching panic when you came home and they weren't there, none of that agony you felt when they could be in danger, and nothing compared to when you were prepared to give up your life for theirs in an instant, a heartbeat, as long as it took for that impulse to travel from your brain to your muscles to jump in front of them and save their life.

No, that was real love.

It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch. But John Watson did it anyway.

Thanks so much for sticking with me until the end. I'm sorry if it hurt. It hurt me to write. But life does that.
Thank you for every single review. I hold them close to my heart.
I promise my other stuff is not nearly as sad, if you are looking for some more reading material.