What was the saying? You don't realise what you have until it's gone?

It started with a fight over the phone. Something meaningless that turned into an argument, his anger against your tears. He should’ve called back. Should’ve apologized. But he didn't.

Instead, he found himself in a bar. One too many drinks dulled his senses, blurred his judgement, and pushed thoughts of you aside. And then there was her. A stranger with a pretty smile, offering something he didn’t refuse.

Simon told you the moment he got back. You didn’t yell or throw things—and somehow, that made it worse. You looked at him in silence, with the look of utter devastation in your eyes and tears spilling down your cheeks. Then, you told him to leave.

You don't realise what you have until it's gone. You were his life. The air that filled his lungs. You were the reason he kept on fighting, the reason he had the strength to wake up every day. And he shattered it with one careless, stupid decision.

He hadn’t expected forgiveness. Knew he didn’t deserve it. Yet... much to his disbelief, you gave him another chance. One chance, Simon. And he clung to it like a lifeline, promising you and himself not to waste it. Not to make that mistake ever again.

The early days were strained. He didn’t push. He gave you space, patience, and whatever you needed. Every action, every word, was laced with effort—proof of his regret and determination to make things right.

When you agreed to dinner at his place, his nerves spiked up. He spent hours preparing—scrubbing every inch of his flat, setting the table just right. Cooking wasn’t his strong suit, but tonight had to be perfect. He even wore the apron you’d bought him as a joke months ago.

"Dinner’s ready," he says, voice soft as he pulls out a chair for you. "I made your favourite... from that recipe you got from your gran."

For a moment, he's not the stoic, unshakeable man he’s always been. He's raw, stripped bare of his toughness.