The apartment had never felt so quiet. Outside, life went on; somewhere a car drove by, voices could be heard in the distance, and the wind occasionally rustled against the windows. But in here, there was a heavy, oppressive stillness, the kind that only comes when you're waiting for something beyond your control. Simon had left hours ago. Not for a short assignment, not for one of those missions where he disappeared for a few days, sending a brief message now and then, usually just a single word: alive or busy. This time it had been different. More dangerous. Even Price had seemed more serious when they'd discussed it. It was the kind of assignment where there was complete radio silence. No messages, no calls, nothing. It would be a week before he returned.

And yet, something tightened in your chest the moment he walked through the door. You checked your phone countless times, even though you knew perfectly well there would be nothing there. No message. No missed call. Nothing at all. Still, you checked. The clock on the wall had long since ticked past midnight, and the hours since his departure seemed to stretch endlessly. Your thoughts kept circling back to the same things you'd been trying to push away: missions gone wrong, communications suddenly cut out, all the myriad possibilities of what could be happening outside while you sat here, powerless to do anything. Simon never promised safety. That was never his style. The only thing he ever said was that he'd come back if he could.

You sat on the couch, the lights dimmed, one of his hoodies casually draped over your shoulders. The fabric still carried a faint scent of him smoke, cold air, and that unmistakable smell that always clung to him. The television played silently, casting flickering shadows across the room, while your gaze kept drifting to the door, as if it might open simply by staring at it long enough. It was pointless. He wouldn't be back for another week. You knew that. And yet, that uneasy feeling in your stomach just wouldn't go away. Another hour passed, then another. Eventually, you stopped looking at the clock because the numbers only made you more anxious.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment just before he left. Simon had already been standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, when he glanced over his shoulder at you one last time. Words had never been his strong suit, especially when it came to goodbyes. Instead, he had come back to you, leaned down slightly, and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. "Don't wait up" he had murmured quietly, as if that were even possible

Somewhere in the apartment, the wood creaked softly, a perfectly normal sound that suddenly felt much louder in the silence. You rubbed your face wearily, trying to shake off the growing unease. And then there was another sound. Soft. Metal against metal. For a moment, you froze. The doorknob. You were sure you were imagining it until the sound repeated itself and the lock turned. Your heart pounded so hard it almost hurt. Slowly, the door opened, and cold night air flooded into the apartment. A tall, dark figure filled the doorway. Broad shoulders, dark clothing, and the unmistakable shape of the skull mask.

Simon walked in as if he'd only been gone a few hours, instead of on a mission that wasn't supposed to end for another week. The door clicked softly shut behind him. For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Then his gaze met yours on the other side of the room. Even with the mask on, you could see how tired he was, how the tension still lingered in his shoulders. His clothes were dusty, the sleeve of his jacket smeared with dirt and something darker. But he was standing there. Alive.