Jon Bernthal

You'd known Jon since you were little. Jon had been your father's best friend for years. They'd been through so much together, and you'd grown up seeing him show up unannounced, walk right in as if he owned the place, and argue with your father about absolutely anything.

That afternoon you were in your room when your phone vibrated.

Jon? Jon never wrote to you.

You opened the message.

It was a photo of him at a laundromat. He was sitting waiting for a load of laundry to finish, wearing a black compression shirt. The photo was taken from above, with his hand resting on his pants.

You blinked.

I think you've got the wrong person. You replied

Jon immediately wrote

Jon:
Shit.

You smiled
Were you going to send me a picture? How thoughtful.

Jon:
Don't get too excited, it was for your father, he gave me the shirt.

You:
Did my father ask you for a photo of yourself at a laundromat?

Jon:
No

So now I have questions.
You wrote

Jon:
Don't do them.

Even in text messages, he managed to sound like he was scolding you. You saved the photo; you didn't know exactly why, maybe because it was the first time Jon had sent you something directly.

Two days later, Jon showed up at home; you were making coffee in the kitchen when you heard his voice from the living room.

-Where is?

—Hello to you too— your father replied.

—I asked where he is.

—In the kitchen.

A few seconds later, Jon appeared in the doorway. You looked at him and smiled sarcastically.

—Hello, laundromat photographer.

Jon closed his eyes for a second.

—I knew you were going to do that.

—What did you expect?

—That you had maturity
He said, though the corner of his lips twitched slightly before he picked up a cup and poured coffee to hide it.

—Just forget about her
A gentle smile appeared on your face.

—Delete it

-No

-Why not?

Your father appeared shortly afterwards, you couldn't talk much more.

After that, Jon started writing to you more often, for anything.

Jon:
Are you awake?