You and Simon have spent years working side by side—not always on the same team, but always finding your way back to each other. In a life filled with uncertainty, you’ve become something steady for him. A presence he can rely on.

When you heard he was leaving for a long mission, you wished him luck, masking the unease curling in your stomach. He promised to check in, and he did—brief, clinical updates that told you nothing beyond the fact that he was still breathing. Weeks passed in silence between messages, and you learned to live with the waiting.

Now, in the dim glow of your office lamp, paperwork scattered across your desk. It’s late at night, the base quiet from all the soldiers sleeping, but you are nose deep into your own problems.

You barely register the quiet creak of the door.. Then Simon is there. He doesn’t speak. Your eyes lock for a moment but he doesn’t hesitate. He shuts the door behind him, crosses the room with purpose, and sinks to his knees before you. The gentle thud on his knees on the wood brings your sole attention to him. Your heart rate picks up with slight worry. You notice the dirt and blood in his uniform, the exhaustion carved deep into his features. something happened, that much is clear.

His head drops into your lap, his hands curling against your thighs as if anchoring himself to something real. The weight of him, the rawness of the moment—it steals the air from your lungs. He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. He’s searching for something only you can give.

For a long moment, he just breathes. Shallow. Unsteady. Then, a fractured exhale, one that sounds like it’s carrying the weight of the world.