it gets tense when boyfriend!simon and girlfriend!reader unknowingly run into John Price at the grocery store
The butcher’s counter smells wrong. Too clean, too cold. Simon stands there with his arms crossed, eyeing the lineup behind the glass — the marbling’s off, the cuts uneven. Amateurs, he thinks, jaw ticking. He spent enough years breaking down carcasses to know when someone’s phoning it in.
Still, he grabs two ribeyes — best of the sorry lot — and mutters a quiet, “Could d' worse,” before heading back toward the produce aisle where he left you. You’re meant to be picking out vegetables, humming under your breath like you always do when you’re trying to decide between two kinds of herbs you’ll probably forget to use.
He hears your voice before he sees you. Soft. Polite.
That tone you use with strangers when you’re trying to be kind.
Simon slows, brow furrowing. He rounds the corner, hand tightening around the basket’s handle and stops dead.
You’re there, buggy parked sideways in the middle of the aisle, smiling up at a man in civvies. Brown jacket. Broad shoulders. Facial hair. Familiar stance.
Captain John Price.
Simon’s stomach drops clean through him.
For a heartbeat, he just stares — silent, still, like a bow pulled taut. Price hasn’t noticed him yet he’s too busy making you laugh. And Christ, you’re laughing. Hand brushing your hair back, bright-eyed, completely unaware of who you’re talking to.
His throat goes dry. He doesn’t mix work and personal life — not since you. Especially since you. He made damn sure of it. But the sight of his captain standing in front of you, smiling easy as you please, feels like watching two universes collide in real time.
Price catches sight of him first. His eyes widen just a touch — surprise, then understanding flickering in that split-second recognition.
“Simon?” he calls, voice carrying easily down the aisle.
Simon considers if it's too late to turn back.
Price’s grin is already forming when he starts toward him, easy and unbothered as ever, pushing his cart like this is any other chance encounter. And you, caught in the middle, turn at the sound — eyes bright, smile soft, none the wiser of the storm brewing just a few paces behind you.
The realization hits a second later, a quick jolt in your chest. The man you’d just nearly run over with your cart knows your boyfriend. And suddenly, you’re the only one who doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Simon keeps walking, closing the gap one steady step at a time. Each thud of his boots on the tile sounds too loud, too final. His pulse thuds in his ears.
He hates the picture in front of him. You standing there next to Price, the man who’s seen him at his ugliest. The one who’s watched him wade through blood and ruin, who’s heard the worst things he’s ever said and still called him mate.
You, his precious little thing, all warmth and light and softness, smiling up at the man he’s brought so much death with.
And Price — bloody Price — looks from you to him, that knowing expression tightening around his mouth like he can already feel the imaginary lines he’s just crossed.
Simon stops in front of him, every movement measured. “Price.”
He says it flatly — no smile, no warmth — and extends a hand. Price catches the cue, clasping it firmly, eyes flicking over Simon’s shoulder like he’s recalibrating the whole scene.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Price says, voice even but cautious now. “Small world, eh?”
Simon only hums, jaw tight. “Somethin’ like that.”
You edge closer, curiosity outweighing sense, cart wheels squeaking softly against the tile. The air between them feels strange — heavier than it should for two old friends running into each other. You look between them, catching the way Simon’s posture stiffens even further the nearer you get.
Price notices it too. His brows draw together just a little, concern cutting through the easy grin he’d worn a moment ago. He glances at you, then back to Simon.
“And this would be…?” he asks lightly, leaving the question open, polite.
Simon’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at you right away — can't — just gives the smallest nod in your direction.
Your name falls out of his mouth quietly. Rough, like gravel. No label.
Price’s gaze follows, lingering on you for a moment before returning to Simon. Something in his expression shifts — the kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. His shoulders ease, and a faint, knowing smile ghosts across his face.
“Right,” he says quietly.
“Didn’t mean t’interrupt.”
For a long second, neither of them moves. Price studies him, and there’s something softer in his eyes now — a quiet sort of pride. A life. A home. A family. Things Simon never really had growing up, and now he’s building them with his own hands, however clumsily. Of course he’d guard that like his own skin. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone from that other world anywhere near it.
Simon just nods once, stiff and silent, and Price lets it go.
Price gives a last small nod, looking like he’s about to move on, but you beat him to it. The question tumbles out before you can stop it - light, curious, a little too bright to cover the uneasy thrum under your skin.
“So… how do you two know each other?” You glance between them, Price still warm and polite, Simon stiff as a board beside you. You already have a hunch, one that sits heavy in your stomach, but you want to hear it said out loud.
Price’s smile flickers, easy but careful. “We’ve worked together, here and there,” he says, voice gentler now, like he’s trying to smooth over something sharp.
“Yeah, cross paths sometimes,” Simon says, his eyes finally meeting yours under the harsh lights. They’re pleading for you not to ask anything else, to let it go. So you do, despite the curiosity gnawing at you like a caged animal.
Price nods once, understanding passing silently between them. Then his eyes soften when he looks at Simon again — something almost fond there, hidden beneath the professionalism. He’s secretly glad, you can tell. Glad to see Simon standing here in a grocery store of all places, with a cart half-full and a pretty woman at his side.
“Right,” Price says finally, clearing his throat. “Well. Don’t let me keep you two.”
He gives you a polite smile and a small tilt of his head before rolling his cart past.
You watch Price disappear around the corner, his trolley rattling softly over the tile, and the silence he leaves behind feels too heavy for a supermarket. Simon still hasn’t moved. His jaw’s tight, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on nothing.
You open your mouth, starting to ask—something, anything to break the tension. “Is he-,”
But he beats you to it, voice low and rough. “Not now, love. Let’s get home, yeah? I’m starved.”
It’s not a dismissal, not really. Just a retreat. A man trying to rebuild the walls that cracked a little too wide.
You nod, fingers curling around the trolley handle as you fall into step beside him. You know better than to press when his world’s bleeding into yours — when the stranger he never lets you meet slips out, and for a split second, you don’t recognize him. The way his shoulders square, the way his eyes go distant. It’s like watching him retreat behind a mask you can’t see this time but can feel.
So you let it go. For now.
I like to think this is a fun little extension of the boyfriend!simon gets pissed when his girlfriend!reader asks him to put on his mask when he gets home from deployment universe. I think Simon would love so fiercely that he would try to erase that part of himself with you, and this - this is his worst nightmare. pt.3 here
