You’d made it a habit — a small comfort in the middle of long, stressful days — to walk through the base during your lunch break. Sometimes you brought him coffee, sometimes just a sandwich, sometimes nothing at all except your presence. It was your little routine, a reminder that even in his dangerous, anxious world, there were quiet moments for the two of you.

That afternoon, you strolled down the familiar hallway, smiling softly at the distant chatter of the base, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. You had lunch in hand, ready to surprise Simon like you did every day, imagining his gruff protest and the softening of his eyes when he saw you.

When you reached his office, the door was slightly ajar — unusual, but not impossible. You were about to knock lightly when a familiar voice stopped you.

Simon’s. And Soap’s.

You froze, instinctively shifting back into the shadows of the hallway. Then you heard the words, low, serious, carrying weight you weren’t prepared for.

“I love her, Johnny,” Simon said. Your chest tightened, a brief flicker of warmth. He loved you. He really did.

Then the words that made your stomach drop followed immediately: “But I can’t marry her.”

Your hand tightened around the lunch bag. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Soap’s voice asked cautiously, “Why not? You’ve been with her for years. She’s good for you — anyone can see that.”

Simon’s voice lowered further, measured, almost aching with honesty. “Because I don’t want her involved in my life… all of it. The messy parts, the anxious parts, the parts I can’t control. And she already knows—she knows I can’t give her everything. I’m infertile. I can’t give her the family she wants, and I can’t pretend I can.”

You felt a heavy weight in your chest. Hearing it — raw, unfiltered — cut sharper than anything you’d imagined.

“She deserves more than my chaos,” he continued, voice dropping to a whisper, almost pleading with himself. “I love her. I really do. But loving her isn’t enough to shield her from my life. If I commit fully… I’d be dragging her into danger, into sleepless nights, into a life built around my anxieties. And she deserves a chance at something safe, something normal.”

You shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound. Your hands trembled around the bag, not from fear, but from the ache that spread in your chest. He loved you, yet he was holding himself back from giving you everything — not because of lack of feeling, but because of fear, and because of the life he carried with him every day.

You realized, in that quiet hallway, that he wasn’t rejecting you. He was trying to protect you from the parts of his world he could never fully share — even the parts that included you.

And for the first time, you understood the depth of Simon Riley’s seriousness, the weight he carried, and the love he had for you… love that was both fierce and painfully restrained.