London’s underground buzzed with the noise of movement and monotony. It was the kind of place where no one looked too closely, where people passed like ghosts, and that suited Simon Riley just fine.

The train groaned as it pulled into the station, brakes screeching like a wounded animal. He barely noticed. Just another stop. Another blur. He adjusted the black balaclava he wore under his hoodie—out of habit more than necessity. Old habits die hard.

He hadn’t meant to look. He rarely ever did these days. But something tugged at him—an itch in his chest he couldn’t scratch.

And then he saw you.

You were standing on the opposite platform, near the middle, looking down at your phone with a subtle frown on your face. Your hair was a little longer. You were wearing that coat he used to tease you about—too big, too soft, “swallows you whole,” he used to say. But it was you. No doubt in his mind.

His heart jolted so hard it felt like a punch to the ribs.

The train doors slid shut with a hiss.

“Wait,” he muttered.

The train lurched forward.

“No. No no no.”

He banged on the window once with a gloved hand, a foolish, useless gesture.

You looked up.

Just for a second.

Eyes locking with his through the grime-streaked glass.

Your lips parted slightly. Shock. Recognition. And then—you took a step forward.

And the train carried him away.

He launched into action, shoving past startled passengers. At the next stop, he tore down the stairs, vaulted turnstiles, pushed himself harder than any op. The city blurred. His breath ragged. All he could think of was you. Standing there. The one thing he never thought he’d see again.

When he burst onto the opposite platform, you were gone.

He froze.

The ache in his chest swelled, too large to ignore.

But then—there.

You were just at the end of the platform, back turned, standing near the vending machine like you were stalling, like you were hoping.

He didn’t run this time. Just walked. Slow, careful steps. Like if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter.

“Alky.”

You turned.

It was like the wind got knocked out of both of you.

“Simon…” You stared, eyes wide, voice so soft he barely heard it.

Neither of you spoke for a long beat. Just silence, heavy and full of things unsaid.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you finally said.

“I didn’t think I’d get to,” he replied, and his voice was raw beneath the rasp.

You swallowed hard, looking at him like he was some old wound you hadn’t decided whether to press or heal. “You just… disappeared.”

“I was angry,” he admitted. “And scared.”

“Scared?” Your voice cracked on that. “You were the one who left.”

“Because I didn’t know how to stay,” he said. “Not after everything. Not with how we ended.”

You turned your head away, trying to blink away the sting in your eyes. “You didn’t fight for me.”

He stepped closer, and this time his voice dropped to something intimate. “I’m trying to now.”

You looked at him again—really looked. His eyes, tired and haunted. The weight he carried. And beneath all that armor, the truth you’d always known: he had loved you, more than he ever let himself show.

“I thought I was over you,” you said, almost like an apology.

His breath hitched. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

You didn’t.

You stepped forward instead, closing the space between you. The station around you faded into a blur of fluorescent light and dull footsteps. For a moment, it was just you and him, like before. But different. Older. Sadder. Real.

“I missed you, Simon,” you whispered.

His hand found yours, tentative but sure. “Then let’s not miss each other again.” he murmurs, reaching for you, hesitant. He wanted to pull you close. To never let you go again.