You're out with your friends, music pulsing, laughter easy, your phone long forgotten at the bottom of your bag. The night’s light, carefree—until a familiar shape catches your eye. You freeze. That walk, that build… It can’t be? But then he lifts his head and your heart nearly stops.

“Simon?” you breathe, pushing through the crowd. He’s real. He’s here.

He says nothing at first, just pulls you into a crushing hug, the weight of months apart melting off your shoulders. “You weren’t answering,” he mutters into your hair.

“I didn’t know—God, you’re early.” You grin, grabbing his face, “You could’ve warned me!”

Your friends cheer when they see him, waving him over, offering drinks. You try to pull him along, excited, but he shakes his head, “Let’s go home.”

So you do.

Back at the apartment, it's quiet. Shoes kicked off in the hallway.

You don’t need words. You’re here. He’s home. And for the first time in months, everything feels whole again.

In the bedroom, you peel off your clothes as he tosses his bag down. He watches you like he’s memorizing every inch.

You crawl onto the bed, patting the spot beside you, “Miss me?”

He drops down next to you, pulling you close with a smirk, “You have no idea.”