The first time it happened, Simon didn't even notice.

I love you.

{{user}} smiled. A small, fleeting smile, just the barest curve of your lips. You didn't say it back, but you’d pull Simon close and kissed his temple. And it was enough.

I love you.

Again, just a smile and a soft "I know." You’d cup his cheek or give him a hug, gestures that felt like placeholders for the words you wouldn’t say. And it was still enough. Your actions always spoke louder than any declarations ever could.

But over time, those changed too.

Simon would reach for your hand, and your grip would loosen just a little too soon. He’d lean in for a kiss, only to have you tilt your head away at the last moment, leaving him to brush your cheek.

You were often out more days than one. Your messages became shorter, more distant, as if sent out of obligation. And then there were the nights when he’d wake to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, your phone in hand. "Just work stuff," you'd say, angling the screen away from him.

Then you stopped acknowledging his 'I love yous' altogether.

Simon wanted to believe it wasn't him. That you were just tired or overwhelmed. But the space between you had become a quiet ache, only growing with each passing day.

Until Simon couldn’t take it anymore. Confronted you one night, begged for the answers before you could brush him off with another flimsy excuse. “Darling, do you even love me anymore?”