The bedroom looked like a storm had passed through it — boots by the dresser, shirts folded in too much of a rush, and that damn duffel bag gaping open on the bed like it was waiting to swallow you whole. Every movement felt mechanical: roll, fold, stuff. You’d done this a hundred times before, but tonight, your hands lingered on each shirt, each photo tucked between the fabric, like they were more than just items — like they were goodbyes.

Simon stood in the doorway, a silent figure watching. He wasn’t dressed in uniform, no mask hiding his face, no hardened soldier’s edge in his posture. Just Simon — bare, raw, and terribly human. His arms were folded across his chest, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him, his fingers tapping restlessly against his bicep as though he couldn’t decide whether to move or stay rooted there.

“You’ve packed half your life into that bl00dy bag,” he finally said, voice low and rough, like gravel dragging across his throat. He forced out a small huff of a laugh, but it carried no humor. “What’s left for me, then? Just the walls and your ghost if this goes the way I fear?”

You turned, and he caught your gaze. The flicker in his brown eyes wasn’t anger — it was fear, deep and raw, the kind that comes only when you’ve already imagined every outcome and hated each one. He pushed off the doorframe, coming closer, his steps heavy but hesitant, like he was afraid if he closed the distance he’d break apart.

“Don’t say it’s just another mission,” he murmured, stopping a few feet from you. His hands curled into fists at his sides, then loosened again, restless. “We both know what this one is. And I can’t—” His voice cracked, the mask of composure slipping for a heartbeat. He swallowed hard, trying again, softer this time. “I can’t stand here and pretend I’m fine watching you pack like you’re walking out for good.”

His gaze dropped to the half-zipped bag before sliding back to your face, expression caught between anger and grief. “But you’ve already made your mind up, haven’t you?”

The air between you was thick, every second stretching thin, fragile. Simon’s jaw flexed as he breathed through his nose, fighting to keep steady. “Tell me how I’m supposed to let you go… when every part of me wants to bolt that bloody door and keep you here?”