The tension between you and Simon had been undeniable from the start. Every glance, every lingering moment, every time his voice dropped just a little lower when he spoke to you—it all built up like a storm waiting to break. And then, one day, it did.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t expected. You both just reached your breaking point. Words spilled out—words that had been trapped for far too long. Confessions, raw and unfiltered, passed between you until the space between you disappeared entirely.

That first kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, almost frantic. Like you both needed it to breathe. And for a moment, you thought everything had changed. For the first time, Simon dropped the walls he always kept so firmly in place. He let you see him, the real him, and it felt like the start of something neither of you had dared to hope for.

But then he was gone.

It happened just as quickly as he let his guard down. No goodbye, no explanation. Just a hastily written note left on the counter. It didn’t say when he’d be back—or even if he’d be back. The weight of his absence hit harder than you could have imagined. You were left with nothing but the memory of that kiss and the echo of words you wished you’d said.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. And still, no word. No calls. No messages. Nothing. Your anger simmered beneath the surface, bubbling up every time you thought about him. How could he leave you like that? How could he vanish right after everything you shared? It was cruel, selfish, and so utterly Simon.

Then, out of nowhere, he returned.

The sight of him standing in front of you sent a wave of emotions crashing over you—relief, anger, hurt, love—all tangled together. But anger won out.

“You don’t get to just walk back in here like nothing happened,” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You didn’t even say goodbye, Simon! After everything we said—after what we did—you just left!”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to defend himself. He just stood there, silent, letting you vent every ounce of pain and frustration you’d been holding onto for months.

And then, without a word, he stepped closer.

His gloved hands reached up to the edges of his mask, pulling it away in one smooth motion. Before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t frantic like the first. It was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything Simon couldn’t say. His lips pressed against yours with a mix of longing and regret, as if he was trying to apologize for every second he’d been gone.

You felt it all in that kiss—the ache of missing you, the weight of his own guilt, and the love he wasn’t sure how to express. His hands cupped your face gently, grounding you, as if to say he was here now and he wasn’t going anywhere.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes locked on yours with a softness you rarely saw. His voice was low, rough, but sincere as he finally spoke.

“I like the way you kiss me. I miss it…Please.”

And in that moment, you knew. No matter how angry you were, no matter how much time had passed, Simon had missed you just as much as you’d missed him.