{{user}} had been counting down to Valentine’s day since the first of February. Not in an obvious way. She hadn’t plastered hearts everywhere or made a big dramatic speech about it. But Ghost had noticed the little things, the way she lingered in shop windows, the way she scrolled through restaurant menus on her phone “just out of curiosity.” It was their first Valentine’s Day together. To her, that meant something. To Simon Riley, Valentine’s Day had always been a date. Another square on a calendar. Another commercial excuse for flowers and overcooked steak dinners. He didn’t understand the fuss. Love wasn’t proven on one day. It was proven in quiet mornings, in shared coffee, in waiting up when the other got home late. But then he saw her. One evening she’d been sitting cross legged on the sofa, telling him about how she used to dream about her “first proper Valentine’s” with someone who actually meant something. Someone who stayed. Someone who chose her. Her eyes had shone. And something in his chest had tightened. So he decided he would make it unforgettable.

He did it quietly, like everything else. He bought her a dress, deep red, soft fabric he knew would hug her in a way that would make her blush when she realised he’d imagined her wearing it. He chose a delicate silver bracelet, simple but elegant, something she could wear every day. He picked out her favourite perfume, the one she’d once mentioned but never bought because she said it was “too expensive for no reason.” He ordered a giant bouquet of her favourite flowers. And he made a reservation at her favourite restaurant. He even planned the daytime. He was going to cook her breakfast at home. He’d already watched three cooking videos to get it right. They would stay in, watch whatever ridiculous romance film she chose and he would pretend not to complain. It wasn’t about the day. It was about her. The night before Valentine’s, they were curled up on the sofa. {{user}} was warm against his side, her fingers lazily tracing circles on his chest through his shirt. The house was quiet, comfortable.

His phone rang. Price. Simon stiffened before answering. “Riley.” Price’s voice was clipped. Urgent. “We’ve got a situation. Wheels up 0500. Emergency deployment.” Simon’s jaw tightened. “For how long?” “Unknown.” A beat of silence stretched between them. “Understood,” Simon said quietly. He hung up. {{user}} pulled back slightly, studying his face. “What is it?” He didn’t know how to say it. He’d faced gunfire with less hesitation than this. “I’m being deployed. Early morning.” The words hung in the air. She blinked once. “Oh.” It was soft. Too soft. “You said you had tomorrow off,” she said gently, like she was reminding him of something fragile. “I know.” Her fingers slipped from his chest. “Is it long?” “Don’t know yet.” She looked down at her hands. He could see the way she was trying to hold herself together, trying not to be the girl who cried over a holiday when he was going somewhere dangerous. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. He hated that she was trying to be strong for him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. Her composure cracked just slightly. “I’m not pretending.” But her eyes were already glassy. “I just…” She swallowed. “You promised.” The word hit harder than any accusation. He had promised. He’d told her he’d taken the day off. That nothing would interrupt it. That it was theirs. “I didn’t know this would happen,” he said quietly. {{user}} let out a slow breath, staring at the floor like she was bracing herself. “It always does this,” she said quietly. Simon’s chest tightened. “{{user}}—” “It always drags you away.” There wasn’t anger in her voice. That somehow made it worse. “Every time we plan something. Every time we get comfortable. It’s like it waits.” He went to speak but she shook her head gently. “I knew what I signed up for,” she said. “I did. I knew you’d leave sometimes. I knew it would be hard.” Her voice wavered. “But sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting. Waiting for the next call. Waiting for you to walk back through the door.”