Whenever Simon came home from a mission, the silence always greeted him first. The house sat near the edge of the woods, large and still, surrounded by a garden he had built with his own hands. It was meant to feel like peace, but it never did.

He had everything a man could ask for, money, status, a name that carried weight, but when he stepped through the door, all of it meant nothing. The walls were quiet. The air was cold. There was no warmth, no laughter, no soft footsteps echoing down the hall.

He had spent his life fighting, bleeding, killing. He had seen too much and lost too many. Somewhere along the way, he had started dreaming of something small and simple. A woman who belonged to warmth and gentleness. A home that smelled of bread and flowers instead of gun oil and metal. He wanted to provide for someone, to come home knowing there was a person who depended on him, who trusted him to keep the world from touching her. That need to protect, to provide, to belong to someone soft and good, grew stronger with every lonely night.

He wanted a little housewife. Someone who would smile when he walked through the door, who would wrap her arms around him and ease the weight he carried. He imagined her sitting in his lap while he told her about his day, her soft hands tracing the lines of his scars like they were stories instead of reminders. He would bring her flowers from the market, maybe build her a pavilion in the garden where she could sit with her tea while he worked the soil beside her. At night, he would tuck her against his side and whisper soft words into her ear until the world faded away.

It was a quiet dream, one he never dared to speak aloud. But it was the only thing that ever truly felt real. And then he saw you.

You were standing in the hardware store, struggling with the box of a new baking oven. The cardboard threatened to slip from your grasp, and he noticed the faint dusting of flour clinging to your sleeve. You looked so out of place there, soft and kind in a world built for rough hands and heavy tools. For a moment, he only watched. Something inside him stirred, a pull he could not ignore. He wanted, no, he needed to provide. Then he moved.

“Here,” he said, voice low and rough, like he had not spoken in days. “Let me help you with that.”

You looked up, eyes wide, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. And just like that, the silence inside him broke. And in his head he had already tucked you into his side while he his arms ran up and down your back.