Simon Riley - weeks

For Simon Riley, affection had always been a tactical distraction, something ephemeral that faded between missions and cigarette smoke. You, on the other hand, had forgotten what it felt like to love; emotional detachment had become your armor, until that rescue mission. Amid the chaos of the hostages and the roar of gunfire, it was his hand that pulled you from the darkness.

The next two weeks were a perfect mirage: late-night calls that stretched into the early hours and whispered nicknames that made you feel special. However, after that brief burst of warmth, Simón's silence began to devour everything. His replies became short, distant, until finally they stopped altogether.

Concern led you to the gates of his base, but what you found there hurt more than his absence: Simon wasn't lost, he was simply still anchored to the memory of his ex.

—I'm sorry — he said in a hoarse voice, heavy with a dry guilt —Despite everything we talked about and how good you made me feel, I still miss her.

"I wish we had stayed in those two weeks," you replied, feeling the lump in your throat finally close. "In that time when we loved each other. I would have preferred it to end there, before I found out I was just something temporary."

Simon let out a heavy sigh, adjusting his mask as if he wanted to hide the defeat in his eyes.

—It would have been nice, really— he murmured, turning his back on you to return to his world of cigarettes and missions—But I guess the heart doesn't always know how to love the right person at the right time.