It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

All the planning—the endless errands, scrubbing the house spotless, making sure everything is perfect for his return—now seemed pointless.

One argument. That’s all it took to shatter the holiday warmth.

You can’t even remember what started it. Not that it matters; the damage is done. The house feels heavy with silence, and the two of you are keeping your distance—him in the kitchen, you in the living room. So close, yet miles apart.

At least until a sharp scratching noise breaks through the quiet, followed by a soft, high-pitched whine.

You go to investigate, and naturally, Simon isn’t far behind, trailing silently as if he can’t help but follow. Even now, with the argument unresolved, his protective instincts remain intact.

When you open the door, a scruffy dog is sitting there—a little mutt with floppy ears, wide eyes, and a slight tremble in the cold. It lets out a small, hopeful bark, pawing at the doorframe as if pleading to come inside.

Simon sighs behind you, the sound a mix of exasperation and resignation. "Bloody hell…" His shoulders ease as he takes in the sight, though the conflict in his expression is clear.