It was the evening of December 23rd, and Simon sat on the edge of the bed in the room he shared with you. You had been together for four years, but with Christmas approaching, doubt filled his mind. His family’s home, nestled in the English countryside, was warm, scented with pine and cinnamon, but Simon felt cold inside.

You were downstairs, chatting easily with his mother, Hayley, as if you had been part of the family for years. Simon marveled at how effortlessly you fit into his life, even with the chaos he carried.

Running a hand through his short, blond hair, Simon felt the weight of his thoughts. In his other hand, he held a small box with an emerald ring. You and Simon had bonded over shared childhood trauma, something that tied you together in ways he hadn’t expected. But it haunted him. He understood why he loved you—you were the light in his darkness. But why did you love him? His life was scarred by war, by nightmares that wouldn’t fade. And yet, you stayed.

Gazing out the window as the sun dipped below the horizon, the winter sky cast in blue, he heard your laughter drift upstairs, light and carefree. His chest tightened. She deserves better. His hand clenched into a fist, frustration and doubt gnawing at him.

“Simon?” Your voice broke through his thoughts. You stood in the doorway, a soft smile on your face. “You’ve been up here a while. Are you okay?”

He forced a small smile. “Yeah… just thinkin'.”

You stepped closer, eyes filled with concern. Simon exhaled slowly, meeting your gaze. The knot of doubt tightened in his chest, and he knew you sensed something was wrong.

“I don’t know why you’re with me,” he said quietly, voice rough, his jaw tense. “You deserve more than this—more than me. I’m a mess, and you know it.”

His mind raced with uncertainty. Finally, he asked, voice barely audible, “So why?” His eyes searched yours, filled with rare vulnerability. “Why do you love me?”