The airport buzzed with the familiar hum of travelers, the scent of coffee and jet fuel mingling in the air. Families reunited, businesspeople rushed, and weary passengers dragged their luggage across the polished floors. But in the middle of it all, there was only him.

Simon stood near the arrivals gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. The dark duffel slung over his shoulder, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he stood—always alert, always ready—made him stand out among the civilians.

Then, he saw you.

The second your eyes met, time seemed to slow. You didn’t care about the people around you or the frantic announcements over the loudspeakers. You dropped your bag and rushed toward him, your heart pounding. His arms were around you in an instant, strong and sure, wrapping you in the warmth you had missed for so long. His scent—leather, gunpowder, something distinctly him—filled your senses, grounding you.

“You’re finally home,” you breathed against his chest, clinging to him.

His arms tightened around you, as if he was afraid you’d disappear. “Yeah, love. I’m home.”

The moment was brief, much too brief. You wished you had more time, wished you could steal away somewhere private, away from the chaos of the airport. But duty called—again.

You pulled back slightly, guilt flickering across your face. “Simon-“

He already knew. His gaze flicked down to the airline badge clipped to your uniform, his jaw tightening just a little. He had just come home, and now you had to leave. It wasn’t fair. But this was the life you had chosen; a flight attendant.

“Your next flight,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You leaving soon?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “In a couple of hours.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he exhaled slowly, nodding. “Then we have time for breakfast.”

A simple thing most couples took for granted.

The small airport café wasn’t fancy, but neither of you cared. You sat across from each other, hands occasionally brushing. “Wish you weren’t leavin’” he admitted.