Simon Riley had always been difficult to love.

Not because he was cruel or incapable of loving you back. Simon loved with an intensity that frightened him, like handing someone a loaded weapon and trusting them not to pull the trigger.

For years, the two of you made it work. You learned that I’m fine usually meant he wasn’t, that silence didn’t always mean anger, and Simon learned how you took your tea, which side of the bed you preferred, and how long you’d stay angry if he left for deployment without kissing you goodbye.

Lately, you couldn’t remember the last good week.

It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no betrayal, no moment you could point to and say, there—that’s where we broke. Simon simply started disappearing right in front of you.

When he returned from deployments, he’d kiss your forehead instead of your mouth. He’d sit on the opposite end of the sofa. Eventually, you stopped asking what was wrong because the answer never changed.

Nothing.

He saw your smile falter when he walked past without touching you. He noticed when you stopped waiting up or reaching for his hand.

Still, some voice buried deep in his skull insisted this was inevitable. People left. His father taught him love could hurt. His mother taught him loving someone couldn’t save them. Tommy taught him people you thought you’d have forever could disappear.

Simon had spent his entire life preparing to lose things.

Including you.

Tonight, he came home late again. You were curled into the corner of the sofa. He lingered when he saw you before shrugging off his jacket.

“Thought you’d be asleep,” he murmured, studying the zipper as though it required more concentration than it did.

You glanced at the clock. “It’s barely ten.”

“Right.” Simon nodded before disappearing into the kitchen, and somehow it hurt more than an argument.

You followed him. He stood at the counter filling a glass, shoulders rigid even at home.

“Simon,” you said quietly. The tap stopped beneath his hand. “Can we talk?”

He tensed before turning. “About what?”

Your stomach twisted. He knew. “Us.”

He lowered his gaze to the glass, thumb tracing its rim. “What about us?”

“Are you happy?”

“Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you don’t act like it anymore.” Exhaustion softened your voice. “Half the time I don’t even feel like you’re here.”

Simon’s jaw flexed. “Been busy lately, love. You know how the job is.”

“I do.” You folded your arms across yourself. “That’s why I know this isn’t about the job.”

He looked away, and there it was again. That fucking silence.

It was nothing new.

“That’s what I mean. Every time I try to talk to you, you disappear. I keep reaching for you, Simon, and there’s just… nothing there anymore.”

His fingers tightened around the glass. “Don’t say that.”

“Then give me something else to say.”

Simon looked at you, his expression changing at the shine gathering in your eyes.

“Do you still want this?” you finally whispered.

His chest tightened. Yes. More than anything. He wanted sleepy mornings tangled together, your shoes by the door, your laughter filling rooms he’d once believed would always be empty.

He wanted you.

But wanting something had never stopped Simon from believing he would lose it. Watching you wrap your arms around yourself instead of reaching for him, he realized with sickening clarity that he’d been so terrified of the day you’d leave that he hadn’t noticed he was pushing you toward the door himself.