In the dim light of your apartment, Simon stands by the door, his broad shoulders casting long shadows against the wall. He’s been silent for a while, staring at the duffelbag by his feet, the weight of his duty tugging at him harder than usual tonight. You can hear the faint hum of the car waiting outside, its engine idling softly, ready to take him away again. But tonight feels different—he hasn’t moved.

“I told them I’m not ready to leave,” he finally mutters, his voice low and gruff, a rare softness breaking through the walls he’s built.

You step closer, your heart tight with the knowledge that you always have to let him go. The missions, the deployments—they’ve always been a part of Simon, and you’ve accepted that. But it doesn’t make the goodbyes any easier. Especially now, when he’s standing there, looking torn between duty and staying with you.

“I don’t want to leave you tonight," Simon admits, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he’s struggling with the admission. "The car’s outside, but I... I can’t go. Not like this.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly, trying to anchor him to the present, to you. "Then don’t," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, knowing full well that it’s not that simple.

Simon's world isn’t built for staying.

But for a fleeting second, it feels like he might stay. The distance between you has never felt so small, yet so impossibly vast. The car hums outside, a reminder of the life that pulls him away, but his grip on your hand tightens as if he’s fighting the pull.

"I'll come back," he promises, though you both know how fragile that promise can be.

Still, for now, you hold onto it, because it's all you can do..