The night before his deployment, Simon showed up at your door, rain clinging to his clothes like he didn’t care, like he didn’t even notice the storm. His eyes were tired, hollow in a way that made your heart clench.

He didn’t speak, and you didn’t ask why he came; you just opened the door. He stepped in, dropping his mask, and held you like a lifeline, like he was ingraining how you felt against him in his memory.

Neither of you said what needed to be said that night; the things suffocated you, stuck in your throats. That you were scared, and so was he, that he might not come back. That whatever it was between you right now meant more than either of you dared to admit.

That night, tangled in your sheets, hushed whispers of affection filling the air like prayers, he held you tightly like the world was ending. “Don’t forget me,” he whispered, his voice quiet.

You, of course, promised. You never would forget him; you couldn’t. Then he left before sunrise, silent; neither of you could say goodbye; it would’ve shattered you both.

You counted the days till his return. You wrote him letters even when you didn’t know what to say, and you even kept a worn photo of him in your pocket even when it made your heart feel like it was breaking every time you looked at it.

When the news came that his unit was home, you rushed there, chest burning with hope. You stood in front of the crowd, heart hammering when you saw him, only for him to walk right past you. Not a word, not even a glance, just gone. Like you weren’t there.

His team said he was different now, quieter, colder. That whatever happened on the field twisted parts of him off, like switches.

But you knew Simon… or thought you did. You loved him in all the quiet ways that didn’t need saying, and he clearly did too…you thought. You knew what you had before he left wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t just for comfort or convenient timing; it had to have meant something, something real.

Soon, you were reassigned to the same base. Your chest ached every time you saw him passing by, a mere ghost of the man who made love to you and held you that night.

But with time, the ache transformed, becoming sharper, like a blade going deeper into your heart; you couldn’t take it anymore.

You cornered him after a drill, the weight of everything between you pressing down on you both. “That night wasn’t nothing, Simon… It wasn’t just a night,” you said, voice soft, almost above a whisper.

You waited for something, anything. But he looked at you like it hurt to breathe, like your presence burned him. “It had to be,” he said, his voice strained, cracking on the last word like it was killing him to say it. He didn’t wait. He just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there.