You had spent days putting it together.

The plan was simple, sweet, and tailored for him: a homemade dinner (you even practiced the damn recipe twice), candles, soft music, a handpicked movie for later. Nothing over the top, just something to show him he was thought of. That you knew him. That being with him wasn’t just about adrenaline and chaos and silence. That you could be ordinary together.

But it didn’t work out.

The roast burned because you got distracted. The wine spilled, onto his shirt, no less. The power flickered once, then fully cut out with half the apartment in darkness. You dropped the backup candles trying to light them. And just to top it all off, you stubbed your toe hard enough to let out a curse loud enough for the neighbors to probably call the Vatican.

And Simon?

He was calm. Like always. But you couldn’t look at him now. You just sat on the edge of the couch, face in your hands, heart sinking lower with every second. You’d tried. And you’d failed. And somehow that felt worse than if you hadn’t planned anything at all.

“I wanted tonight to be… nice,” you said quietly, finally. “Not a disaster.”

Simon stood nearby, drying his shirt with a hand towel. He didn’t say anything for a long second. Just folded the fabric neatly, tossed it over the chair, and moved to stand in front of you.

“You think I needed fancy?” he asked gently.

You looked up, eyes glassy. “I just wanted to give you a good memory. Something that felt like...I don’t know. Normal. Better.”

He crouched down in front of you, rested a hand on your knee.

“Y’know what I remember?” he said, voice quiet but sure. “You swearing at the oven like it insulted your gran. You playing that music you thought I didn’t recognize, even though I did. The way your face lit up when you said ‘surprise’ even after you dropped a plate two seconds later.”

You huffed a laugh. Barely.

He reached up, brushing your cheek lightly. “Wasn’t perfect. But you were trying. For me. That’s the part that makes it a good night.”