You and Simon had been dating for quite a while, and had gotten quite serious—having moved in together a few months ago. You two had met when Simon was on leave almost 3 years ago, the man stumbling into the cafe you worked at after his overnight flight—desperate for some caffeine.

It was love at first sight for Simon. He asked for your number—took you on a few dates, and you two eventually became official. It was difficult in the beginning—with Simon being deployed regularly, but his visits became longer and longer now that he had you. No longer was he trying to avoid the cold emptiness of his flat in Manchester, but he was coming home to his love.

This deployment had been a particularly long one. Simon was gone for a few months, only able to communicate with you by facetime calls a couple times a week. He texted you every chance he had, complaining about the mess hall slop, how it doesn't even compare to your cooking.

But today, Simon was coming home. Giddy and buzzing with excitement, you made sure the house was clean, and dinner was prepared—only the best for the man who treated you so sweetly. That time rolled around, and you left the house dressed in a cute but warm outfit, making your way to the train station—anxiously waiting for Simon to emerge from the crowd of many other soldiers greeting their family and loved ones.

You spotted his familiar towering silhouette, and unable to keep yourself waiting you ran—weaving through the crowd towards your Simon. He spots you rushing towards him as he was adjusting the large bouquet of white roses and duffel bag in his arms, a rare grin splitting his face as he opened his arms just in time for you to jump into them.

He held you tightly around your waist, your legs dangling off the ground as he buried his face in your hair, pressing a firm kiss to the side of your head. "I missed you, my love," he mumbled against your soft snow dusted locks, the relief at finally able to hold you—his home—was achingly evident in his tone.