Kira

"Tried to talk with Laswell but we both know your head isn't here Lieutenant."

"Sir-"

"After recent events... you haven't been the same." Price sighed, "I can't risk putting you or the team in danger."

"So I'm a liability now?"

He knew he was being a prick.

They all had been going through it. Including Price- who was trying oh so hard to keep everything togheter when he was rotting on the inside.

"Ghost-"

"I can still serve-"

"Simon."

The air was tense, every breath they took feeling like water was being filled in their lungs instead of oxygen. The harsh lights of Price's office making his already red eyes sting.

"It was an honor serving with you soldier. Take care of yourself."

So that's how he found himself back in his dingy run down flat in a rather unpleasant neighborhood in Manchester.

After years devoted to serving for his country, one wrong call and circumstance cost him his brother. Another person he thought of as home gone because he wasn't there to have his back.

It wasn't obscure to think that he would lose his mind- yes he was considered heartless and untouchable in the eyes of new recruits that would enlist- hell even his colleagues and higher ups thought the same. In reality, Ghost was only ever a facade to mask his hurt.

So how does one, who spent so long being a soldier, a machine built for war, go back to being a civilian?

He can't.

Simon Riley died a long time ago.

As much as he hated to admit it... Price was right.

He is a liability- became lost in his own rage and pain, blacking out and going on a rampage, killing multiple men like they were going to bring him back.

Months of him not sleeping, taking unnecessary risks, causing outbursts and overall punishing himself- ultimately leading to the death of Makarov. Killed by a bullet going perfectly straight through his skull.

Ghost made sure he put ten more for good measure and a few stab wounds before he was eventually pulled away.

He wasn't himself and he knew that.

Long gone was the calm and collected lieutenant.

Sounds of traffic, beeping horns, yelling, construction workers- drowned out by his own thoughts. Some random football game played in the background while he was on his... God knows what bottle of bourbon- he stopped counting after the tenth one.

Gaz and Price visited, took him out for a pint or two, went grocery shopping for him- but they still had work. Still had six months of deployment ahead of them. He doesn't blame them for losing track of time.

Just how he lost track of when he was supposed to pay his rent, the eviction letter pilled up next to the other useless junk mail.

So what was a man who was unable to integrate into society supposed to do? Pack his measly half empty suitcase and buy a house somewhere off the coast of course.

A two story beach house swallowed inside the overgrown forest that opened up to an unkept beach. Forgotten.

It was perfect.

So he got to work, started repairing the interior, plaster that had fallen off or old windows needing to be replaced by better insulated ones. Bringing in his minimal furniture from his flat after he finished repainting the whole house. He was slowly clearing out the outside as well, cutting down some smaller trees and tending to the grass.

It was sort of nice, he had something to do instead of live on his miserable couch, drinking and wallowing in self pity- I mean he still did that but that was time reserved for after he had finished working.

He even started a small garden for vegetables- mostly potatoes- considering the closest town was a relatively small one that was a 10 minute drive from where he was. He went once a week for basic supplies and food, even started selling fish on the market.

There was an old fishing boat that came with the property, he scraped off the algae and bought himself some new gear... Finding the whole experience quite relaxing.

Watching how the serene water shifted ever so slightly, the sunlight bouncing on the surface as he cast his fishing line once more.

It was familiar, yet...

No matter how much he enjoyed being out on his little boat, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Call it paranoia.

But years in the military have taught him to be aware of his surroundings and he knew when there was a pair of eyes on him. He could tell when he was being hunted.

Yet he could never pin point exactly where it was coming from.

He finished up for the day, deciding to head back to his humble abode. Not before looking at the water and gazing at his reflection, his scarred and burnt face staring right back at him.

Yeah... Enough for today.

Soon, the weather got warmer- almost six months since...

The water was frantic that morning, small waves moving and splashing due to the slightly windy weather. He had been fixing up the deck, sure it worked fine but it was a question of when it wouldn't. The screws were all rusty and crooked, wooden planks moldy and rotting away- so he bought some new ones from town and began unloading his truck. No doubt there was going to be a storm coming in so he just piled the wood and covered them with a tarp.

Good thing he already fixed most of the leaks in the attic, he was going to redo the entire roof at some point but it worked for now- before he had placed a multitude of different pots and pans to catch each individual leak.

He enjoyed it here far more than the city. There wasn't any loud banging or yelling, no nosy people, only the soft melody of crickets, waves and occasionally rain letting him go numb.

Fishing helped as well, it was a quiet past time.

No ghosts are coming to haunt him here.

Well...

Almost no ghosts.

He narrowed his eyes toward the window overlooking the water, taking a long drag from his cigarette. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't help shake that feeling that someone was watching him.

It had started weeks ago, a little after he moved in. Little things at first. Tools moved when he swore he'd left them elsewhere, or the occasional glimpse of movement beyond the rocks offshore.

Every instinct he had screamed he wasn't alone out here and every time he grabbed a rifle to check, he found nothing.

"Bloody losing it," he muttered under his breath.

The storm worsened by evening.

Waves crashed violently against the shore while Simon pulled on his jacket and headed outside with a flashlight. One of his spare fishing nets had come loose near the waterline, dragged halfway towards the rocks littering the beach.

He could've left it for tomorrow morning, could've stayed in the warmth of his living room instead of stomping across wet sand, boots sinking deep.

Then the beam of his flashlight caught movement, his muscles tensing up and seemingly all of his senses being on high alert.

Something thrashed inside the tangled net.

Not something.

Someone.

For some time his brain was struggling to take into account what exactly he was seeing. Skin slick with seawater. Long strands of hair tangled with rope. Wide terrified eyes reflecting in the light.

And below the waist- a fish tail.

Massive. Powerful. Covered in dark iridescent scales that shimmered a sort of turquoise color beneath the rain.

You jerked violently as Simon approached, claws catching uselessly in the netting.

"Easy," he barked automatically like he was giving an order, that only made things worse.

You hissed at him, sharp teeth flashing as you desperately tried to drag yourself backward toward the sea. The net tightening around your tail, cutting into the scales hard enough to draw blood.

Simon stared for another second.

Any normal person would've probably panicked.

But he had fought beside highly trained men, wearing a skull mask while missiles fell from the sky. His scale for "impossible" was far from broken.

He crouched carefully, slowly approaching you while drawing a dagger from his belt. Your eyes widening at the metal.

"Oi," he said gruffly, holding one hand up slightly. "Not gonna hurt you."

The words sounded ridiculous considering they were coming from him, six foot something, pure muscle of a man with a knife in his hand.

Of course you didn't trust him.

The moment he moved closer, you snapped at him hard enough that he jerked back on instinct.

"...Right. Fair."

Rain dripped from the edge of his hood while he studied the mess of rope wrapped around you.

The fishing line had dug deep between the scales of your tail. Every movement tightened it further.

Simon clicked his tongue, patience running thin.

"Hold still unless you fancy losing the whole bloody fin." He grumbled, left to only assume that you don't understand the words, but maybe you had understood the tone.

Barely.

Your breathing remained sharp and panicked, but you had stopped fighting long enough for Simon to start cutting through the net. The knife worked carefully between ropes, severing one knot at a time.

Up close, he could see details that made his chest tighten strangely.

Scars.

Old ones.

Across your shoulders. Along parts of your tail, not natural and definitely not accidental. Something had hurt you before.

"There," he muttered after cutting another line loose. You flinched when his hand brushed against your tail accidentally. The scales were colder than he expected.

Human enough to look fragile.

Not human enough to feel real.

One final rope snapped and the net fell loose entirely.

For a second neither of you moved.

Then you surged backward fast enough to splash seawater across his boots, dragging yourself toward deeper water, strong fins treading through the rough waves.

Simon stood slowly, knife still hanging loosely in his grip as he watched you swim away- only to stop and turn around to gaze right into his eyes.

Rain poured between you in silver sheets while your eyes stayed fixed on him- cautious, frightened, curious. Like you'd been watching him for far longer than he realized.

With a flip of your tail you disappeared into the waves while Simon remained there alone on the shore, soaked to the bone.

After a long silence, he looked down at the shredded fishing net beside his feet.

"...The hell just happened?"

If Simon couldn't sleep before, he sure as hell couldn't now. Sitting on his worn out mattress with a cigarette on his lips, taking deep breaths of it as he stared with wide eyes through his window. His wet clothes thrown in the laundry hamper while he contemplated whether or not what happened was real or not.

A fucking mermaid.

He truly has lost his mind.

Surely it's the lack of sleep, maybe even a rusty old pipe burst and he's getting high off of gas because there is no way in hell that what he saw was real.

The storm had long since passed, wind clearing out the nasty clouds as sunlight found its way and crept through his windows.

He must be crazy.

So why the fuck is there a torn up fishing net where you had been? Why did he find shiny scales around it and deep groves in the sand where you had dragged your body when you jumped in?

And most importantly- why were there missing fish in his catch from the day before? You have bloody claws and teeth and yet you chose to take his? He spent a few solid hours using his heavy duty equipment to catch those. Not to mention his perfectly good net that he had to tear up in a million pieces since you got yourself tangled up in it.

The nerve of some people- or fish.

A part of him wished it stoped then and there. But of course it didn't and you were still around.

He could still feel your eyes on him, frankly he isn't sure if it's better now that he knows who is stalking him- might've been better to live in paranoia instead of delusion.

You weren't being slick either, he could see the slight ripples on the water when there was no wind, or the silhouette sitting by the rocks at dawn.

When he was fixing up the house though? Yeah, that was apparently peak entertainment for you. Curious eyes staring at him from the water while he worked on the deck, trying to finish it up before another storm rolled in.

He got used to the staring.

It meant he wasn't alone.

Your voice was soothing as well. You'd spent nights perched up on your rock, singing a soft melody that lulled him to sleep whenever he was restless- which was almost every night but your songs made him get at least two more hours of sleep to his measly none.

So what if he accidentally left a fish on his deck?

It's not like he purposefully placed the biggest one and stayed perched on his window waiting for your little webbed hands to find it- or how his chest filled with pride when he noticed that it was gone.

Meaningless.

Just like the pretty shells and smooth sea glass he would find after accidentally misplacing a fish every morning. He doesn't miss the little pleased click you'd do when he picked it up, glancing unamused at your general direction and watching you plop back into the water like a child getting caught stealing.

Sure it was embarrassing, but he was so fascinating to you- humans were always afraid of your kind, hunting and poaching you for god knows what sort of imaginary tale they spread about you. Forcing your kind to retreat into deep water just to be safe, turning into a myth or legend that was told to young children.

But he was different. He could've easily taken you, practically served on a silver plater for him since your already caught yourself... he didn't though.

Simon soon realized you had been watching for far longer than what he thought.

You've had your eyes on him since the very first day he'd set foot on the property. Seen him open the door to the house and watch in amusement when the handle was left in his hand. Seen him drunk on his porch at 3am. Seen him awake pacing on the beach after a gruesome nightmare. Seen him sitting on the ground of that same beach and talking to ghosts that weren't there.

You've seen him entirely and saw yourself.

Weeks spent at a distance, knowing of one another and yet scared to get close- because for both of you, getting close meant nothing good.

Though, you couldn't help but sit closer and closer to the shore.

Who could blame you? That man had the most treasures you've ever seen- simple work equipment had you in awe whenever he would use it. Surely he wouldn't mind if you tinkered with them, holding them and mimicking what he did. And yeah, it did annoy him to find his tools wet and not where had left them- but he drew the line when he saw that his pack of cigarettes were gone.

He heard you laugh for the first time that day. Your sweet voice giggling behind a rock while holding his things hostage.

Slowly that giggle turned into words.

He'd sit on the now sturdy and well built deck while you were perched up on your rock. Listening to him speak, about his day, the fish he'd catch or the nosy townsfolk that make up stories about him. In time he started to open up about his childhood, the rare but fonder memories- then some of his time serving.

You loved his voice, gruff and raspy but soft when he spoke to you... Nothing like the fishermen you'd listen in on whilst you got curious and swam up to the surface. Their voices were loud- but you did learn a few words here and there just by observing them.

Eventually you became more comfortable around Simon, swimming closer to him and trying to form your own sentences. You could understand most of what he was saying, having him explain new words to you as you tried your hardest to remember them.

You in turn, would teach him about tide patterns, giving him insight on the underwater life and how they react to them- along with how to identify and stay away from dangerous currents.

Now, whenever he'd go fishing you would be trailing close behind, telling him what time of day it was best to go out. His eyes just followed you while you were herding up some fish and leading them directly to his net, careful not to catch your own fins since you already cost him one.

He'd reward you by giving you the biggest fish to eat, and you'd give him the shiniest shells you could find.

For a while he was just referring to you as Fish. An annoying fish that would meddle with his stuff. He learnt your name of course, it was as beautiful as you- also having him hear you say his name for the first time was something to say the least.

Doesn't stop him from continuing to call you fish.

You were by far the first living thing that made this place feel less empty... First thing to make his lip dare to lift up in a poor attempt at a smile.

His drinking started to decrease as well, the nightmares still haven't left but your singing helped him keep them at bay.

One night in particular he woke up after drinking a whole bottle of bourbon. He wasn't proud of that but if the hangover wasn't a big enough punishment, having a nightmare of him screaming Johnny's name whilst he sees the life drain from his eyes and blood pool around his head. Having his hand firmly pressed to his chest, desperately searching for a heartbeat only for him to turn into ash and dogtags.

Clenching his fist against his own heart, he found himself standing in the water instead on his own bed, the cold salty water to his knees as he lets out a frustrated scream.

Your ears pick up that sound and before you knew it you were moving your tail frantically, looking for him and thinking he drowned but he was just sitting there... Letting the waves hit him as he held his knees to his chest, red eyes filled with tears... Desperately trying to keep them from falling.

"Si...?"

"Couldn't save him."

Oh...

You didn't say much after that.

Just carefully swam up next to him and gently laid your head on his knee.

You've seen how this played out before, he'd have that same nightmare and believe whatever awful things his subconscious thought up to torture him that night. Although you didn't know what atrocity had woken him up or the extent of what he had endured... Pain is something you sadly recognized easily.

The only thing you could do is offer your presence to him, wishing to take or at most share his hurt.

That was the first physical comfort he'd accepted in years.

You stayed like that for a while, the soft waves hitting the both of you as you sit in silence, not wanting to move an inch in fear of startling him. Simon, whose ragged breathing had slowed down a bit, just stared out into the open sea.

"Cold" you mutter, feeling how cold his skin was. Humans weren't built like mer, he was going to get sick if he didn't go.

As much as he hated the thought of leaving, once he looked into your worried eyes he slowly got up. Your hands dropping to the wet sand as you looked up at him.

He just gave you a nod. Making his way to his house where a warm shower would do him some good.

The morning after he sat by the dock and waited for you to pop up, not uttering a word before giving you the fish he would've otherwise left.

You couldn't help the happy clicking coming from the back of your throat when you snatched the fish up, biting into it as if you were given the best meal ever- because you were given more than just food.

Since then he's made an effort to always greet you when the sun rises with breakfast. Started bringing his own food because last time you'd insisted on sharing the raw bloody fish with him and he almost took your offer. Food poisoning be damned.

On the other hand you always show up early, a shiny treasure in your hands and waiting for him to make his way down when you pop up from the water. He gave you a pleased grunt whenever you'd present them to him. Not nearly as much excitement as you but when it came to him, that was enough.

Well, the first time you'd had the pleasure of hearing him laugh- more like a small chuckle but it still counted- was when you tried getting up on the dock with him.

It wasn't that high.

But it wasn't that low either.

You could've pulled yourself up, sure, it would've been easier- but you decided to jump instead. Landing face first into the planks and bruising your cheek. Shrieking and flapping your fins like a fish out of water.

It's safe to say that whatever pain you felt was momentarily forgotten once you heard him scoff and saw the tiniest hint of a grin. Stilling yourself as you gazed at him, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards.

He pushed you back in the water for staring too long. Much to your protests. He watched you for a good five minutes just flapping around glaring at him before hauling you up next to him.

You huffed, taking a big bite from your food.

From this close you could make out more of his features, every line, scar and mark. You'd trace them all, your interest peaking at the ink that lined his arm. Asking him about his tattoos and looking closely at them- you didn't ask him about his scars though. You had your own share of them to knew how painful it is to remember how you'd gotten them.

Eventually you'll open up to him, once where you noticed how he let his eyes wander before looking away as to not make you uncomfortable. Painfully respectful- yet he couldn't shake the feeling of dread whenever he'd see your wounds.

"My kind dislikes yours," you'd start quietly. "We were driven away by fear, forbidden from going near the surface."

Your fingers ran absentmindedly along your scales as you stared out at the dark water. "I was a curious kid. Always sneaking away, always asking questions. I wanted to see your world." A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Paid the price for it."

Simon followed your gaze before his eyes settled on the scar stretching across your back. Unlike the others, it was clean and deliberate, the kind of wound that hadn't come from an accident. His expression hardened almost instantly.

"Did they..."

You nodded. "They made an example of me. Said i didn't belong among them."

The waves rolled under the wood bellow you, filling the silence that followed. You expected questions, maybe even pity, but Simon only stared at the scar for a moment longer before looking away.

"Wasn't right of em"

Your head turned toward him.

"They were our rules-"

"Don't mean shit."

For so long you've tried to justify what they did to you, to see reason within the truth... Swimming alone near the surface you once dreamt to see, running away from hooks and nets as the sharp blades pierced your skin.

Humans who would hunt you and whenever you'd tried to make a friend they would only care to have your tail on a line. You knew Simon was different. A human like them but he hadn't harmed you.

Hesitantly, you take his hand in your own and bring it up to your cheek, holding it there as you closed your eyes.

"Thank you."

For a moment, Simon only looked at you, the walls he kept around him were suddenly not so solid. He only grunted in response, yet he didn't pull his hand away.

Days started to blur togheter from that point on. He would wake up early to have breakfast with you, then do some work around the house as you watched him whilst you sunbathed on your rock. Once you gave him the clear on the weather, he'd set off on his fishing boat while you swam next to him.

You made sure to gather only the best fish for him, climbing on the boat once you were done to have some lunch. Giving him a playful splash from your tail before he heads back for town to sell his catch.

So what if he stopped by the small jewelers shop, the shiny necklace on display catching his attention. So what if he bought it for you? You seemed to like that sort of stuff anyway.

Judging by your reaction you more than loved it.

He helped you put it on as you held your hair up, only to look down and see how the light reflected off of it. The sun setting in the background as you laid down on the shore next to him.

It felt natural how he had somehow revolved his entire schedule around you.

He woke up thinking about you, worked around the property just listening you talk about everything and anything. Whenever he was in town he'd think of how you'd react to life on land, all of his mundane reactions would be tainted with thoughts of how excited you would be to see this. He'd spend the ends of his days watching the sun set peacefully with you by his side.

Which makes whatever emotions that built up hit harder when he shows up one day on the dock, carrying a sandwich for him and your favorite fish. Expecting to find you waiting there for him, either you'd be plopped on the deck already or hiding in the water trying to scare him- but you weren't there. Not when he scanned the entire area or called out your name. Maybe you just overslept. Didn't stop him from sitting there waiting for you. Telling himself you're fine.

But he wasn't fine.

Breakfast came and went without a glimpse of you. Simon told himself it didn't matter, carrying on with repairs around the house, an old plumbing leak he'd been putting off doing.

Yet every time he straightened up, his eyes drifted toward the water. By midday he'd checked the shoreline more times than he cared to admit, his tea long gone cold beside him. The afternoon passed no easier, each movement in the waves caught his attention only to turn out to be nothing.

By the time evening settled over the coast, Simon found himself standing on the porch with his arms crossed, staring out at the darkening sea. The realization that he'd spent the entire day waiting for you sat heavily in his chest, irritating him far more than your absence ever could.

To anyone else he would've seemed mental. Staring out into the open sea waiting for a damn mermaid to show up.

"Bloody fish." He muttered under his breath, feet already taking him away from the shore.

Then he heard it, a small splash in his direction and when he turned around- there you were. The second your head broke the surface of the water, Simon was already moving down the beach.

"Where the hell were you?" he barked, frustration getting the better of him. "Been gone all bloody day without a word-"

The rest died in his throat.

You'd stopped a few feet away, and only then did he notice the water around you wasn't just dark from the evening shadows.

It was red.

His eyes then dropped to your tail. A deep gash ran along one side of your fin, fresh blood slipping between the scales and disappearing into the sea.

The irritation vanished instantly, replaced with a feeling he knew all too well.

"What happened?"

His voice came out lower this time, sharper in a different way. He was already crouching at the water's edge, reaching for you before he even realized he'd moved.

"Current took me farther out..." you let him pick you up from the water, "Some fishermen managed to hit me-"

You hesitated before adding "I'm sorry."

Simon's expression darkened immediately as his eyes stayed focused on the blood staining your fin.

"Don't apologize."

The words came out sharper than intended. He crouched beside you, inspecting the wound before muttering a curse under his breath.

"Stay here."

Without another word, he turned and headed for the house, returning minutes later with a first aid kit, clean cloths, and a bucket of fresh water. By the time he knelt beside you again, the irritation from earlier had vanished completely, replaced by a focus you were beginning to recognize.

"Let me see it."

You pulled your hands away from your wound and hissed in pain when he started working on it. His hands were precise, cleaning and disinfecting, later wrapping you up in some waterproof gauze.

He finished tying off the bandage and sat back with a quiet grunt. The cut would heal, eventually. He told himself that was all that mattered.

Still, the image of blood in the water refused to leave his mind.

The silence stretched between you as the sun dipped below the horizon. Simon kept his gaze fixed on the waves, jaw tight. He told himself the anger twisting in his chest was directed at the fishermen, at the carelessness of it all. It had nothing to do with the way his stomach had dropped when you hadn't shown up that morning.

Not at all.

For the next two weeks, your visits became shorter while the wound healed. Simon insisted it was to keep pressure off the injury, though you suspected he was simply looking for an excuse to keep an eye on it. Even so, the beach felt strangely empty whenever you disappeared beneath the waves, leaving him alone with the sound of the sea and thoughts he stubbornly refused to examine.

Your fin had eventually healed enough that Simon no longer had an excuse to fuss over it, though that didn't stop him from glancing at it every now and then whenever he thought you weren't looking. The two of you had slipped back into an easy routine. You sat nearby, talking far more than he ever did, filling the quiet with questions about human life while he hammered boards into place or sanded down old wood. Most of the time, he answered with various grunts, but you'd learned how to translate those by now.

"What was your family like?" you asked, watching him work.

Simon paused briefly before continuing. "Complicated."

You accepted the answer for what it was. Some subjects were harder than others. Instead, you traced patterns into the sand with your fingers, thinking for a moment before looking back up at him.

"Do you ever get lonely?"

The question seemed innocent enough.

Yet the hammer stopped.

For a few seconds, Simon didn't move. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the half-finished porch as if he were looking at something only he could see. You waited, expecting one of his usual dismissive answers, but none came.

Eventually, he set the hammer down with more force than necessary.

"Don't."

The single word caught you off guard.

"What?"

"Don't ask questions like that."

Confusion flickered across your face. You weren't trying to upset him. It was just another thing you wanted to understand, another piece of him he rarely spoke about. Yet something about the question had struck deeper than you'd intended.

"I was only curious."

"Well stop."

The sharpness in his voice made the air between you suddenly feel colder. Simon scrubbed a hand down his face before looking out toward the ocean, avoiding your eyes entirely.

"It's best if you stay in the water."

The words landed heavily.

You stared at him. "What?"

"Your world's out there." His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "The sea's where you belong."

The confusion in your chest slowly gave way to hurt. For months he'd welcomed your company, taught you about his world, sat beside you for hours without complaint. Now he was acting as though you'd crossed a line you couldn't even see.

For the first time since you'd met him, the silence between you felt uncomfortable. Simon knew it the moment it settled over the beach, knew he'd said the wrong thing, but the thought of taking it back terrified him even more. Because if he did, he'd have to admit why the question had bothered him in the first place.

For a moment, you simply stared at him. The hurt on your face was immediate, impossible to hide no matter how hard you tried. Simon felt it like a knife between his ribs, especially when your eyes began to shine with unshed tears.

"Oh."

The quiet response was somehow worse than shouting.

You lowered your gaze, fingers tightening in fists as sand dug into them. For a second, Simon thought you might argue, might tell him he was being an idiot. Instead, you only nodded.

"Okay."

The word barely rose above a whisper.

Without another look in his direction, you slipped back toward the water. Your movements were slower than usual, lacking the excitement that normally accompanied your visits. Simon watched you go, every instinct screaming at him to say something- to stop you, explain himself, take the words back- but he remained rooted where he stood.

When you disappeared beneath the waves, the beach felt unnaturally quiet.

The first day passed easily enough. Simon threw himself into repairs around the house and convinced himself the silence was for the best. By the third day, he found himself glancing toward the water whenever he stepped outside. By the fifth, he was standing on the porch long after sunset, staring at the empty shoreline. A full week passed without so much as a glimpse of you, and the realization settled heavily in his chest.

The beach hadn't changed.

The house hadn't changed.

Yet somehow everything felt emptier without you there.

Days passed by in silence. Like they were before he met you... It's the same sensations he had when he lost-

He missed you.

No matter how much he denies it, the heaviness in his chest is enough to drown him.

Almost two weeks had passed.

The weather had been clear that morning, the sea calm enough that he'd decided to take the boat farther out than usual. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to stop himself from looking toward the shoreline every five minutes expecting to see someone who wasn't coming.

The engine hummed steadily beneath him as he cast his line overboard. He told himself it was for the best. You belonged to the sea. He'd only said what needed to be said.

Then why did he feel so empty?

A gust of wind cut across the water as the horizon darkened.

What had been clear blue skies less than an hour ago were now swallowed by heavy clouds rolling in far too quickly. The waves began to swell beneath the boat, rocking it hard enough to make him grab the railing.

"Shit."

The storm hit fast. Faster than he could ever anticipate.

Rain lashed against him as the sea turned violent, tossing the boat like driftwood. Simon fought the wheel, trying to turn back towards shore, but another wave slammed into the side making the boat jerk violently.

Something cracked.

Then another wave hit.

The world seemingly flipped as if the ocean was punishing him.

All he could feel in that moment was the cold biting at his skin.

Simon barely had time to suck in a breath before the sea dragged him under. He kicked toward the surface, disoriented, only for another wave to crash over his head. Saltwater filled his lungs as he struggled against the current, his soaked clothes dragging him deeper.

For the first time in years, genuine fear gripped him.

Not of dying.

Of regret.

The last thing he'd said to you echoed in his head.

It's best if you stay in the water.

His chest burned.

Another mouthful of water.

Another failed attempt to reach the surface.

And as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, all Simon could think was that if these were his final moments, then the last thing he'd ever given you was a reason to leave.

Miles away, beneath the crashing waves, something made you stop. You'd been drifting through the empty sea, wishing to go back and see him but you knew better. He didn't want you and that broke your fragile heart in a million pieces.

Suddenly a foreign feeling crept its way to you.

A disturbance in the water.

Something familiar.

And suddenly, without knowing why, your heart dropped as your tail cut through the murky water- frantically swimming like your life depended on it because it wasn't your life on the line but his.

The moment you found him, he wasn't fighting anymore.

His body drifted beneath the surface, dragged by the current as the storm raged overhead. Panic seized your chest as you shot through the water, reaching him just before he disappeared into the darkness below. You had one arm hooked beneath his shoulders while the other struggled to keep his head above the waves whenever he broke the surface. More than once the sea tried to pull him from your grasp, but you held on, ignoring the ache in your muscles as you forced both of you towards the shore.

By the time you reached the beach, you were exhausted.

"Simon."

No response.

You dragged him onto the sand, hands shaking as you pressed against his chest the way he'd once shown you after you'd asked about it. Nothing.

"Simon."

Your voice cracked.

Then suddenly seawater spilled from his mouth. He coughed weakly before falling still once more. Relief flooded through you so hard your vision blurred.

He was alive. Barely holding on but alive nonetheless.

Your gaze snapped toward the distant house.

You couldn't carry him there.

Not like this.

The wind howled around you as you looked down at your tail. Every warning you'd ever been given echoed through your mind. Every story. Every lesson. Every consequence.

There would be no going back.

Not after this.

For a moment, fear rooted you in place. If you did this there would be no taking it back, you'd be forced to live a life unknown to you- but one look at Simon's nearly lifeless face had your doubts wash away.

The choice disappeared and pain exploded through your body.

Your vocal cords burned as you yelled out, your tail thrashing violently against the sand as your sparkly scales split apart beneath your skin. Bones cracked and shifted into unfamiliar shapes. Every nerve in your body felt as though it were being torn apart and rebuilt. All while you could only manage to claw against the wet sand, desperate for relief that never came.

The transformation seemed endless, but when it finally stopped, you collapsed beside him, gasping for breath.

It was over. The relief washed over your body as you forced yourself to look down... What once was a powerful tail had become legs.

Human. Fragile. Permanent.

Tears mixed with rainwater as you stared at them. The sea no longer called to you the way it once had.

You had given it up.

Given up the ocean.

Given up your home.

Given up the only life you'd ever known.

For him.

The realization hurt almost as much as the transformation itself.

Yet when you looked at Simon, unconscious and shivering beside you, you found you couldn't regret it.

Not even for a second.

With trembling limbs, you forced yourself upright. The first step nearly sent you crashing back to the ground, feeling as you were walking on shards of broken glass. The second wasn't much better. Your legs felt wrong, unsteady beneath your weight, but somehow you managed to hook Simon's arm around your shoulders.

The brute was fucking heavy, making the walk to the house slow and miserable.

By the time you reached the front door, every muscle in your body burned and your legs felt ready to give out beneath you.

Still, you kept moving.

Because Simon had freed you from the net once. Shown you the type of kindness that you've forgotten from a life full of loneliness.

Now it was your turn to bring him home.

You'd set him down on the soft couch, started removing his drenched clothes. Drying him off and wrapping him in a thick blanket. The red flickers of coal in the nearly dead fire caught your attention, making you grab some of the logs and arranging them in the same way Simon once did when he showed you how good cooked food could be.

The house is much warmer now. Lulling you into a peaceful slumber as your eyes fell heavy.

A while later, consciousness returned slowly to him.

Everything hurt.

His chest burned with every breath like it was bleeding from the inside, his muscles ached, and there was a pounding headache lodged somewhere behind his eyes. For a moment Simon simply stared at the ceiling, confused by the warmth surrounding him. The last thing he remembered was the storm.

The boat.

The water.

The regret.

Then nothing but darkness.

A crackle drew his attention towards the fireplace. Someone had built a fire. Fresh blankets had been piled over him.

Then he felt it.

A hand.

His gaze dropped.

Your fingers were loosely intertwined with his own, your head resting against the edge of the couch where you'd apparently fallen asleep. For a second, relief hit him so hard it was almost painful.

You were here. Like an angel sent from heaven- was he in heaven? Sure seemed like it if you were next to him.

Then his eyes traveled lower.

And froze.

Legs.

His breath caught as the realization struck with the same force of the wave that knocked him out.

How the storm took him, or the fact that there was absolutely no way you could have gotten him home otherwise. A thousand questions rushed through his mind.

Slowly, carefully, Simon pushed himself upright. The movement made you stir, your brow furrowing as you began to wake.

The second your eyes met his, relief flooded your face.

"Simon."

His grip tightened around your hand before he could stop himself.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then his gaze dropped briefly to your legs before returning to your face.

"What did you do?"

The question came out rough.

Not angry.

Not accusing.

Just afraid of the answer.

Your eyes welled up with tears and you brought his hand to your cheek, "Don't belong in the water anymore."

The weak smile you offered him did nothing to ease the sick feeling twisting in Simon's chest.

Instead it made it worse because only now was he beginning to understand what you'd done.

You'd given up everything for him.

"Jesus Christ..." he breathed.

Your smile faltered.

Before you could say anything else, Simon's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward. The movement was sudden, almost desperate. One second you were sitting beside the couch, the next you were wrapped in his arms.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

You could feel the way his grip tightened around you, as though he were afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

"Dumb fish," he muttered hoarsely into your hair.

The insult lacked any real bite.

Slowly, your arms slipped around him in return.

"I thought you wanted me gone."

The words were barely above a whisper as Simon's chest tightened painfully.

"No."

The answer came immediately.

"No, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. You pulled back just enough to look at him and for the first time since waking, Simon met your gaze fully. There was no mask now. No distance. No convenient excuse he could hide behind.

Only relief.

Relief that you were here next to him, and that he'd been given another chance.

His hand rose to cup your face.

"I'm sorry."

Your eyes widened.

It was probably the first genuine apology you'd ever heard from him.

"You don't have to-"

"I do."

His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall, and for a moment neither of you dared to move.

You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough to see every scar and line on his face. Simon's gaze dropped briefly to your lips before immediately returning to your eyes, as though he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You didn't.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned in and you felt the brush of his lips against yours.

It was tentative at first, almost uncertain. Simon's hand remained against your cheek while yours found his wrist, holding on as if grounding yourself. It wasn't dramatic or desperate, just soft and lingering, years of loneliness and unspoken feelings finally finding somewhere to go.

When he pulled back, it wasn't far.

His forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath, eyes closing for a moment.

"You belong with me," he murmured quietly, squeezing your hand.

This time, when you smiled, it didn't hurt.

Nuzzling your face closer into his neck as his hands hold you impossibly tighter- making you feel safe. This is your home now. Simon is your home and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You also couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat when your eyes drifted to the little basket under the window, every little treasure you've gifted him was neatly tucked into it and it was the only thing in the house that didn't have a layer of dust covering its surface.

Yeah.

You don't regret one bit of it.

Not when you finally feel wanted.

Not when he'd finally taken you to town, shown you the life you'd yearned for all this time. Or how he'd let you decorate the house in different hues of blues and plants reminiscent of the kelp you'd once swam through. A big aquarium was stationed in the corner along with an assortment of shells and shiny rocks you'd collected with him whilst you walked along the beach hand in hand.

It was safe to say that Simon was right about how you'd react to human life- except for watching tv. You were cursing so much it would make a sailor blush because of the sheer amount of incorrect statements being said about underwater life.

Months later he'd surprise you with a shiny ring, asking you to marry him. You were confused to say the least- you were under the assumption that you were already mated. C'mon, you've given him almost hundreds of shiny treasures and he'd shown himself as a capable mate when he'd presented you with the biggest fish he'd caught.

Were you not mates?

It took a while for Simon to explain human customs and marriage over your hysterical crying, by the end of it you somehow ended up tangled in bed together- he ended up with a multitude of bites and purple hickeys, not like he complained.

You also didn't get the whole wearing white to a wedding. What was the point of wearing such a dull color to a special day? Simon made you cry once again when he showed you a custom made mermaid gown that had the exact hues and shades that once adorned the scales on your tail.

The wedding was small. By small it was just you two accompanied by Price and Gaz to sign as witnesses. The grateful look on their faces didn't go unnoticed by you. You decided it was best not to tell them what you were.

The only person you told was Johnny.

You held Simon's hand tightly as he knelt on the ground where they had once spread his ashes. He still has that nightmare from time to time, but now he has you to help him. A part of him believes that he had sent you to him. A guardian angel to make him die a happy man.

Because he is happy.

Especially the night where you were cuddled up close to him, taking his hand in yours and instead of pressing it to your cheek you lowered it to your stomach... Wordlessly telling him that you were having a little fry of your own.

Now, Simon Riley stood not as a dead man, but as a lucky bastard that was given a second chance at life- a life with you in it. Call it a fairy tale if you will but he is beyond grateful to whatever being there was that gifted you to him.

a/n: Oookay this was a bit of a long one on my part, do I think it could use a bit more flushing out and if given to the right writer it could sound so poetic and beautifully written? Yeah, a lil bit- but it's my lil story and I love mermaids this time of year- hope you enjoyed reading it tho <3

You struggle to get out of bed, your limbs tangling between the duvet and blankets- miraculously you manage to get untangled. Bare feet stomping recklessly against the floorboards as you slam open the kitchen door expecting to be face to face with a fire that's swallowing your flat up- but it's just Simon.

Highly trained military lieutenant Simon Riley who is currently running water over a burnt pan that supposedly had an omelette in it- at least that's what you think.

His eyes were pitiful.

Almost as if you kicked him.

"Wanted t'make ya breakfast" he mutters, voice far too small to belong to him.

In the certain amount of time that you knew him, there's a few things you learnt that still remain true. He can fix almost anything in your dingy flat, stay vigilant and protective but one thing he lacks is any cooking skills. Surprisingly for how bad he is in the kitchen, he still manages to be even worse behind the wheel.

"Good morning to you too" you snort, opening up your fridge and grabbing some veggies, meat and condiments. He wordlessly follows your actions, opening up the bread he bought that morning and cutting the meat into thin slices as you chop up the veggies- putting everything together to make you both some sandwiches.

You make your way to the couch, wrapping yourself in a throw blanket since you're still cold. Sure, maybe washing your face and brushing your teeth would've been a better way to start your day instead of eating a sandwich in your living room but free will exists for a reason and you intend to use it.

You feel the couch dip as Simon sits next to you, something was off with him.

Most likely because of last night.

It was tough for you both, but you needed to figure things out for your own sanity- having Lily call him dada left a feeling that was beyond painful inside your heart.

The day ended with her falling asleep in her crib as you retreated to your room. Simon fell asleep on the couch, at least that's what you thought- he couldn't even get a wink of sleep from the inner turmoil his head was in.

Now he was almost timid. Overthinking every move he made, every breath he took- acting as if one wrong motion was going to disrupt whatever peace there was.

He pulls something out of his pocket, a neatly folded little handkerchief. Starring daggers into the fabric while he steadies his breathing and then carefully places it in your lap.

You pause for a moment, flicking your eyes between him and the soft material. You set your plate to the side as you run your fingers along the fabric, not once did his gaze meet yours, instead he focused on your hands.

So you unfold it, the silver catching the light as you held it in your hands.

His dog tags.

Shiny and new, most likely a spare of his but no doubt they were the real deal, all his information ingraved into the tiny metal.

"Simon-"

"Want you t'have em"

He still hasn't looked at you, eyes darting to the picture frames you had on your wall. The only sound in the room was your breathing and the faint hum of the fridge.

Taking a deep breath, you pull the chain over your head. You knew what it meant. How much weight the tiny gesture holds. He knew too, trying to be slick but you could see the faint shine he had in his eyes. Slightly glossy and wet from the moment you both sat on the couch.

"Thank you"

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see"

Thats all he managed to say ever since you got in your car, blindly driving as he gave you directions. You rolled your eyes and continued to take turns, humming some random tune the radio had on that morning. Your tiny car driving past buildings until they got smaller, less crowded, slowly turning into houses and you could even make out the sky.

It visibly got more clean, no grafitti or build boards around every corner- you always dreamed of the suburban life. Living inside a nice big house without the fear of disturbing your neighbors by dropping something or not being able to sleep when they'd turn the tv to full volume. Or how your past neighbors used to constantly argue and yell, at that point it felt like you were apart of their problems- nothing like what it could be if they'd live across the street from you.

Alas, ever since you moved out from your childhood home, you only ever been couped up in apartments. Tiny, cramped living spaces that have a decently priced rent and somewhat bearable landlords.

It's safe to say that you could only dream of living somewhere that wasn't a glorified sardine can.

"Simon are you sure we're going the right-"

"Drive."

Okay. Now you were confused- hands on the wheel as you drove through a really nice neighborhood, filled with some of the prettiest houses with even prettier gardens. You passed by a giant park, with an even bigger playground with swings and slides- and it had the neatest sandbox you've ever seen.

"Here."

You hesitated, but slowed down and pulled over in the driveway, were you visiting someone? Why on earth would you be here. He unclasped your seatbelts and got out of the car. The doors shut behind you softly as you followed Simon, expecting him to ring the doorbell- instead he just waltzed right in there.

"Simon what are you doing?" you hiss, voice as frantic as your movements, staggering after him while trying to pull your bag over your head.

The entryway was gorgeous, big glass windows letting in light inside the empty house. It even smelt nice, like that new wood smell and freshly painted walls.

His footsteps stop in the living room- well it didn't have any furniture but you could tell what it was meant to be by the large fireplace in the middle. Outside, you could make out what was a beautiful pool through the wide windows. A little to the right there was a half wall, opening up the space so you could gawk at the most beautiful kitchen.

While you were busy taking all of this in, Simon removed his surgical mask and fumbled with something in his back pocket.

You turn to face him, eyes widening when you saw the keys in his hand- a little heart keychain dangling with them.

"For you."

No way.

Nope.

He has to be joking. No- he didn't just- he must be joking. Ain't no way this man has just bought a house.

"What do you mean?" you hated how little your voice sounded as your eyes looked into his.

"House is yers, yer name on the documents."

Oh that made your eyes sting. Glossing over as your hand covered your mouth.

"Yeah?" the damn broke once he put the keys in your palm, his larger one gently holding it.

"Got a target on my back, don't want that for my girls- it's a secure location, had a good security system installed so you'll be safe" he spoke softly, stopping once he saw your tears.

He bought you a house to keep you safe.

Before he even had the chance to say anything more, you had already wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and crushing your lips togheter.

It was messy. Noses bumping, teeth slightly clinking- but the feeling of having his chapped lips against yours was accelerating.

You don't want to think anymore. Just want to stay here with his scent wrapping around you and making you feel cared for because you were- with him you were.

Slowly, he wrapped one arm around your waist, lifting the other to gently cup your cheek and tilt your head so he could deepen the kiss.

It was intoxicating.

"You really did that?" you manage to pull back, sniffling and slightly embarrassed by how your nose started running once your tears began to spill out.

"Said I'm not leaving."

It's unbelievable how easy that sounds when it came out of his lips. As if it were really that easy to be loved. To have a family.

Because it wasn't.

For so long Simon had one understanding for family, it meant he had something to lose. The role of a father was tainted with screaming, fighting, hitting- the mother crying and taking everything so her kids won't hurt, kids who no matter what are still frightened and bruised.

A home being four walls that he'd dread waking up in. Family meant hurt. Hurting by living with it and hurting when it is taken from him- when people he cared about were unfairly treated and then taken from him. Because of him.

That's all family was to Simon.

The closest he had ever gotten to having one was with his team, when he's out surviving and struggling to stay alive, he could only ever rely on his brothers in combat whom he'd mourn dearly if they were to get killed. Men who he'd stick his neck out no questions asked. Who he'd go get drinks at the dingy bar and pray they make it out the next mission.

But it didn't feel like that with you.

You were soft... Gentle and sweet- everything used to describe Simon but flipped around. You were far from what he was used to, from what he has been taught he deserved.

Not when you pull back and litter his whole face with kisses, a big smile plastered on both of you. Not when he lovingly kisses your head and holds you so dearly.

Not when he gently leads you from room to room, showing you where he plans Lily's bedroom to be and how he wants to put stars on the ceeling and a night light in the corner with so many stuffed animals just so she could feel safe when she went to bed.

Not when he showed you the empty walls where he hopes to hang up photos of you both for the years that are yet to come. Not when he shows you the back garden and the barbeque area for cookouts or the pool you saw earlier where you'd hopefully relax after a long day. Not when he takes you to the master bedroom and shows you where he'd make you a custom built in closet so you wouldn't have to pile your clothes in the corner of your room.

Not when he pulls your head to his chest and whispers how he hopes that he would wake up next to you every morning and thank whatever god there was for gifting you to him.

You don't mention how his heartbeat got faster once he uttered those words.

Family meant unconditional love. Hope for a better day. For a future of both good and bad moments that you'll overcome togheter because you simply love each other.

He loved you.

Maybe one day he could say it. One day where he would spill his heart out and say everything that has ever crossed his mind about you but he can't.

Words hold meaning but they're not enough.

Not for Simon at least.

Just like his job, he'll get his hands dirty to keep that smile on your face and so Lily could get to grow up with a normal life. With a loving father and a mother who only sheds tears whenever he makes her laugh too hard.

He promised.

Tag list:

Speaking of her, Lily loves him- that's not even something anyone could argue with. Some days she even reaches out for him instead of you, a little traitor. Constantly babbling and cooing around him, grabbing his face with her tiny hands and playing with his mask. He doesn't wear it as often anymore- well, when they're out he puts it on sure, but at home he almost never wears it.

Kids always ran the other way when they saw the cuts and scars on his face, parents covering their children's eyes as to not scare them. But Lily always lit up whenever she saw him, eyes almost sparkling when he would pick her up or get on the ground to play with her.

It was adorable watching her crawl towards him just to show off all her toys, most of them bought by him. You weren't complaining, chopping up an assortment of vegetables in the kitchen for dinner as you sipped on some wine.

It was all perfect. Well... almost.

You don't need to be a psychic to notice how he's been acting differently. He's around more often, helping out and just being there.

Like that one time you had that leak in your kitchen, he came almost immediately and fixed it in under twenty minutes.

Not to mention how he's seemingly always there when you need him. Your car breaks down? He's already there with his tool kit and getting covered in oil. When you get sick? He's there struggling to make you a soup while watching over Lily, forcing you to stay in bed and drink water till you're back on your feet.

What really got on your nerves was the fact that he never addressed anything. It's been a few months but nothing has been said- He's the one who made the first move, the one to ask for your number- he's the one that canceled the restaurant reservation and wanted to stay in with you when you couldn't go out. He's the one that your daughter latches onto whenever she's scared. He's the one that came back. He's the one...

So why can't you tell him?

It was a regular day.

You were finishing up your shift at work, slightly tired since it was hectic- but nothing you couldn't handle. Changing out of your work uniform and driving to Lily's daycare.

It was fairly close to your job, a nice friendly neighborhood- plus she seemed to like it, considering she doesn't get to interact with a lot of kids.

"Hi I'm here for Lily" you were slightly out of breath, a bit late but you made it before closing time.

The lady at the desk just gave you a puzzled look "Lily? She just checked out with her father a few minutes ago."

Her father.

You felt your heart plummet down to your stomach just from that thought alone. Her dad. It couldn't be. He was long gone the moment you told him you were pregnant, you didn't even put his name on the birth certificate. Unless-

"W-what do you mean her father took her?" you curse yourself for stuttering.

"He came and asked for her ma'am, I don't see the issue since he has been picking her up these past few days."

Oh.

She meant Simon.

Her father.

You quickly check your phone and there it was, a message from him that she's with him.

"Ma'am?"

"It's okay- I-I'm fine, just wasn't aware he would be taking her today, thank you."

You rushed out without another word. Face burning from embarrassment as you open the message he sent you. Your heart clenching at the photo he sent of her laying with her head on his shoulder.

As you made your way to your car you felt as if your legs were made from jelly, every step weighing you down.

They thought he was her father.

Just like your nosy elderly neighbor who stopped you by the stairs and congratulated you for finding your daughter a dad- a handsome husband for you she added.

Or like that one mom who told you how she wished her husband was as involved in their child's life as yours after watching Simon push Lily on the baby swing at the park.

But those were just strangers.

They didn't know you or your daughter.

Which makes it hit so much harder when your own friends tell you how great of a dad he'd be. That hot guy you're seeing, military wasn't he? He must be so strong and don't they have certain benefits? Whenever you'd go out they'd comment on how you have more time to do so, how you look so much healthier after he's been in your life- how his dick must be good-

You shut them down after that one.

No need to rush anything.

You were taking it at your own pace.

Yeah... Just-

Not one time did you correct one of those strangers that he wasn't her biological father, that he was actually just your boyfriend- maybe because you'd be lying. He wasn't anything to you, just like he was everything.

You can look past those comments, none of those people are in your shoes- they don't know what you've been through or how your relationship with him was going.

You were content.

Okay.

Until you weren't.

It was a normal Sunday, a day off from work but a normal day none the less. You had Lily up in her high chair as you fed her some food while Simon was busy fixing a flimsy cabinet door.

The screwdriver turned with a soft, rhythmic click above you, the door shifting slightly under Simon’s grip as he adjusted the hinge.

Behind him, Lily let out a small, impatient sound, you glanced down at her, lifting the spoon to try again. "C’mon, just one more bite."

She turns her head, mouth closed as she refuses, glaring at the spoon like it was her enemy. She wasn't interested in it anymore. Her tiny fingers curling against the edge of her high chair, body leaning just enough to show where she’d rather be.

Another small noise- louder this time- but Simon doesn't react, too focused at the moment. The hinge gives a soft creak as he tests it, brows scrunching up slightly as he adjusts his grip and tries again.

Click.

Click.

"Almost done," he says, not looking back, you don't even know if he's talking to you or himself.

Lily huffs.

Louder now.

You sigh quietly, setting the spoon down for a second. "He’s busy, bug."

She doesn’t care.

Of course she doesn’t.

Her eyes stay locked on him, something determined settling into her expression in the way babies have when they decide they want something and nothing else will do.

Another sound leaves her- not quite a whine or a babble as you glance at her again, already reaching for the spoon. "Hey, hey- don’t start."

She leans forward instead, hands gripping tighter, gaze unwavering.

And then-

"Da."

The word is small. Barely there.

The spoon stills halfway to her mouth as your eyes widen, hands slightly shaking.

Behind you, the screwdriver stops as silence settles, thick and sudden.

Lily blinks, like she’s figuring it out herself then tries again.

"Dada."

Clearer this time.

Her hands lift, reaching toward him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like of course he’s the one she’s calling, who else?

Your chest tightens so fast it almost hurts.

"Lily-" you start, but your voice doesn’t come out the way you expect.

Simon doesn’t move right away.

He just stands there, hand still on the cabinet, shoulders gone completely still.

Like he’s not sure he heard that right.

Lily makes another insistent sound, leaning forward again.

"Dada."

There’s no hesitation in it now. It's clear and loud, certain as to what she wants.

Something in your throat closes.

Three weeks.

Three full weeks of: "She looks just like her dad." or the "You’ve got your hands full with those two." and who could forget the "He’s good with her."

You laughed everything off, nodded your head along to whatever assumption they had because it didn't matter- you were okay, didn't need to complicate anything by defining it.

But this-

This isn’t someone at the park.

This isn’t a stranger making assumptions.

This is your daughter.

Looking up at him like he belongs there with you two, like he's always been there and he's supposed to be.

It was her first word god dammit.

"Simon," you struggle to say, and this time your voice is quieter, like it's brittle glass threatening to break.

He finally moves. Turns just enough to look over his shoulder. Though his expression is… unreadable.

Lily brightens the second she sees him fully, a soft, happy sound escaping her as she reaches again, completely undeterred.

"Dada."

It lands harder this time.

You swallow, grip tightening slightly on the edge of the high chair.

"She-" you start and then stop.

Because what do you even say? That she didn't mean it? That it doesn't count? That it's just a word with no meaning behind it?

Your chest feels too tight for any of that.

Simon sets the screwdriver aside without looking as his gaze flicks to Lily- then to you.

Something shifts there.

"She doesn’t know what she’s saying," you manage, the words coming out quicker than you intended. Too quick. Too defensive.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Of course he doesn’t.

His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s choosing his words- or rather deciding not to.

Lily makes another soft noise, still reaching as your hand comes up to steady her without thinking, even as your thoughts start catching up all at once.

"We should-" you start, breath wavering slightly. "We should probably correct that before it sticks."

Silence.

Oh that familiar silence. All too real and heavy. But for the first time in weeks... you don’t let it pass.

Your eyes lift to his, now or never.

"Simon… what are we doing?"

There it is.

Not polished or planned.

Just… out.

He doesn’t answer you right away.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the faint hum of the fridge and Lily’s soft, impatient babbling- like she doesn’t understand why everything suddenly stopped moving around her. Simon’s gaze doesn’t leave yours, but there’s a shift in it now- like he’s actually considering the question instead of stepping around it.

His shoulders settle, just slightly, grounded in a way that feels intentional. Like whatever instinct he has to deflect is still there, still within reach… but he’s choosing not to take it.

Not this time.

His hand drags briefly over the back of his neck before dropping again.

"What d'you want me to say?" his voice was low but not dismissive or sharp... just honest.

It doesn’t land like a challenge, instead it sounds like he genuinely doesn’t know what answer would fix this.

Lily lets out another soft "da-" behind you, reaching again, and his eyes flick toward her instinctively before returning to you, something tightening faintly in his jaw.

"This-" he starts, gesturing vaguely between you, the kitchen, the whole situation you were in, "Wasn’t meant to get… complicated."

There’s a pause after that. Not because he’s done, but because he’s choosing how much to give.

"I come by," he adds, slower now. "You don’t tell me to leave."

A small inhale.

"She knows me."

That one lands differently. Softer. More real than anything else he’s said.

"That’s not nothing."

And maybe, for him, that’s as close to a confession as he gets.

But it’s not enough.

You let out a quiet breath, something unsteady slipping through before you can stop it. "Yeah," you murmur, nodding once, more to yourself than him. "You’re here." The words echo back at him, but they don’t carry the same weight.

Your hand steadies Lily, whose acting like none of this matters to her. Like her answer is already decided.

"You showed up," you lift your eyes back to his. "You stayed. You kept coming back."

A small shake of your head.

"You started this, Simon."

That lands.

"I didn’t ask you to step in at that store," you go on, quieter now but firmer. "Didn’t ask you to pay for my groceries. Didn’t ask for your number."

Your gaze doesn’t leave his.

"You did that."

Lily babbles again- "dada" and it's pulling something tight in your chest, but this time you don’t stop. You don’t soften it.

"And now you’re standing here acting like this just… happened," you say, a little sharper, though your voice never rises. "Like we just fell into it."

You shake your head again, slower this time.

"We didn’t." The room feels heavier with every word, like the air itself is pressing in.

"For weeks, people have been looking at us like we’re already a family," you continue, softer now, but no less steady. "And I let it slide because I didn’t know what to call this either."

A small pause.

"But she doesn’t have that choice."

Your eyes flick down to Lily for just a second before returning to him.

"She’s not guessing. She’s not overthinking it."

Another beat.

"She sees you… and she thinks you’re staying."

You swallow, chest tightening, but you don’t look away this time.

"I’m not asking for some big declaration," you add, quieter now, but more raw. "I just need to know I’m not letting her get attached to someone who’s going to walk away."

Silence follows.

Not empty.

Full.

Lily’s small hand tightens stubbornly around his finger, like she’s anchoring him there without even realizing it.

And for the first time since this started-

you don’t let him step around it.

You make him feel it.

Because this isn't just about you. You're not the only one being affected in this situation.

He doesn't answer right away, letting his gaze fall- not on the ground but on her. On her tiny hand squeezing at his finger and her baby blue eyes staring up at him like he was her world.

He moves seemingly without thought, even if that was far from the case- it felt like a million thoughts were running through his mind. Posture changing as he got closer to the highchair, unclipping the strap and picking Lily up into his arms.

"Dada" she babbles again, her overjoyed expression making his heart ache as he carefully pulls her into his chest. He doesn't correct her.

No hesitation.

And she does what she always does- melts into it, small hands grabbing onto his shirt, a pleased little sound leaving her as she gets closer like she got exactly what she wanted.

His gaze then lifts to you.

He makes sure Lily is secure in his arm as he closes the space between you both. His other arm wraps around you, firmly and without any uncertainty.

Pulling you close.

Careful of Lily between you, but close enough that you can feel the weight of him, the steadiness of his breathing, the way he doesn’t loosen his grip after a second like someone unsure would.

"People like me... they don't get to have this."

Your breath hitched, head tilting to look at him, feeling his arm tense up against you as his gaze met yours.

"But I want to."

Tag list:

"I thought…" he tries once more, voice shaky and throat closing up before he could form a proper word let alone a sentence. His fingers curl into the fabric at your back like he needs something real, something solid.

You don’t rush or push him away.

Just shift slightly, enough to bring your other hand to his scarred cheek, guiding him back just a little. Not pushing him away- but just enough so you can see his face.

"Hey," you whisper, softer now. "Look at me."

It takes a second.

Two.

But his honey brown eyes lift to yours, distant at first- like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

"I’m here," you say, steady, even if your chest doesn’t feel like it. "Nothing bad happened. I must have forgotten to lock the door before I left this morning, that’s all."

The guilt manages to worm itself into your head anyway, quiet but sharp.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t even think that you would-"

"Don’t."

His hand comes up, wrapping around your wrist- not to stop you, just to hold you there, like he needs the contact as much as you do.

"Not your fault," he adds, quieter this time. Like he means it. Like he needs you to believe it.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Because the way he’s looking at you now- really looking- does something strange to your chest. Something heavier than before.

His gaze flickers across your face like he's actively reassuring himself. For the past month he's spent every day thinking about coming back, trading his uniform for his civilian clothes and not wasting a second longer without you.

"You’re okay," he mutters almost to himself. After all it wasn't a question, just a simple statement that he's praying to be true.

For a moment, neither of you move.

You’re still on the floor, knees pressed into the carpet, bodies close enough that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest starting to match yours. The apartment is quiet again- but not the same kind of quiet as before.

This one is… softer.

Safer.

He exhales slowly, forehead dropping to rest against yours, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

But he doesn’t let go.

And you don’t ask him to.

Instead, he pulls you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours and inhaling, breathing in the faint smell of your shampoo.

He missed you. Missed this. Whatever this feeling was.

But then his eyes start to wander around the room, his steady breathing stopping when his eyes narrowed onto a tiny sock on the carpet.

"Lily- Where is-"

"She's safe."

The kettle had long gone quiet as sunlight peeked through your curtains, wrapping the small kitchen in a warm blanket. Yet it doesn't help the heaviness you both still feel in your chests, weighing impossibly heavier with every second passing.

You took a seat at the table, sliding a cup of hot tea towards Simon. For a moment, he didn’t take it. Just looked at it- no, not looked, more like he acknowledged it. Then, he slowly reached out, fingers brushing the ceramic.

No words followed. But you both knew that there needed to be. You still had so much to say to him, could write a whole novel if you wanted to- yet you didn't know where to start.

"Simon?"

"Hm?"

"We need to-"

The sound of the doorbell ringing seemingly broke apart the air that surrounded you- still lingering but for a slip second it seemed like it stopped. Regardless, you manage to tear your gaze from his and make your way to the door, opening it to be met with those baby blue eyes.

"Hey girl, figured I'd bring you this little cutie since she was getting antsy," your friend held Lily up to you while trying to balance her bags.

"You didn't have to, told you I was going to pick her-"

"Ah-ah don't wanna hear it!" she waves her hand dismissively, handing Lily to you. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to make a stop to the market before it closes" with that she gives you a big bear hug and pinches Lily's cheek, saying her goodbye.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Lily shifts in your arms with a small, fussy sound, rubbing her face into your shoulder as if trying to chase off the last of her sleep.

"Hey, hey," you murmur softly, adjusting her against you, one hand coming up to smooth over her hair. "Missed me that much, huh?" a quiet huff leaves her, somewhere between a complaint and a sigh.

You smile as you turn back toward the kitchen, stepping in slowly- then pausing.

Simon hasn’t moved from where you left him. Still sitting at the table, shoulders squared, mug in front of him untouched and going cold. But his attention isn’t on you.

It’s on her.

Then something in his expression shifts. Just slightly.

You take a few more steps, the floor creaking softly under your weight. "She’s fine," you say gently, more out of habit now than anything else.

His jaw tightens for a second, then eases. "Yeah," he mutters. But his eyes don’t leave her as she lets out another small noise, shifting again in your arms- then stills as her gaze drifts and lands on him.

There’s a brief pause, like her little mind is deciding something.

And then-

Her whole face lights up.

A soft, bubbling coo escapes her, the earlier fussiness somehow gone in an instant as her tiny hands lift, opening and closing in uneven, eager motions reaching towards him.

You blink, caught slightly off guard while Simon goes still, his breathing stopping as if he was frozen and like he’s not entirely sure what to do with that.

You shift Lily slightly on your hip, watching her lean forward again with a small, impatient sound. His gaze flicks up to yours for half a second and then back to her.

"She’s gotten bigger," he says after a moment, almost under his breath. It’s not really the point, but it’s what he notices first.

"That tends to happen."

Lily lets out another soft noise, more insistent this time, little fingers stretching toward him and wrapping around his finger as her grip tightens, small but stubborn, like she’s already decided this is where she’s staying.

Simon watches her for a second longer, thumb shifting slightly under her hand. It was instinctive. All those times she would fall asleep on your chest as you watched some cheesy movie, his hand would somehow manage to find its way into hers.

"She missed you," you murmur, a statement that was oh so true but deep down you knew you weren't only talking about Lily.

His gaze flicks up to yours briefly.

Then back to her.

"Yeah?" he says, quiet. Not doubtful- just… taking it in.

Lily answers for you, almost throwing herself towards him and making you stumble.

You huff softly. "Okay, okay- hold on." Stepping closer, you shift her in your arms, giving him an expectant look.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. Setting the mug aside without thinking, already reaching for her- hands steady, practiced as they slide into place like they’ve done it before.

Because they have.

Your hands linger for half a second as you pass her over.

Then you let go.

She settles against him almost immediately, like it’s familiar enough not to question. Her hands clutch at his shirt, small fingers curling into the fabric as she presses closer with a content little hum.

Simon stills.

Not from uncertainty but from the sheer weight of it. His hold adjusts automatically, one hand securely supporting her back while the other rests steady at her side.

"She’s gotten heavier," he mutters.

You almost smile. "That also tends to happen."

But he doesn’t react to that.

His attention is locked on her.

On the way she fits against him.

On the way she doesn’t hesitate.

Lily tilts her head slightly, looking up at him like she’s studying something important- then breaks into another soft string of babbles, completely at ease as she was catching him up.

Like nothing’s changed.

Like he didn’t disappear for a month.

Like he was someone worth remembering.

He shakily exhales, and you catch the subtle way his shoulders fall. The way his grip tightens just a fraction- not enough to hurt, just enough to… keep her there.

Ground himself.

His thumb moves again, a small, repetitive motion against her arm, like he’s making sure she’s real, all while she makes another soft noise, leaning further into him, completely content now- like she’s exactly where she wants to be.

And for a moment so is he.

He doesn’t look at you.

Doesn’t say anything else.

Just stands there, holding her like he’s done it a hundred times before and like it means something different now.

A/N: never expected so many people to like this lil story- I haven't really had time to post anything cuz of work so I want to get back into writing- plus it's been over a month since I've posted something for this series <3

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Behind the bar, your hands worked on autopilot, running a frayed cloth over freshly washed glasses. Dry. Set aside. Repeat.

Your eyes wandered, searching for something- anything- different. They traced the same yellowing photographs on the walls, drifted across the same tired decor, and finally settled on the same familiar faces.

Regulars.

Men hunched over cards and whiskey, putting their coins on the table while trying to drown whatever followed them through those doors.

Another night of gambling. Another night of drinking. Another night exactly like the last.

The routine had been the same for as long as you could remember.

Monotonous. Repeating. As familiar as breathing.

You grew up inside these walls, back when you were barely tall enough to see over the counter. Your father would work at the bar while you struggled to find your balance on a stool behind him, tiny hands wrapped around a glass as you poured water back and forth between cups, imitating every move he made.

Back then the place had felt alive. New. Welcoming.

Now the floorboards were warped and dark with years of spilled liquor, vomit, and the occasional splash of blood. The walls had dulled and the laughter had changed.

Funny how things rot when no one has the time to care for them.

Ever since your father passed, the weight of the place had landed squarely on your shoulders. There was no one left to help carry it. No one to lean on when the nights stretched too long.

You were barely keeping the saloon afloat.

Someone had offered to buy it once. A decent sum, too. But you had refused.

The money would’ve helped you, and maybe the place would’ve been repaired, polished up instead of slowly crumbling into itself. But it was the last thing you had left of your family.

Still, sometimes you caught yourself wondering what life might’ve looked like if you’d said yes. Hell you still could, you had buyers that are willing to take the place off of your hand.

The thought was cut short by the sudden swing of the saloon doors.

They banged open hard enough to make the nearest card players glance up.

The man who stepped through filled the doorway like a storm rolling in.

He was huge- broad shoulders stretching at the seams of a black coat that hung heavy off his frame. Your eyes quickly swept over him, picking apart the details in the way years behind the bar had taught you to.

You noticed he had plenty of weapons for starters.

A revolver sat low on his hip, impossible to miss. Knives and daggers were tucked along his belt and coat like they belonged there. The black bandana pulled over the lower half of his face had the faded shape of a skull, slightly yellowed from time and dust.

Trouble, if you’d ever seen it.

Your gaze stayed fixed on him as he walked across the room. His steps were slow, deliberate, the kind of steps that carried weight.

His eyes moved just as carefully- sweeping across the saloon, measuring exits, counting bodies, reading the room.

When he finally reached the bar, those same sharp brown eyes met yours.

He tipped the brim of his black hat before lowering himself onto one of the stools.

"Evening" you said cautiously, "What can I get ya tonight?"

"Bourbon."

The answer was flat. Simple. No wasted words.

You silently grabbed the bottle and poured him a glass.

Across the counter, his gloved hand reached up and tugged the bandana down from his face. He lifted the drink to his lips and took a slow sip while his gaze drifted across the room once more.

Watching, noticing and memorizing every inch along with every soul inside.

You couldn’t help but look at his face- or at least the parts of it he didn’t bother hiding. The brim of his hat casted a shadow over his eyes, but the rest was hard to miss.

Burnt skin stretched across one side of his face, rough and uneven, the scarred tissue trailing down along his jaw and disappearing beneath the collar of his coat. Newer injuries layered over older ones. A thin scar sliced through one of his eyebrows, breaking the hair clean in two. Another ran along the bridge of his nose, though most of it vanished beneath the black bandana covering his mouth.

None of them looked recent.

His expression, what little you could read of it, stayed cold. Still. Calculated.

You’d seen your fair share of rough men drift through these doors- both outlaws and cowboys from every corner of the country. The West was crawling with them after all.

But something about this one refused to leave your mind.

Maybe it was the quiet.

Maybe it was the way the air around him seemed to tighten, like a rope threatening to snap.

Still, the night carried on like any other.

Drunk men stumbling in and out. Poker games grew louder as the whiskey bottles emptied. The pianist took his place at the battered piano, tapping out a lively tune while the gamblers hollered and slapped cards against the table.

Through all of it, the stranger stayed quiet.

He nursed his bourbon slowly, never rushing it, eyes drifting across the room now and then like he was taking inventory of the place. When the night finally wound down, he paid his tab without a word and slipped out the same doors he’d come through.

You knew men like that had a past.

Something chasing or something they were trying to outrun. The law. A bounty. Old ghosts that refused to stay buried.

Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with you- or at least that’s what you told yourself.

The next evening, the doors swung open again.

And there he was.

Same time.

Same quiet stride across the floor.

Same stool at the bar.

He tipped his hat in your direction when he sat down.

"Bourbon" he said, just like before.

The pattern repeated the day after that.

You noticed that he spoke very little, kept to himself, and left once his drink was finished.

Once, when a drunk cowboy staggered up to the counter and started giving you trouble- loud and sloppy, knocking his elbow into the glasses- you were already bracing yourself for broken bottles and a mess to clean.

Before it could turn into anything worse, the stranger slid a few coins across the bar toward you.

"Put it on my tab if he breaks somethin'" he muttered.

His voice was low, rough around the edges.

The cowboy quieted down soon after, but you never even saw the stranger look his way.

He was… strange.

Not in the loud, dangerous way most outlaws were.

No.

He was something else entirely.

An anomaly.

Because the next day he came back again.

Same time.

Same seat.

Same drink.

You couldn’t help it- your curiosity had always had a way of creeping in where it didn’t belong.

Back in your younger days, you’d been warned countless of times. Your father used to say it, the regulars used to say it, even the old drifters passing through town would mutter the same thing between drinks.

Don’t stick your nose where it don’t belong.

Don’t get mixed up with the wrong crowd.

And whatever you do, don’t go meddling in a man’s business unless you’re ready to catch a bullet for it.

The West had a simple way of dealing with people who asked too many questions.

You knew that.

You’d grown up watching it happen.

Still… every evening when the saloon doors creaked open and that same broad-shouldered stranger stepped inside, the curiosity stirred again.

Because men like him didn’t settle into routines.

Not in places like this.

Outlaws drifted. Gunslingers kept moving. Men with scars like his usually had trouble following close behind them, he couldn't risk staying for too long.

Yet there he was.

Every night.

And every time he sat there, silent and watchful, you found your eyes drifting back to him before you could stop yourself.

"Not much of a talker are ya?"

He glanced up from his drink, eyes flicking toward you before dropping again.

"Not much to say"

Ah. So he can talk.

And by the sound of it, you could tell he wasn’t from around here. The accent gave him away easy enough- across the pond somewhere.

You leaned your elbows on the counter, tossing the rag you’d been wiping glasses with aside.

"So what brings you to my saloon then?"

"Just passin’ through."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "Well ain't you charming."

At that, he let out a small breath through his nose.

After a moment he glanced up again. "Saloon yers?"

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing.

"Belonged to my pa," you say, "Now it's mine."

With that you turned away to pour whiskey for another customer, the glass clinking softly on the bar. When you looked back, the stranger had lowered his head again, studying the amber in his glass like it held all the answers in the world.

You manage to talk more with him after that.

Finding out that he was staying at one of the boarding houses down the road, and that he was, in fact, a Brit- though you never quite caught where exactly from. Most nights he kept to himself, hat tipped low, nursing a drink while the saloon roared around him.

But every now and then, if business was slow and the piano man had run out of songs, he’d talk.

Just a little.

Something about him had a way of pulling at your curiosity. The quiet sort of man who seemed to take up more space in a room than the loud ones. The kind who sat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door like he expected it to open on something unpleasant.

It made you wonder who he was and what he was waiting for.

"What’s your name?" you ask one evening, leaning against the counter across from him.

He doesn't answer right away. Just swirls the bourbon in his glass, liquid catching the lantern light.

"Ghost."

You snort softly. "Asked for your name, not your wish."

That does it.

The corner of his mouth twitches- just barely, easy to miss if you weren't watching him as closely as you had been since the day he set foot in your saloon.

But you were.

Always had been.

You give him your name in return, and just like that the moment closes. He goes quiet again, tipping his hat low like he'd already said more than he intended to.

Then you start noticing things.

The way his hand drifts toward the revolver at his hip whenever the door swings open too hard.

How his eyes linger on unfamiliar faces a little longer than necessary.

The thin white scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, like a knife had once come too close to his throat.

A man like that was running.

Then one night the doors burst open hard enough to rattle the windows.

A group of men march in.

Patches on their coats, dusty boots, guns hanging a little too proudly from their belts. Young by the looks of them- trying their best to wear danger like it was a badge of honor.

If you had to guess, they were fresh outlaws.

Still carrying that eager sort of arrogance about them. Like a newborn foal trying to stand tall, convinced it could run before it had even found its footing.

The saloon quiets a little as they spread out, loud voices and sharper laughs filling the space.

And from the corner of your eye, you see Ghost go still.

Not afraid.

But watchful.

As long as they didn't start trouble, you'd let them be.

Sure, it pissed you off how their hungry, greedy eyes dragged up and down the body of one of your barmaids. Irritated you how they spat on the floor like the place was a stable and snapped one of your chairs clean in half when they leaned back too hard.

You could throw them out.

But not yet.

Not enough reason.

Not until they started hollering across the room at your other patrons, tossing crude remarks and loud laughter that grated against the usual hum of your saloon.

Making comments about your regulars that was most likely bound to start a fight sooner or later.

Ghost just nursed his drink slowly, letting the bitter burn of whiskey sit on his tongue while the outlaws ran their mouths. His gaze drifted over them once or twice, quiet and calculating, before returning to his glass.

He had no intention of stepping in.

No reason to.

Last thing he needed was to make a scene and leave blood on your floors.

"Another round of whiskey, sugar!"

Your grip tightened around the bottle.

The nerve of some men.

You poured their drinks a little harder than necessary, the glass clinking against the counter before you set it on a tray. With a steady breath, you carried it over yourself- figuring it might be easier to shut them down face to face.

Or throw them out- whichever came first.

Their table fell quiet as you approached.

Then one of them let out a long, low whistle.

You ignored it, setting the glasses down in front of them one by one.

"Quite a pretty face you got there," one of them drawled, leaning back in his chair.

Your jaw tightened.

"Soiled dove like you oughta smile more."

Just like that, the saloon went silent.

A poker hand froze mid-play.

Someone stopped halfway through lifting their drink.

Even the pianist's fingers stilled above the keys.

Before you could step back- or tell him exactly where he could shove that comment- his hand came down hard against your backside.

The crack of it echoed in the room.

A chair scraped across the floor.

Across the room, Ghost stood.

No hurry in the movement.

He took a sip of his drink first, like he had all the time in the world. Then he set the glass down carefully on the counter.

Only after that did he pull his bandana up over his mouth.

The outlaw barely had time to turn his head before Ghost’s fist collided with his nose with a sickening crunch.

The sound was wet and sharp.

You watched as the man dropped instantly, blood pouring between his fingers as he howled and crumpled to the floor.

And just like that all hell broke loose.

A second man lunged at Ghost who had caught him easily.

One hand grabbed onto the man's collar before he could swing, dragging him forward and slamming his head down onto the table. Glass bottles shattered under the impact, whiskey spilling across the wood as the man's forehead split open.

He slumped down with a groan, blood and liquor mixing together while the sharp sting of it burned into the fresh wound.

Then someone flipped a table.

It crashed sideways with a violent crack, legs splintering as glasses and poker chips scattered across the floor.

The whole room erupted.

Shouts. Chairs scraping. Fists flying.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught the flash of steel.

A knife.

The man holding it didn't hesitate. With a grunt he drove forward, blade aimed straight for Ghost's ribs.

Thankfully he pivoted just in time.

The knife tore through cloth instead of flesh, slicing his sleeve open from shoulder to elbow. Fabric split clean as the blade grazed his arm.

Before the man could pull back, Ghost caught his wrist.

His fingers clamped down hard- too hard- ones grinding as the man cursed and struggled. The pressure forced the knife loose from his hand, watching it clatter across the floor.

You moved before you could think better of it.

Ducking behind the bar, you yanked open a drawer and grabbed your pa's old revolver. Rusted and worn from years of use, but it still had enough bite left in it.

You didn't hesitate as you fired a shot straight into the ceiling- the crack of the gunshot thundered through the saloon.

For a moment there was nothing but ringing ears and drifting dust as you held the revolver steady, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.

"Next one ain't a warning."

Your voice cut through the quiet like iron- steady and cold.

Across the room, the third man hesitated before grabbing his bleeding friends by the collars and dragging them toward the door. Boots scraped across the wooden floor, leaving streaks of red as the doors shut.

Ghost stood a few feet away, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His knuckles were split open, streaked with blood. Some of it splattered on the bandana pulled over his mouth.

Most of it wasn't his.

"You didn't have to break his nose" you lower the revolver slowly and set it back in its place.

Ghost tipped his head back and finished the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. The glass hitting the countertop with a dull clink.

For the first time since you met him, his hands shook- just barely.

"Yeah" he muttered, "I did."

The room was still settling- dust drifting through the light, chairs overturned, people whispering as they tried to process what just happened.

That was when you saw it- a dark line running down the length of his arm. At first you thought it was whiskey from the shattered bottles, but then it kept moving.

Blood slid slowly toward his wrist, dripping from the torn sleeve where the knife had likely caught him.

You didn’t hesitate.

"Back" you said firmly, "Now."

He could only blink at you, still catching his breath from the fight, shoulders rising and falling as the adrenaline slowly bled out of him.

“Don’t argue.”

You grabbed his arm before he could protest and steered him toward the back room. Over your shoulder you called to your barmaids, your voice carrying easily over their uneasy murmuring.

"Lock the doors and don't let anyone in."

They didn't question you. One of them was already moving to slide the bolt across the front door while the other began calming the shaken customers and fixing the chairs.

The door to the back room shut behind you with a dull thud.

It was dim back there, lit only by a crooked lantern nailed to the wall. The air smelled like old wood, dust, and the stench of spilled alcohol that had soaked into the floorboards. You guided him to a chair and pushed him down- not harshly by any means, but firmly enough that he knew better than to resist.

"Sit still."

The command came naturally as you reached for the small supply chest your father used to keep for nights when things went sideways. You set it on the small stool next to him, grabbing a bucket of clean water and a cloth.

"I'm fine."

You completely ignored him and rolled the sleeve up, exposing the cut beneath. The knife luckily hadn’t gone deep, but it had sliced clean across the length of his arm, the skin split and still slowly bleeding.

He tensed when you started cleaning it, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as the damp cloth pressed against the wound. Still, he didn’t pull away. His muscles were tight under your hands, but he let you work.

Your touch was steady as you wiped away the blood. Up close you started noticing things you hadn’t before, like the faint scars across his knuckles- or the way his eyes flicked toward the door every so often even though it was firmly closed.

"You get into fights like this often?" you asked quietly, focusing on wrapping the cloth around his arm.

"Often enough."

You snorted under your breath. "Well next time try not to bleed on my floors."

That earned a small breath of a laugh from him- barely there, but real.

You pulled the bandage snug and pressed it into place. "Hold this."

He listened without any argument, his large hand covering yours as he applied pressure to the cloth. For a moment neither of you moved.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Too quiet.

Up close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes beneath the shadow of his hat, and you realized just how close you were standing. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, close enough to catch the faint scent of smoke and leather that clung to his clothes.

"You shouldn’t have done that" you murmured after a moment.

His brow furrowed slightly. "Done what?"

"Start a fight over me."

For a second he didn’t answer. His gaze drifting down to where your hands were still resting against his arm before slowly lifting back to your face.

"They touched you" he stated simply.

The words may have been quiet, but they carried a kind of certainty that made your breath catch before you could stop it.

Neither of you spoke for a moment after that.

Then you noticed his hand shaking again, just slightly under yours. Without thinking you steadied his wrist with your other hand.

"You always this nervous after a fight?" you asked lightly.

His eyes flicked to yours, "Not the fight I’m worried about."

Something in your chest tightened, "Then what?"

He hesitated, the quiet confidence he carried seemed to falter for a moment.

"You don’t want trouble followin’ you," he muttered quietly. "You don’t even know what trouble is followin’ me."

You studied him for a moment before giving a small shrug.

"Seems like it already walked through my door tonight."

That finally pulled a real smile from him- small, crooked, and gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

Your hand was still resting on his arm, his hand was still covering yours- neither of you daring to move.

The tension settled heavy in the air between you, thick enough that you became suddenly aware of every small detail- the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the way his gaze had dropped briefly to your lips, the steady sound of his breathing in the quiet room.

"Careful," you murmured softly.

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

You tilted your head just slightly, "You’re staring."

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for longer than he meant to. Then his hand shifted just enough to brush lightly against your wrist.

"Been tryin' not to."

You felt your heart beating rapidly against your chest.

That was all the warning either of you got before you leaned down and felt his lips press against your own.

The kiss was everything but hesitant.

Weeks of quiet tension and curiosity finally snapping all at once, and he reacted instinctively, one hand coming up to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. For a moment he kissed you back like a man who had been starving for it.

Then suddenly he stilled.

The realization seemingly hitting him as he pulled back abruptly, breathing hard, his hand dropping like the contact had burned him.

"That," he muttered roughly, "was a mistake."

Before you could say anything, he was already moving. His hands slightly trembling as he stepped back, pulling the bandana over his nose as his eyes flickered toward the back door.

You reached for him instinctively, but he brushed past you without a word- the sound of his boots against the floor were sharp in the quiet room before he rushed out.

Your felt your chest tightening as your hands fell to your sides. The warmth of his lips lingered, and the sudden emptiness around you made your stomach twist.

His absence left nothing but silence and all you could do was stand there, trying to make sense of how quickly he had gone.

No.

What right does he think he has to just show up at your saloon, let himself get close to you, get in a fight to defend you, kiss you- only to leave?

Maybe he could get away with doing that to any other woman but not you.

You who had now gotten up and left that dim room to do damage control- grabbing your long coat as you walked through those dark streets, ending up knocking on a certain door.

Ghost on the other hand didn’t sleep much that night after he'd hurried out.

What little rest he got came in short, restless stretches, broken by the same thought circling his mind over and over again. The look on your face in the back room. The way you had kissed him like you meant it.

By the time the first ray of light began creeping over the edge of town, he had already made up his mind.

He packed quickly.

There wasn’t much to gather- just a worn bedroll, a few cartridges, and the small handful of belongings he had learned to keep when he never really planned on staying anywhere too long. It was a mistake to be in this town for the amount of time he did, staying only for a few days. The boarding house was quiet at that hour, the halls dark and empty as he stepped outside.

His horse huffed when he approached the hitching post.

"Easy" he murmured under his breath, running a gloved hand along the animal’s neck as he tightened the saddle. The simple routine steadied him.

Things a man could do without thinking.

Things that didn’t require him to wonder what might’ve happened if he stayed.

He swung onto the saddle just as the sun began to edge over the horizon, lighting up the dark street in a golden hue.

Giving the reins a small tug as he turned the horse toward the road out of town.

Though the sound reached him a moment later.

Hoofbeats.

Fast.

He frowned and glanced over his shoulder just as a rider came tearing down the street behind him, dust kicking up beneath the pounding hooves.

You.

Before he had time to react, you rode straight past him and pulled your horse hard across the road, blocking his path in one sharp motion.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Eyes meeting as you breathed deeply.

Then you leaned forward, reaching out without hesitation to pluck the hat straight off his head and settling it on your own.

It dipped low over your eyes, slightly too big on you.

"Sold the saloon this morning."

Ghost stared at you like he hadn’t quite heard right.

"You… what?"

You nudged your horse a little closer, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"Sold it."

He blinked, still trying to make sense of it. "Why-"

"Because," you said, tipping the brim of his hat back with your thumb, "I was waiting for a reason to leave."

Silence was treated as a flaw in the eyes of nobles, something to be corrected with laughter and music. Yet Ghost wore it like a second armour. A layer on top of his own that he never took off. It was something you were accustomed to, besides, no one had ever seen his face.

Your father, King Price, had fought alongside him in battle- although he was much younger than your father, he was shown to be quite capable in combat.

You were awaiting the king's return along with others when you first saw him, remembering the day clearly. He had arrived with your father on horseback after a victorious battle, the mysterious faceless knight that somehow managed to gain the trust of the king in mere days? It was the talk of the century amongst both common folk and nobles.

Rumours of all kind spread around the kingdom like wild fire, whispers of his past, of people he had killed.

Seemingly everyone kept their distance.

And rightfully so- the man was intimidating, he had the kind of air around him that could've silenced anyone with just a turn of his head.

You remember royal balls where he stood by your father's side, your peers gossiping about him and making cruel judgements and assumptions. When they got bored they would switch the topic and comment about princes, fanning themselves once some spare a glance at them.

But you? Your eyes were still trained on the knight. Dark armour covering his body, an eerie feeling surrounding him wherever he went. You were beyond intrigued by him.

When it came time to protecting the kingdom he was first in line with your father leading the army- alongside them were Mactavish and Garrick, trusted allies of the crown.

A few years passed since then, you were expected to be wed soon, as your father's only heir it was a high priority that you choose a suitor. Nobles, lords and princes arriving from all over to ask for your hand. For your safety, your father assigned Ghost to guard you- to watch over you when you leave your room, walk through the garden, read in the library and when you slept.

Over the years the people had somewhat gotten accustomed to him, he is still feared but mocked behind closed doors. After all, speaking was a key aspect in a hierarchical society.

The change didn't effect you much, you had knights watching over you since you were an infant, standing guard by the door and later following around wherever you went. But Ghost had been intimidating. You'd spent days warming up to his presence- sure he was a trusted knight but you had only seen him from afar, now you are in close proximity to him.

Regardless, it is his duty to watch over you and yours is to carry on with your day.

One afternoon in particular you had gotten some books from the library and sat by your desk, an array of paper scattered around as you read. Though you couldn't shake the burning stare from the corner of the room.

Ghost was positioned by your door, posture fixed like a statue- but you see how his eyes wander over the pages.

"Do you read?" you question him, his composure falling for a split second. As if you addressing him was such a foreign concept to him. He hesitated before he shook his head.

"Do you not know... how to?" when he shook his head again, you were quick to stand up. A change in your monotonous routine it was, hastily moving a chair next to yours and motioning for him to sit.

His eyes were wide with confusion, a flicker of fear in them at the offer, so you gently take his hand and guide him to sit beside you.

"This might not be of much interest to you, but I've been reading about different types of flora and their meanings-" You catch yourself mid-sentence, glancing at him to see if he wants you to continue.

When he nods, you take it as encouragement.

"Every flower carries a meaning," you explain softly. "So when you arrange them together, it's almost like forming a sentence."

His eyes follow your delicate fingers as they glide across the pages of your book, tracing the pictures as you show them to him.

His shoulders relaxed as he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, listening to you with quiet focus. There was something mesmerizing about the way your hair framed your face, about the softness of your features as your brows drew together in concentration while you flipped through the pages.

That was how you ended up spending the entire afternoon- explaining the meanings of different flowers to your knight and showing him their beautiful illustrations. If he was going to watch over you the entire time, you might as well make it interesting.

You can only imagine your surprise when you discover a lone pink rose placed carefully on your bedside table the following morning.

"If you’d like… I could teach you to read."

There was something undeniably endearing about how intently he listened, studying every word you spoke and every letter you wrote.

His letters didn’t quite come out right, so you showed him how to hold the quill, guiding his hand and helping him keep it steady.

You were surprised at how fast he learned, in just a month he was able to read and write- grammatically the writing portion could use some work but you were happy nonetheless.

The vase you put on your nightstand was happy too- never empty, for each morning brought a new flower, the previous ones preserved carefully between the pages of a book.

Hydrangeas, sweet peas, chrysanthemums, irises, daffodils- no matter which flower was in bloom, he always found one. After all, they all meant the same thing- gratitude.

Over the past few months, you’d grown close to him- taking walks in the garden together, sneaking bites of cake from the castle's kitchen, and even learning to use a bow and arrow after a day of horseback riding.

All while you subjected him to a flood of words, yet he listened willingly, captivated by your voice, a melody he longed to follow endlessly.

"Your Highness, please stay still" your tailor says, exasperated, carefully trying to pin the fabric without pricking you.

"I do not understand, I have a closet full of dresses! Why can I not wear one of those?"

"Because your father has instructed me to make sure you are well dressed for tomorrow's ball" she strategically places the fabric and pins it so it lays flat, accentuating your curves.

Ghost was positioned by the door as always, standing tall and protective as he watched the tailor work. Eyes narrowed on where she touches you, silently wishing it was his hands instead- wait no- he feels his skin grow warm under his helmet, he is not allowed to have those thoughts. She was the king's daughter. The same man who gave him purpose, a title and his trust.

He could not betray him like this. Not after how he had found him that day...

Ghost remembers it clearly since it was the day he finally got his revenge. After his family was taken he couldn't bear the thought of continuing like nothing had happened, punishing himself since it was his fault for not protecting them. The helmet on his head made a permanent stay, hiding his scarred face as he vowed to never utter a word for he is undeserving.

When he finally finished his goal, that's when he met Price. The king took an interest in him, giving him the option to kill for honor, to protect.

A war had broken out between them and the neighboring kingdom, and Simon happened to be in the right place at the right time. So he made the decision to join their side.

Successfully taking down multiple soldiers, getting them inside and winning the war.

He earned the name Ghost since he killed silently, his armour barely making a sound as he slit the throats of enemies.

Price had welcomed him to stay in the castle with him, recognizing the potential in him that Simon himself longed to see.

When they returned, he felt like an outsider; people avoided him, fearful of his presence. But the moment he saw you, he was captivated. You were the only one who dared to meet his gaze, greeting him in a way that made his breath catch- until Mactavish told him you were the princess, and any such feelings were swiftly pushed aside.

Forbidden.

He assumed you were a noble, judging by the dresses and jewelry that adorned you, yet somehow he missed the tiara on your head as he watched it glimmer while you embraced your father.

That was how he spent his days at the castle- guarding his emotions, never speaking to you, never daring to look in your direction, so as not to betray the man who had given him everything. He told himself he could not take more than he deserved… because he didn’t deserve you. He was no prince, no duke, no lord- just a commoner, a peasant who had lost his family and somehow ended up as the king’s soldier.

So when Prince assigned him as your personal guard, he felt like gouging his own eyes out.

You were gorgeous.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The way you carried yourself, the smile on your soft lips, how the sun made your hair dreamy and he hopelessly fell for you once again.

No.

He wouldn't look at you.

He would keep his head bowed, trying to restrain himself because he knew better- but you kept breaking down his walls. Every lesson in reading, every flower you explained, gave him a voice, gave him hope, made him feel alive again.

Yet now, as he watches you being fitted for a gown for a ball meant to find you a suitable, wealthy nobleman- someone worthy of your status- he could not help but curse the very thought.

Once you get wed, he'd be forced to watch you smile for another, he will see your beautiful eyes on his children, you will accept his flowers and forget about your knight in turn making room for the man your heart will belong to.

Simon might as well draw his sword and beg you to shove it in his heart since he couldn't handle the thought of you being with another as it was a punishment and he is a coward.

"How many alternations does one dress need?"

"Nearly finished your highness"

You were sweating and your arms were sore from having them lifted as pins poke into your side.

After another grueling twenty minutes you get undressed with her help and into your own comfortable dress.

Ghost has his gaze down as to give you privacy, only to feel your hand tapping gently on his shoulder.

"Come along now, let us go to the gardens"

And you do.

For the next few days, every moment was consumed by ball preparations- dresses, food, and even the precise color and material of the napkins.

Throughout the process, Ghost remained at your side, eyes following every move, noting the way your brows knitted and your tongue peeked out when you were focused.

Then the wretched night came.

The night where you would potentially meet your future love, a wealthy man with both riches and education. Polished clothes, posh accent, he could offer you everything, he is everything... everything that Simon is not.

As if a dagger was being repeatedly plunged in his heart every time he sees one of those noblemen talking to you, the way you smile politely and have a conversation with them makes his blood boil and bile fill his mouth.

One prick especially made him want to draw his sword and slit his throat open watching the red liquid spill over. He constantly followed you around, talking about himself and his achievements as if they were impressive- Simon smirked at the way you were so dismissive of him, trying desperately to shake him off by responding with dry comments.

They don't deserve you- none of them do- only wanting your status and crown, a woman to have their heir and then to discard you completely afterwards.

Simon didn't care about how you were the princess, the heir to the throne, he just wanted you, needs to hear you utter those words to him and he would get on his knees and worship you.

So he didn't wait till morning. Scratch that- he couldn't wait till morning. Something was brewing inside him that if he were to spend one more second watching those blokes try and court you, he would lose it.

So that's how he found himself sneaking into the garden and plucking one single red rose. He made sure to pick the largest one, perfect bloom with no wilting petals. He carefully used a dagger to get rid of the spikes and sneaked into your room, placing it in the little vase by your bed.

May he be dealt one of the most lethal punishments for pursuing you and expressing his desires, for that is far more bearable than staying silent and watching you with another. Maybe Price would exile him or cut his head off, either way he doesn't care.

He made his way back to the ballroom, getting back into his position by the door as his eyes found you.

You were exhausted, keeping up with the smiles and political conversations, the last thing you wish to hear right now is someone telling you yet another long tale of their family legacy and riches.

God you also wanted to get out of the dress.

A torture device was a better name for it. Your corset was tightly tied restricting your air, thick layers of fabric weighing down the metal hoop skirt and dozens of hair pins along with your tiara laying heavily on your head- not to mention the shoes that felt like you were walking on glass the entire night.

You bid your guests goodbye, eye twitching when someone lingers too long. Not sparring a single glance after they leave to make your way to your chambers, ghost following behind you.

However, you did end up feeling bad for your hand maidens when you snapped at them to leave you alone for tonight. Could they really blame you? After a whole party aimed at getting you wed by making a political marriage agreement, the last thing you need is to hear them fawn and gossip about the men you were forced to endure for hours.

Ghost took his position by the door, eyes following your frustrated frame as you kicked and struggled to unclasp your shoes, the heaps of fabric and tight corset making it difficult to bend over and reach your feet.

You gave up.

Moving your attention to your corset, fishing out the ribbons but accidentally pulling the wrong tail and making the knot tighter.

Grabbing your tiara and yanking it off your head, plucking some of your hair as the pins drop to the floor.

Ghost watched the whole situation, not knowing whether or not to intervene.

"Would it be so wrong of me to jump off the balcony?" You huff, turning around to look at your knight, makeup smudged and hair ruined.

He carefully stepped closer, each step soft against the floor, his eyes locked on yours. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hand and gestured for you to turn around.

So you did.

Then you felt the lace snap as gloved fingers meticulously undo the ribbon, accidentally brushing against your skin- finally feeling the relief of fresh air filling your lungs when you're capable of taking a proper breath.

The relief washes over you for just a fleeting moment as your eyes catch sight of the flower, its delicate petals a brief promise of peace before reality presses back in.

A singular red rose.

The moonlight casts a soft glow, wrapping around the delicate petals like a whisper. Your feet move of their own accord toward the table, hand reaching out, though hesitation coils in your mind like a cold shadow. You study the flower carefully, noting its color, trying to read the meaning it holds. Slowly, almost reverently, you lift it, as if it were made of glass, your fingers brushing over it to reassure yourself that it is real- not just a fragment of hope or a trick of imagination.

You turn around to see that your knight's head was down, finding the pattern of your rug more appealing than the clear confession you held in your palm.

"Do you... do you know the meaning?"

Surely he made a mistake, read it wrong, got confused, and mistook it for another flower- anything but this. Your mind races through possibilities, each one more desperate than the last, clinging to the hope that the meaning isn’t what it seems.

He nods.

Then he looks up, eyes wide with a raw, almost childlike terror, locking onto yours. Truth be told, he has never felt fear like this- not on the battlefield, not in any moment of danger. Something about your gentle gaze, the softness in your eyes, unravels him completely, sending a strange weight to his knees, leaving him unsteady in a way he has never known.

You clutch the rose tighter and feel the sting of your previous anger resurface, sharp and insistent. The delicate petals seem to mock the heat rising in your chest, and for a moment, all else fades except the mix of fury coursing through you.

"What do you wish for me to do now? Happily let you lift me into your arms?" Tears threaten to spill, your voice rising with every word. "What thoughts could have consumed you to think my father would ever allow such a thing? What would my people say? Have you not considered-"

He kneels.

He bloody kneels.

As if that weren’t enough, you watch his hands rise to his head, fingers trembling slightly as he lifts his helmet. The movement feels deliberate and vulnerable, exposing him in a way that only adds weight to the moment between you.

There he was...

The infamous Ghost. A knight both feared and respected, a warrior who had slaughtered thousands, a trusted friend of your father, a man who never once removed his helmet- was kneeling before you, his face finally exposed. The sight is almost surreal, laid bare in the vulnerability of a single, unguarded moment.

He was vulnerable, kneeling before you, submitting not out of weakness but as a gesture of loyalty and respect. And in that quiet, charged moment, the realization dawns on you.

He knew exactly what it meant- and he did it anyway, willingly accepting the risk, letting his loyalty and conviction speak louder than caution or fear.

Your hand trembles as you hold the rose tightly to your chest. With your other, you reach out and cup his face, tilting it gently so he can meet your gaze.

Scars riddled his features, deep wounds and burnt flesh marking him as a true knight.

Ghost was beyond terrified- he hadn’t shown anyone his face since the day he lost them. And yet, here you were, your palm pressed gently against his skin, and he simply melted into your touch.

He watched as your other hand dropped, the rose slipping from your grasp to the floor- and with it, so did you.

You get down on your knees with him.

You embrace his vulnerability, letting him see that no matter what, neither of you holds power over the other- you stand as equals, hearts laid bare.

He exposes his face.

You expose your status.

A princess does not kneel. It isn’t merely frowned upon- it is unheard of. And to kneel for a knight, someone beneath you in rank and station? That is unthinkable.

Willing to take the risk.

Ghost could hear his own heart violently beating against his chest. He expected you to kick him out, dismiss him, tell the king to have him relocated or thrown in the dungeon for even attempting such a treasonous stunt- he expected to be publicly hanged or have his head cut off... not for you to get onto the ground with him.

"I am afraid," you admitted, your voice trembling, raw with truth and edged with fear. Without a word, he pulled you close, pressing you against his chest. The cold bite of his armor against your skin barely registered- you didn’t care. In that moment, all that mattered was the steady warmth of him holding you, a quiet anchor against the storm of your own trembling heart.

You felt safe.

It was not long before he lifted you and settled you gently on your bed. His hands moved carefully, removing your shoes first, then easing away your skirts and petticoats, leaving you in your sheer nightgown. Delicate lace framed the curve of your collarbone, the translucent fabric draping along your form with a soft, intimate grace.

A soft pink hue spreads across your cheeks- and his- warmth and embarrassment mingling in the quiet. Only a princess’ handmaidens and her husband are ever permitted to see her in such attire, so the fact that you are revealed to him carries a weight far greater than mere exposure.

He leans closer, a damp washcloth in his hands, and traces it softly across your face, erasing the traces of the day. One by one, he lifts the sharp pins from your hair, letting it fall in gentle waves around your face, framing your delicate features.

Every movement is deliberate, careful, as if he fears breaking the fragile peace of this moment.

By now, you had undoubtedly broken every rule there was- but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when your eyes met, and the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the moment for what felt like forever.

As he laced your fingers with his, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle, reverent kiss to your skin. Then, with a measured calm, he stood, secured his helmet, and moved to stand guard by your door, his presence a silent promise of protection.

The days passed in a soft, dizzying blur for both of you. He continued to leave you flowers, your favorite pastries from the village, small trinkets, and other thoughtful gifts- sometimes even carefully written letters that made your heart swell with each word.

Though the letters were never signed by Ghost, instead there was a name- Simon.

He had given you his name.

You accepted each gift graciously, your smile bright and secretive when no one was watching. One by one, you tucked them away underneath a floorboard, hiding them carefully so that no one would ever discover the treasures meant only for you.

Of course you made him gifts as well, spending nights embroidering a handkerchief with your initials, one that he wore under his armour and close to his heart.

It's been so long since you had felt this happy, the castle staff noticed it as well- the way you would cheerfully greet every one of them no matter the day, doing your royal duties and studying in the library with a smile plastered on your face.

Ghost, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much- still following you wherever you went, guarding you with unwavering vigilance, ever wary of prying eyes. But now, he allowed himself to let his gaze linger a little longer, feeling only a flicker of guilt. Beneath the helmet, his face still burned, though no one could see it, and perhaps that was enough.

It never is.

Once someone has a taste for something, it lingers- impossible to shake.

That longing had brought you here, weary of the empty courtship rituals and endless proposals, instead craving the quiet certainty of being with the man you loved openly, without fear or shame.

Late into the night, you let the furs slip from your shoulders, the room glowing softly in candlelight. Barefoot, you glide to the door, heart pounding, and gently opening it. Ghost gets startled, hand flying to his sword but then relaxes as you draw him close, letting him feel the urgency in your embrace.

Your hands linger on his shoulders, brushing against the edge of his helmet, asking silently for permission.

When it comes off, you let your foreheads touch, your breaths mingling, hearts beating in sync. Suddenly there’s only the warmth of each other, the gentle rise and fall of chests, whispered words and soft laughter.

Evenings like this are stolen, but in them, there’s a kind of freedom you’ve never known. To be seen, to be cherished, to let love unfold in every glance, every touch, every quiet moment shared.

Your silk nightgown finds its way onto the floor along with his armour. Spending the night together as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

As the candle light dims, your eyes are locked on him, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The world outside seems distant, unimportant, because here, in this quiet room, there is only him.

Then, unexpectedly, he parts his lips. Your breath catches. The sound is hesitant, careful, but unmistakable.

“I… love you,” he whispers, his voice rough with unfamiliarity, almost foreign to your ears because you’ve never heard it before.

Time seems to stall. Warmth rushing through you. He spoke. Not in gesture, not in writing… but with words. To you.

You reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair, hands resting against his chest, feeling every beat of his heart.

“I love you too,” you breathe, voice trembling.

Your lips find his as the candle burns out. He was more than your knight, just like you were everything to him.

Simon barely looks at him, but when he does it's clear that he doesn't want to talk. He needs to deal with whatever emotions he has later- now they have a job to do.

"Aye… fair enough" Johnny straightened up his posture, hands up in mock surrender, "I’ll shut it- for now" thankfully, they’re busy boarding the plane, though his gear felt like it was getting heavier with each and every step he took.

It's been a month.

You hadn’t expected to miss him like this. After all, you only knew that man for a month or so, but Simon had slipped into your life so unexpectedly. The day he told you he had to leave, you barely even registered the implications of what that could mean.

Now it's been a month of silence, of checking the door at night and imagining his voice in your head, of holding Lily close to your chest and humming her a lullaby while quietly wondering how someone in such a short amount of time could already feel like home.

You hate to admit it but it felt like a piece is missing. That's exactly why you cannot wrap your mind around the fact that he's not here. It's a good thing Lily isn't old enough to remember him if he left for good-

Maybe he won't come back. Using the excuse of going on a mission to leave, taking your heart with him.

You kept telling yourself you're being careless, you have a whole child to look after- putting her and her needs first should be your priority- you couldn't risk falling for someone, especially not someone who you don't have a clue on whether or not he'll return.

No matter how hard you try, you couldn't deny it, that dreadful fact that if he were to come back, you'd let yourself fall the rest of the way.

So yes, maybe you were being reckless. But there was something about the way Simon had looked at you- like he understood the exhaustion behind your eyes, like he saw the tiny miracle in your arms and treated her as if she already mattered to him- you caught yourself smiling at the memory of him gently speaking to her, the way he made her giggle by just tilting his head.

You just hope that you're right about him.

They spent weeks strategizing, planning every detail down to the smallest variable, only to end up with their hands tied, watching opportunities slip like sand through their fingers.

The radios constantly crackling with static, orders coming and going, days blurring into the next. Not a moment passed where he didn't think about you. Whether he liked it or not, you had carved a place in his chest he didn’t even know could feel this heavy.

That thought alone twisted something deep inside him. Simon wanted, needed, to be there with you- but duty kept him here, strapped down to a mission that refused to end, enduring endless strategies and rules he couldn’t risk breaking.

The end tempted him. Each tick of the clock and shuffled schedule brought him closer to finishing- making him ask himself if you'll still be waiting for him.

His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching, staring at the dark expanse outside the Humvee, listening to the low hum of the engine. He couldn't comprehend how he ended up like this- he was Ghost for crying out loud. Yet in the quiet hours, when the radios fell silent, he was just a man who wanted to go home.

But it wasn’t home he wanted. It was you. It was that addicting feeling in his chest, watching the way your hair fell over your face when you laughed at one of his terrible jokes, listening to you talk about your day only for him to pull you closer to him.

Then another grueling week passed, and finally, the mission was over- once the helo hit the ground Simon was the first to jump out, moving swiftly through a crowd of soldiers. Ignoring the calls of his teammates since he had one goal and that goal is to get to you.

He replayed the way you smiled at him a thousand times in his head, Lily’s tiny hands, the soft feeling of being somewhere safe.

By the time he reached your street, his chest was already tight. He made his way up the stairs and stood in front of your door. For once he didn't have a plan. No idea about what he'll even say to you- all he really knew was that he wanted to be around you again.

He raised his hand to knock, freezing once he saw that the door was already open. He could hear his own heart pounding, each beat hammering like a gunshot against his chest.

Broken glass.

That stopped Simon cold, his brain already running through a thousand scenarios he didn’t want to name. Inside, the apartment was a mess, from clothes and toys to broken plates and glasses- a gut wrenching feeling sunk down to his stomach, remembering just how fast "normal" could disappear.

Not again.

He hated how familiar it felt, how his mind leapt straight to loss. He had spent years building his life around control, around anticipating and being ready for the worst- but standing here, all he could think about was how he’d failed.

His thoughts were loud and relentless, leaving no room for any rational thoughts as his body started moving on autopilot, rushing from room to room looking for any sign of you or Lily only to find none. Searching every corner and ending up looking down at the toys that were lying on the living room rug.

It felt like someone dumped a whole bucket of ice cold water over his head and simultaneously pulled the rug underneath his feet. His vision blurred as he staggered back, gripping the door frame for support. He could feel his chest tightening, his throat burning, his breaths coming in short, jagged gasps.

Before he realized it, he was on the floor, mask off and whispering your name over and over, like saying it could magically make you appear.

The apartment smelled like he remembered- coffee, faint detergent, your perfume- but it was empty. The absence hit him harder than any bullet ever could.

Ghost, the man who could get any job done without flinching, was reduced to shaking and hyperventilating on the floor- memories of his past worming their way back in and making his eyes sting.

All he wanted in that moment was you, to see you, to hold you both and make sure nothing had changed and that you're safe.

He felt useless.

You were tired.

Exhausted even, running around all day at work- oh yeah, you finally got a job. Nothing much, just a regular barista at a local coffee shop, though the rush hour felt like hell. At least you can pay your rent and somehow manage to afford daycare for Lily.

Sure it's expensive, but at least you have someone who could take care of her constantly while you're at work- when you picked her up after your shift, you went to your friend's house. She has the cutest golden retriever and what's more adorable is Lily's little smile when she throws a ball so they can play fetch. Who were you to say no when your friend offered to watch her for a couple of hours?

You ended up driving back home and making your way upstairs but stopping short when you notice your apartment door standing open, the light turned on. For a moment, you consider calling someone, anyone, because the thought of a robber slipped into your head. Though exhaustion weighed heavier than fear, dulling your urgency.

You carefully step inside and grab the nearest object within reach- an umbrella. It feels ridiculous, but it’s something. With your heart thudding, you move farther in, every step quiet and careful.

Then you hear it.

Short, jagged breaths. Like someone was suffocating. You follow the sound to the living room, hands clutching the umbrella but stopping dead in your tracks once you see him.

It was Simon.

Simon who was sat on the ground, back against the couch with his hand gripping the fabric of his hoodie as if he was trying to keep his chest from tearing open. Sweat dripping down his face and his eyes wide open, staring at nothing.

His mask was off.

That's the first thing you notice, how could you not? Finally getting to see his face- eyes trailing over the glasgow smile running along the sides, a gash on the bridge of his nose that had surely been broken before along with all sorts of scars littering his face- all telling a story of the pain he's been put through.

You wish you’d seen it under different circumstances, knowing how secretive he was. The sight of him like this makes your breath stop, eyes red from tears that threatened to fall as his body trembles like he’s barely holding himself together. You lower the umbrella, setting it aside on the table, suddenly aware of how unnecessary it feels.

Then, slowly and carefully, you move toward him, every step deliberate, afraid that moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile balance he has left.

"Simon?" you whisper softly, crouching down hesitantly as to not startle him.

His eyes snap to yours, going completely still, breath caught in his chest as he takes you in, searching your face like he needs proof you’re really here. When you reach out and gently touch his hand, he flinches at first like he was burned- then freezes again, convinced even the smallest movement could...

Suddenly, your breath catches as strong arms wrap around you, holding on like you might vanish if he lets go. His voice is rough and broken when he mutters your name, his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"I thought…"

The words die down as silence wraps around them, you can always talk later, for now you can stay like this...

Tag list:

Those days were your favorite because you got to take her outside, to see the trees from her stroller and coo at the squirrels as they ran around on the branches- but the ducks were her favorite part. You would set up a little picnic blanket and sit her down in your lap, opening up the bag of stale bread and watching the ducks swim to you as you fed them together.

You're surprised at how much you enjoyed his presence while you walked down the same path you took Lily on every day, he even volunteered to push the stroller for you.

Next thing you know he's trying to catch a squirrel for her. After scolding him profusely about how stupid that is, he begrudgingly gave up and instead bought her an overpriced squirrel balloon. He skillfully tied it to the stroller and proudly watched her overjoyed expression, worth it in his book.

When it came to feeding the ducks he ended up throwing a whole piece of bread and hitting one on the head. They swam away but came back shortly after for more food, though Simon swore that the duck looked at him funny.

You ended up watching the sunset as you made your way back, Simon pushing the stroller as he hesitantly reached for your hand- your soft skin a stark contrast against the roughness of his own. The moment felt strangely delicate, like you were inexperienced teenagers awkwardly learning how to date, not two fully grown adults who should’ve known better by now.

Life is easier with him around.

You feel like your spark is back, wearing your cute clothes again instead of the same pair of stained sweats you also wore to bed. You put more effort into your appearance and health. After the first time he came around you called up your friend and left Lily with her while you gave your apartment a much needed deep clean- granted it still got messy with baby things around but at least it was better than before.

Speaking of Lily- she absolutely loved Simon. How do you know that? Well that baby just never stops cooing and smiling when she sees him- kind of makes you jealous since you didn't carry her for nine months to have her pick him as her favorite.

The nerve.

Yet... you couldn't help the mushy feeling you always got whenever you see her laying on his chest, so tiny compared to him. His big hand resting on her back while he watches your favorite show with you, his arm slung over your shoulders and holding you close. You could see he loved her from the way his eyes crinkled- that wide grin under the mask didn't help his case either.

Sometimes you catch yourself wishing she was his kid instead of-

You tense up slightly but Simon noticed, of course he noticed. Asking if you're ok but you just gave him a smile and leaned your head back onto his shoulder, trying to focus on the tv but failing.

Your thoughts take you back to that day, having morning sickness and missing your period for a week you decided to take a test- your heart dropping down to your stomach when you saw those two pink lines. You felt so excited- scared nonetheless- but happy since you're going to have a family.

Dreams getting crushed when your boyfriend at the time told you to abort it, yelling at you and calling you names, accusing you of cheating and-

You threw him and his things out the next day.

That's how you ended up no longer excited, left only with the fear of what is to come. You knew you wanted to keep her, loved her unconditionally since she was yours.

Thinking back... you don't have any regrets- if you were never with him, then you'd never have Lily.

You always wanted a big happy family but after that whole ordeal you came to terms with the fact that it would only ever be the two of you... until Simon came along- he made you feel like yourself again, showering you with love.

You were beyond grateful for him- yet no matter how tightly you clung to that feeling, you couldn’t quite silence the unsavory thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind.

How serious was he? Surely he isn't the type to just get in a- were they in a relationship? They never put a label on it, he could leave any second if he wanted to.

Did he want to?

Is it too early to bring it up? It's only been a month or so since you officially started going out together- but you have a baby so you guess it's alright if you're paranoid for thinking so much of the future.

You excuse yourself, standing up from Simon's hold and going to the bathroom, you washed your face with the cold water and took some deep breaths. You're ok. If he wanted to leave he would've left after the first date- if you could call it that since you just ended up staying in your living room.

Yeah, it's going to be okay.

Until it isn't.

You woke up early that day, Lily was still asleep when you started making yourself some coffee.

Just as you were about to take a sip, a knock at the door startled you. You carefully put your cup down and went to answer it, rubbing your eyes and tiredly yawning. When you look up you freeze and stare into those piercing eyes.

It was Simon.

You barely recognized him- the whole military getup didn’t help with that. The tactical vest, the camo uniform, the balaclava pulled tight with that skull mask… he looked more like a stranger than the man you knew.

"Got called in. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone" he says it calmly, like it’s routine, but the way his eyes linger on you gives him away- there’s worry there, carefully kept in check. “I’ll be back,” he adds quietly, a promise he needs you to believe as much as he does.

"Simon-"

"Wait for me."

You don’t know how to respond to anything that he said. It’s seven in the morning and your mind is barely even functioning. The words hanging between you, too big, too sudden, and all you can do is blink at him, trying to catch up while the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinks in.

"Promise you'll be back?"

"Always."

He was one of the unfortunate few that stayed back on base, never really grasping why the holiday had such a grip on everyone. Christmas was nothing but painful for him. Memories of his mother trying to make it magical for him and his brother only ended up in their father coming home and ruining everything. Simon hated it. Hated the celebrations since they only brought back the times where it had caused suffering.

Now, well, he's planning to do the same thing like last year and the years before- spend the day on base as if nothing is going on, rejecting the wretched holiday.

Johnny had invited him to his home back in Scotland to spend it with his family- he had told him all about his siblings, parents, nieces and nephews- though deep down as much as Simon wanted to go, he'd just be reminded of how lonely he actually was.

He owned a small apartment in Manchester, guess he could go there but staying at the base means he'd pretend it's just any other day.

He thought that he could.

Hell, he would've.

What surprised him was seeing you- the new medic- still on base.

It was surprising none the less, you were so cheerful these past few weeks, wearing a Santa hat and giving out candy canes while stitching up gruesome wounds.

So it's safe to say he was confused as to why you were still here and not back home celebrating- it was December 24th for crying out loud, even if you wanted you couldn't go home.

You were peacefully piping some sugar cookies in the communal kitchen, some Christmas jingles playing quietly in the background while you take a step back and admire your work- finally noticing him standing still in the doorway.

"Lieutenant! God you scared me" you grab your chest, heart beating fast since you thought you were alone and then looking up to see a giant masked soldier at the door? Nightmare fuel.

"Why’re you still ‘ere?" he finds himself asking, surely you'd have preferred to spend Christmas with your loved ones and not stuck here on base.

You tilt your head confused, "I could ask you the same thing" you grab a piping bag and hold it out to him expectantly.

He just stared at it and then you, reluctantly taking it. Listening when you started explaining how to decorate them, making star shapes, stockings, gingerbread men, Christmas trees etc.

"I'm almost done with these, just have to let them set- saw those poor rookies staying back and wanted to make them something sweet" you skilfully pipe on the ornaments of the tree as you explain.

"You stayed back makin’ biscuits for grown men?" he says quietly, “Wouldn’t you rather be with yer family?”

"I don't have a family"

Oh.

Something sour twisted in his gut when he heard that. Cursing himself for asking but when he looked up and met your eyes, they were soft and understanding, sad yet kind. Fuck.

"I'm..."

"It's okay"

He puts down the piping bag, his cookies looking like shit compared to yours.

"I don't either." he muttered.

You give him a gentle smile, gently placing your hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze.

"Help me give these out?"

And with that Simon was left carrying small boxes while you happily hand them out to soldiers who stayed back like you two. Confused as to why their lieutenant is wearing antlers, but they know better than to question it.

When you’re finished, you invite him into your room. Somehow, the night settles there- soft voices, shared glances, the two of you sitting close on your bed. A small Christmas tree glows in the corner, casting a warm light across the room, The Grinch playing quietly in the background.

For the first time in years Simon finally celebrates Christmas, enjoying the holiday rather than training and cleaning his gun. For once he can feel like he has someone who understands.

"Merry Christmas Simon"

Someone he might one day dare to call family.

"Why not? No harm in trying- besides, you're on leave" Price reasoned, relaxed as he sipped on a glass of whiskey.

Sure, Simon has had one or two awkward hook-ups in between missions but never anything real. Having a wife like price, writing letters to his girlfriend like Kyle or effortlessly flirting like Johnny- he wasn't like them. He preferred focusing on the mission, his task, that was enough for him.

Maybe...

no.

He has his work and that's always been it. No distractions, no worries or problems that end up in losing the people he cares about.

The next day rolled around and it was just a regular Tuesday. He ran out of his favorite tea so he made a stop at the shop close to his small cold flat. His head pounding from the lack of sleep, he could never sleep after missions- at least not right away.

So imagine his surprise when his horrid day was turned upside down when he saw you.

He stood behind you in line, eyeing the insufficient amount of groceries and then making eye contact with your baby. He could've melted on the spot, the little girl's eyes were glossy from crying as they looked at him- then she gave him a tiny smile.

Huh.

His eyes traveled to you as you struggled to find your wallet- you were gorgeous.

Ok- you did have mismatched socks and bunny slippers, hair greasy and unwashed, eyes sunken from no sleep- but in Simon's eyes you were the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on.

What knocked him out of his daydream was the sound of your card declining- without a second thought he pulled out his own.

That should've been it, he paid for your groceries out of the kindness of his heart- yet he saw you struggling to hold your baby let alone carry the bags.

Fine, he helped you to your car. Doesn't mean anything. Just how it doesn't mean anything when he searches for signs if you're married or not- no ring on your finger, enough food for two, no signs of a man anywhere.

You were single.

He ended up blurting out the words before his mind could keep up. He's seen Johnny do it before, flirt as if it were second nature but he usually did it with young, dressed up women.

You were different. Soft.

He only went to get tea but ended up with your number.

When he got home that day, he kept checking if the receipt was there, surely this is some dream of his- or maybe he's dead since he hasn't had anything but nightmares in years.

Low and behold that piece of paper was sat on his coffee table as real as ever. He kept typing your number in and contemplating even calling but his teammates' words rang through his head.

So he quickly dialed the number and heard his phone ring.

Panic.

He was going to hang up but then he heard your nervous voice on the other end. Sweet like honey.

Friday night next week, 7 pm, he'll pick you up and you'll go get some dinner at a fancy restaurant.

He treated it like a mission, only the end result was unclear. He shaved his beard, cleaned up his overgrown hair and got dressed up.

Earlier that day he made a stop at a flower shop, picking some roses for you. He's never bought flowers for a date- I mean he has bought flowers before but those usually wilt and die on his mother's grave. These were different- he can buy them to celebrate you rather than mourn a loss. Just as he was about to leave he saw the most delicate little carnations, reminding him of the big blue eyes that looked at him at the store.

That's how he ended up with two bouquets at your door, waiting for you to open it as he felt his nerves running wild.

When you finally opened the door he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

You looked breathtaking.

He didn't pay attention to your rambling as he was busy admiring you- at the end of the day he's just a man.

So you could imagine his surprise as to how he got here. Talking to you on your couch as you have Lily laying on your chest before you carefully move her to her crib.

Drinking wine and just enjoying each other's presence- I mean you were still embarrassed about the state of your living room.

Throw pillows and blankets all over the couch, a playmat in the center, bottles on the coffee table along with various baby books and toys.

Though Simon didn't mind. He only laid back on the comfortable couch and stared into your eyes as you rambled on about something.

It was surprising to you how it was so easy to talk to him, to tell him everything since he wanted to listen.

When it got late you spent a few minutes by the door, not wanting him to leave.

Maybe it was the wine but you suddenly got on your tip toes and kissed his cheek- well the mask but still.

Feeling your blood rush to your cheeks you say your goodbyes and close the door, leaning your back against it as you cover your face in embarrassment.

Simon just stood outside for a minute, a dopey grin on under his mask and a hand touching the place you kissed him...

You look around your room, it was a mess. Not like it normally isn't- but now there's a significant amount of clothes on the floor and on your unmade bed, makeup scattered around your vanity alongside the dirty dishes you should've washed and put away 3 days ago.

Guess your surroundings are a reflection of yourself, speaking of that, you felt so... wrong.

Two hours prior, you had torn through your entire wardrobe looking for something to wear, only to find out that a large portion of your clothes just don't fit you like they used to. In the end you ended up settling for a soft sweater dress, you'd paired it with your knee high boots and even curled your hair to complement your- very minimal- makeup.

You looked decent...

Some tummy fat here, a loose poorly curled strand of hair there- at least you didn't have vomit on your dress.

"I was really looking forward to spending time with Lily, besides I know you've been looking forward to this all week, you rarely go-"

"it's okay- go be with your sister and I'll try and reschedule with him" you sigh, reaching towards the makeup wipe as you hang up.

So much for going out.

The one time you get asked to go on a date- with an attractive man at that- it goes to shit.

You try getting up but you soon realize that you forgot how to walk in heels. Wobbling around like a newly born fawn.

Somehow you end up twisting your ankle and falling over, ripping your brand new tights on the edge of the bed and knocking over some of the plates that have been rotting on your nightstand.

The sound of the plates crashing was loud enough to wake up Lily- perfect- just what you needed.

Kicking off your boots you run to her and cradle her tiny body, trying to calm her down.

Suddenly the doorbell rings and you freeze. Simon. He's already here- standing outside of your door waiting for you to come out.

Your eyes sting, partly due to the expired mascara but mainly since you felt so overwhelmed, though you needed to get it together.

Finally you open the door, "Simon I'm so sorry but my babysitter-" your words die down in your throat as you look at him. Dressed in a sleek black button up and black dress pants, hair combed back but the mask still on his face.

He was hot. Like really attractive- cleaned up nice and you were totally checking him out.

You notice that in his hands there was a massive bouquet of red roses, what makes your heart skip a beat is the tiny bouquet of carnations alongside it.

"You look beautiful" he mutters out, eyes traveling up your body but the crying baby grabs his attention.

"I'm sorry-" you hold the baby close as you bounce her up and down trying to calm her, "my friend canceled last minute I was gonna call you but my-" you don't notice when you started crying, or when your throat started to tighten up, "I really wanted to go to dinner with you".

"hey its-"

"it's not alright- I can't get her to stop crying, my apartment is a disaster, my love life is shit- I'm a mess and I totally get it if you don't want to go out with me anymore-" you spiral, bouncing Lily up and down and she quiets down, as if sensing your discomfort.

"Breathe luv" he places his hand on your shoulder and you look up into his brown eyes. "If yer still up for it... We could stay in and not let this night go to waste?" He suggests, hope in his eyes as you wipe your tears away, along with your mascara.

"You don't want to leave?" you ask and watch as he shook his head, you let him inside your small yet cozy apartment. Albeit messy but it felt lived in- like home.

He holds out the two bouquets "I got these for you- and well her" he awkwardly stands there and watched you take them.

"I... no one's gotten me flowers before" a genuine smile forms on your face, eyes sparkling as you hurry and grab something to put them in, Lily on your hip as you moved around.

"Darling it's okay- shh- mommy's here" you bounce her softly, her cries echoing in the grocery store. Strangers staring and giving you pitying looks- oh how you despised those looks. You get them more often now, when you were pregnant at least you looked decent but felt like shit- now you look and feel the part.

Her wailing quiets down but she's clearly still distraught, you get everything on your list and go to check out.

Holding your daughter close you pull out your card, typing in the pin but the screen goes red "Sorry ma'am your card is declined" the cashier gives you a sympathetic look.

You felt like you could cry, throat swelling up as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. Before you could say anything you see someone swipe their card.

"I got it." A rough voice says from behind you, turning around you see a man twice your size. Broad shoulders and big muscles- black surgical mask on his face as he stares into your eyes.

"T-thank you" you mutter out after an embarrassingly long time and mechanically go to bag your items, the cashier rings him up- a pack of cigarettes and some tea.

You grab one of the bags but he picks the heavier ones up, insisting on helping you. Why? Not even Simon could tell you.

Though perhaps seeing a pretty bird struggling with her baby, tired and on top of that not being able to pay for her groceries? Call it some sort of instinct or guilt but he couldn't just leave you struggling when he could help you.

Now? Now he's walking you to your tiny car, putting the groceries in the trunk as you strap your daughter in the baby seat.

"Thank you again..." You start, turning to face him as you fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.

"Simon."

"Simon- thank you." You smile up at him- that paired with him hearing his name falling out of your plush lips making him a goner.

You introduce yourself, "A number would interest me more love" his mouth uttering those words before he could think.

"Pardon?" You manage to blurt out, is he flirting with you? He couldn't be- you look like a mess, you probably have baby vomit on your sweater- you have a baby for crying out loud! No man wanted to date a single mother, let alone you.

"Sorry- I just er-" he rubs his neck, eyes darting around, "I'd like to take ya out for dinner- didn't see a ring on yer finger so I just assumed-".

You stare at him dumbfounded, reminding yourself to respond, "I'd... I'd love to" you utter out

Quickly, you grab a pen out of your purse and write your number on the back of the receipt, handing it to him with shaky hands.

"Call me then?"

"I will."