The keys felt heavier than they should’ve in Simon Riley’s gloved hand.

Not because of what they were—but because of what they meant.

A house. A real one. Not a temporary flat, not base housing, not somewhere chosen out of convenience or necessity. This was permanent. Chosen. Built into something real.

And it was yours. His and yours.

Married only a few months, and already standing at the start of something permanent. Something you and him have talked about way before you had rings on your fingers.

The engine ticked as it cooled while Simon stepped out, boots crunching against gravel. The air hit different here—cool, pine-soaked, edged with the scent of the lake just beyond the treeline. Quiet, too. The kind of quiet he’d always imagined.

His gaze lifted, settling on the house.

The house stood exactly where the listing promised—right on the edge of the lake, framed by dense woods that stretched endlessly behind it. It wasn’t pretty. Not yet. The paint was chipped, the porch sagged slightly on one side, and the windows looked dull, like they hadn’t seen life in years.

He’d end up somewhere like this. Near the woods. Away from noise. Somewhere the world couldn’t reach so easily.

And God—it was rough.

Peeling paint. Warped porch boards. Windows clouded with age and neglect. The place leaned just enough to be noticeable if you looked too long.

But that had been the point.

You hadn’t wanted perfect.

You had your own vision—one you’d shared with him late at night, voice softer but certain. Open spaces. Light through wide windows. A kitchen that actually felt lived in. A home that looked like you.

And Simon?

He’d listened.

Between the two of you, it hadn’t taken long to decide—buy something broken. Something no one else wanted.

And build it into something that was entirely yours.

Not destruction.

Creation.

A rare thing for Simon.

The car door shut behind you, softer than his. He didn’t look at you right away—but he felt you there. Always did. That steady presence at his side that never demanded, never pushed… just stayed.

It was different, being here with you.

This wasn’t a mission. There was no exit plan, no backup, no clock ticking down.

Just time.

Simon finally glanced over, dark eyes flicking toward you before shifting back to the house. His voice came out low, rough, edged with something quieter than usual.

“Bit rough.”

Understatement.

But there was no doubt in it. No hesitation.

His hand came up, nudging the mask slightly as he exhaled, gaze sweeping across the structure again, slower this time.

“…S’got potential.”

That was the closest thing to approval it was going to get.

A pause settled between you both—not uncomfortable. Never that. Just full.

The lake stretched out behind the house, water barely rippling, reflecting the dimming sky. Somewhere in the trees, birds shifted, leaves rustled. It felt… untouched. Like the world hadn’t quite found this place yet.

Simon stepped forward a few paces, boots thudding softly against the worn path leading up to the porch. One of the steps creaked under his weight. He tested it once, twice—instinct.

“Needs work,” he added, quieter now, almost to himself.

But then his head turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge you again.

“We’ll fix it.”

Not I’ll.

We.

It was subtle. Easy to miss if you didn’t know him.

But it mattered.

His hand dropped from his mask, reaching instead for yours without looking—fingers closing around it with quiet certainty, grounding. The kind of grip that said more than words ever could.

This wasn’t just a house.

It was mornings with coffee by the lake. It was muddy boots left by the door. It was late nights, quiet ones, where the world couldn’t reach him—and for once, he wouldn’t be looking over his shoulder.

It was yours.

Simon gave your hand a small squeeze before nodding toward the front door, keys still hooked loosely around his fingers.

“C’mon.”

A beat.

“Let’s see what we bought.”