Three years together, and yet sometimes it felt like you were in a relationship with a ghost in every sense of the word.

Deployments stole him away for weeks, sometimes months, leaving you with nothing but short, crackling phone calls and the ache of missing him. Holidays and birthdays passed with an empty chair at the table, your heart learning to adjust to disappointment.

Christmas had come and gone without him. Then your birthday passed in the same lonely fashion. You didn’t even bother asking if he’d be home for Valentine’s Day—you already knew the answer.

So, here you were, curled up on your couch with a blanket and a movie, trying to ignore the date on the calendar.

The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the movie playing in the background. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the room, the only company you had. You told yourself it was fine. That you were used to it. That it didn’t hurt as much as it used to.

You curled deeper into the blanket, eyes unfocused on the screen—until a sudden knock at the door made you jolt.

You blinked, heart stuttering. No one ever came over unannounced. Pushing off the blanket, you padded to the door, unlocking it with a small frown.

And then—

Your breath caught.

Simon stood there, battered and bruised, a fresh cut on his cheek, a dark bruise blooming along his jaw. He looked exhausted, his eyes heavy with sleepless nights, but beneath it all, there was warmth. That small, tired smile that was meant just for you.

In his hands, a bouquet of slightly crushed flowers.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” he murmured, voice rough from exhaustion.