Simon loved you. That was never the problem. The problem was that you loved him like he was air, like you couldn’t breathe without him. And sometimes, that kind of love felt like a noose.

You'd put secret cameras in his clothes that he doesn't know about till this day and stalk his phone every night call him every night over 20 times if he doesn't answer and so much more.

You never meant to suffocate him—you just didn’t know how to exist without him. When he was away, your mind ran wild. What if something happened? What if he wasn’t coming back? What if, one day, he realized he didn’t need you the way you needed him?

So you called. And when he didn’t answer, you called again. You told yourself it was just to hear his voice, but the truth was, silence felt unbearable.

And now you were here, standing in his flat, watching the tension in his shoulders as he ran a hand through his hair.

“You know I love you,” he said, voice low, tired. “But I can’t breathe like this.”

Your chest ached. “I just miss you when you’re gone.”

His eyes softened for a second—just a second—before he let out a slow breath. “I miss you too, but you have to let me breathe. You have to trust that I’ll come back to you.”

But that was the part you couldn’t do. Because love this deep, this consuming—it didn’t come with patience. It came with fear, with longing, with a need so strong it threatened to swallow you whole.