An empty bed, a packed voicemail inbox and a cracked frame were all you had left of Simon. The night he walked out, before his deployment, you were arguing over the bread, or maybe over the news, or maybe over the fact that you had both been neglecting the relationship for way too long, sweeping the dirt under the rug just to pretend it wasn’t there.

You had rushed every milestone of the relationship because of the uncertainty of his job. You loved each other, of course, but you didn’t know each other nearly enough to move into his apartment after only three months. You had been living together for almost a year, but the foundations of what you had built were weak and unstable from the start.

Simon wasn’t one to open up first about his emotions, you kept everything bottled inside until you couldn’t hold it in anymore, and the tiniest thing was enough to set you off. There were many things that were wrong with your relationship, yet you both hid the skeletons in a closet made of intimacy and those domestic moments that made you look like the envy-worthy, picture-perfect couple.

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend your nights alone - Simon either being kept longer at base, or busy in a mission on the other side of the globe - but after that fight, all the nights you’d spent without him laying beside you would feel emptier, duller. Bullet-shaped words had fired from your venomous lips, hurting more than any weapon would.

He had given up on his stubborn pride first, flooding your phone with messages you didn’t have the heart to open, the red blinking light of the voicemail machine haunting you during your lonely, silent meals, or as your fingers traced the cracked frame of the picture that would welcome you every time you crossed the threshold.

Simon had thrown it on the ground out of frustration, asking if “anything had ever meant to you”, and you just watched that frozen heartbeat of the two of you kissing on the beach fell onto the floor. Then he had simply grabbed his packed bag and left, saying he was staying at Johnny’s for the night.

You were worried sick, as you always were whenever he was on a mission, but you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction just yet, and the countless notifications you kept receiving were an indicator that he was fine. You were being petty, perhaps even a coward, but deep down, you were terrified of opening one of his messages, or listening to a voice note, and discovering he didn’t want you anymore, that you had to pack your things and leave.

It went like this for an excruciatingly long week, guilt and worry rearing their ugly heads in the back of your mind, turning your sleep restless and flipping your stomach upside-down whenever you tried to eat.

Simon’s finger was insecure as it lingered on the doorbell. Sure, he had the key, and it was his own apartment, but to waltz in after leaving like an idiot felt like intruding. It was as if you’d felt his presence, your hand turning around the handle just as his digit pressed down. Only silence filled the scarce space between your bodies.

“I missed you.” Simon’s voice was low, yet charged with the same wind whirl of emotions that stirred in his gaze, mirroring yours. “Are you going to do something about it?” You asked, unable to keep your tone as steady as you wished to. There was a pause, and another, then his hands cupped your face, fingers delicately curling around your cheeks, a stark contrast to the hungry way he pressed his lips against yours.