Simon is a quiet lover. His affection is never announced: at the initial fall, all it is is glances that are never a second too long, and silently inserting himself into your space, with some distance of course. If he can't look at you, he'll listen as long as he can. If you aren't there at all, he'll think about something he remembers hearing you talk about.
He'll pick up a few of your likes and habits, too. Your favourite biscuits to dip into your tea, the hoodie you wear like clockwork during downtime, the stretches you do before your workout. During meetings, he finds himself tilting his head or crossing his arms whenever you do. He's not sure why he does any of it. But he supposes if he ever gets the chance to be with you, he might as well become a part of you, too.
The confession is an arduous process. For all other purposes, Simon considers himself a very direct man. But for this? Something so delicate? It's uncharted territory. He's already so careful around you, not wanting to be a bother because of what he feels for you, that he almost convinces himself that it would be wrong to even tell you. But, after much rumination, he lands on a simple, classic method: the note and beverage.
Signed with a small doodle of a skull. No name basis, just yet.
It takes little effort for a smile to grow on your face when you read over the words on the crumpled paper.
The tea he'd silently delivered was unexpected. You and the Lieutenant generally exchange very few words, so the gesture paired with the note is practically a mile long leap in terms of communication.
You look in the direction he left, and you manage to catch a glance at his back before he disappears around a corner.
He certainly lives up to his name.
You manage to catch him alone as he's leaving the mess hall the next morning.
"Room for one more tea?" You ask as you sidle up to him.
He turns to you, and you think it could be your imagination, but there seems to be a twinkle in his eyes.
He gives you a nod. "Always."
You share a couch in the common area. Your legs pulled up, while he rests a leg over his knee. The conversation starts casual, "how are you"s exchanged, and what both of you have planned for the day. You hint at some light anxiety for an upcoming assignment, but you end up trailing off.
Simon turns his body slightly more towards you, his arm now resting on the back of the couch.
You bite the inside of your cheek as a smile creeps on your face. A huff of amusement escapes you too. And once again, when you tilt your head and he does, as well.
You shake your head as your smile grows. Had it always been this easy to talk to him?
"Yes, I think." You pause a moment as your eyes dart over his mask covered face. "You look like you've been waiting to say something."
He takes his turn to look over you, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to slap himself.
Every moment spent thinking over how he'd express himself to you, yet it'd felt like too little time. He would only need to say a few words, he knows, but it seems saying them in the right order is the hardest task of them all.
Simon takes a breath. Better if he at least tries now, rather than never getting around to it.
"You..." his lips purse beneath the mask, "you feel right."
He watches as you raise a brow.
Shame washes over him and he immediately diverts his eyes. Even he's not sure what he meant by that.
But his attention is brought back to you when he hears your laughter.
"I didn't think..." you were the romantic type, but you keep that thought to yourself. Perhaps the best choice for both of your sakes.
He straightens, clearly wanting you to continue, but you shake your head instead.
Your heart picks up a little as you debate an offer. It feels childish, honestly, like you're back in school again.
"Meet me outside the barracks tonight."
You lead him to your room. Not by the wrist, nor by the hand. Both of you keep your hands in your pockets since there's a chill outside, and though the ordeal is definitely out of professional standards, neither of you are keen to make yourselves look like fools.
He follows you in, closing the door behind you gently. You've noticed that about him generallyβas ruthless as he's known to be on field, everything that falls into his hands seems to be handled with such carefulness.
It makes you wonder how he'll be with you, if you get far with him at all.
The night goes by in a rather normal manner. You carry on what you'd started in the common area, and you have tea once again, except in closer proximity. And to your surprise, he agrees to sleep in the same bed, when you'd only jokingly offered.
He takes up a significant portion of your bed, choosing to sleep on the open edge, while you take the side against the wall. He doesn't seem to mind you curling up against his back instead, and by morning, you find yourselves still in the same position.
He pulls his mask back on before he turns around to face you, slowly, tiredly. You'd rather see his entire face at such an intimate hour, but God, is the sight of just his sleep ridden eyes enough.
You unfurl a hand from under your chin, tentatively sticking a finger out. As he dips his chin, you reach forward, letting the pad of your finger brush over his eyelashes. His eyes flutter close to let you continue, and he keeps them closed as your finger trails down the fabric over the bridge of his nose, stopping at his chin.
Countless mornings like these follow. By the weeks, Simon would loosen up, and eventually you'd wake up with him wrapped around you, keeping you enclosed in his warmth. He'd take every opportunity he could to be close to you in private, to keep your bare skin against his, to breathe you in.
Around everyone else, he'd keep his affection for you quieter. His love for you was spoken through the mere centimeters of space he'd leave between you whenever you could be together, the two cups of tea he'd make at a time, the space he reserved for you next to him in meetings and in the helo, the watchful eye over your shoulder as you trained.
He knew he'd made no mistake falling for you. And you couldn't be more grateful that he chose you to open his heart to.
But Simon should've known his fortune would never last long.
Almost twelve months you'd been MIA, now only days away from being announced KIA. The senior officers had used up every trace they had of your whereabouts, none of which had led them any closer.
He recalls the day you'd told him you were worried to go on assignment. He'd thought it was only the usual deployment nerves, like you might've also thought.
He hates to know now that it was a gut feeling.
Simon was a quiet lover. But now, all he can be is silent. What he loves is gone. There is nowhere and no reason to let his gaze linger, no one to escape to for a quiet evening.
But, he still holds on to what you left behind. Your hoodie, the small plant in your room that just looks like grass, the small rocks you'd collected from around base for whatever reason. He'll hold onto them, hoping you can come back for him to love again.
