You checked your phone again, the screen lighting up your anxious face as you scanned for any new messages.

Nothing.

The airport buzzed with activity around you—families laughing, businesspeople rushing, couples holding hands as they made their way to their gates.

But you sat alone, gripping the handle of your suitcase so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Simon was supposed to be here. You sighed, tilting your head back against the plastic chair, trying to push away the sinking feeling in your chest.

He promised. He promised this time would be different. No missions. No last-minute calls. Just the two of you, finally getting a break.

But the flight was boarding soon, and he still wasn’t here.

No matter how many times he swore he’d put you first, duty called, and he answered.

You rested your head against your bag and closed your eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking you. The sounds of the airport blurred into the background.

The moment he stepped into the airport, he spotted you—curled up in one of the hard plastic chairs, your head resting against your carry-on, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

Guilt hit him like a gut punch.He was late. Again.

He ran a hand down his face, his fingers brushing over the familiar fabric of his mask. Fucking hell. He never meant for this to happen.

He wanted this trip just as much as you did, but work had pulled him back in, like it always did. Like it always would.

He moved toward you carefully, crouching down beside you. Even in sleep, your brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted as if you’d fallen asleep mid-sigh. You must’ve been waiting for hours.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly over your cheek. "Love…" His voice was quiet, but you stirred, lashes fluttering as you blinked up at him.