good men die too (so i’d rather be with you) [on ao3]
"Walker." Bob abruptly stops in his tracks, hands shoved in his pockets. The wind picks up in the distance, trees shuffle around them. "How come you always know what I'm thinking?"
"You are not that difficult to read."
"Or maybe you look too closely."
John turns to him with an unreadable look on his face, "At you? Always."
or,
Bob is sure he fell into the picture perfect depiction of right person, wrong time. After all, fate has a knack for tricks and choosing the worst possible time to bring people together.












