#teascapades

That made Simon scoff, posture still too rigid and gaze shifting to the wall like it held some of life's greatest mysteries. Gaz's nose wrinkled in thought.

"Did… you and your bird get into a spat?" He tried again.

"Not my-" Simon's arms crossed as he cut himself off, still looking away, but making no move to continue down the hall and find someone else to run his files for him. He looked almost torn in two between running for his life and pulling the sergeant into a vaguely threatening headlock. "How do you… unfuck somethin'?"

"Didn't realize you two had gotten that far." Gaz jested, before dropping the smile from his face at the utterly dangerous look Simon gave him. "Sorry, sorry. You mean how to apologize for something?" Simon gave a short, curt nod.

"Well, kinda depends on what you're apologizing for, but I've never gone wrong with flowers and chocolates."

With how little effort Gaz seemed to charm people with, Simon found himself taking his advice. He managed to slip into the admin block while you were away from your desk, setting down a small chocolate box the person at the Fine Foods shop had insisted was a favourite, along with a small cactus he'd caught sight of at the florist's. It had a small flower blooming from it in a vibrant yellow, the pot a facimile of a curled up cat. It was cute. It reminded him of you the moment he'd seen it. Surely, this would fix things.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After a full day and not hearing a word from you or really seeing you about at all, Simon reluctantly asked Johnny what he would do, almost regretting it immediately.

"Oh, ye've found yerself fumblin' and have come tae the real master, aye?" He grinned widely, ego quickly inflated with the question. "Nae worries Lt, I'm no' gonnae steer ye wrong! Here's what ye need tae do…"

Johnny had, surprisingly, made a lot of sense. Instead of gifts, he'd sworn by doing chores and tasks until forgiveness was earned. "Gotta' work for it Lt!" He'd given Simon a nudge, before heading on his way to the mess.

So Simon found every single thing he could do. The photocopier in admin was busted? It suddenly started working again like new. That squeaky desk drawer? Silent as a church mouse. The single key that would stick on your keyboard? Suddenly, it's no longer a problem.

Yet, another day goes by without word.

Simon, mind clouded with confusion and wavering hope, found himself sulking while waiting for the kettle to heat up. Maybe you hated the cactus. Who in their right mind would get someone a sharp plant as an apology? Maybe you liked the familiar squeak of your desk drawer. Something constant and familiar, and he'd taken that from you. Maybe you finally realized how big and scary of a guy he actually was. Maybe he'd frightened you away.

Maybe you just didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

"Kettle's doin' a fine enough job heating water without your staring burnin' holes into it Simon." Price's gruff voice sounded out, the man juggling file folders and an empty mug, on his way for another cuppa to help him survive his neverending paperwork.

Instead of bombarding the kettle further with his gaze, he started watching Price as the man abandoned his folders on the counter, humming as he snatched one of the cereal bars from the top shelf.

"Somethin' on your mind, or am I just that pretty today?" He leaned against the counter, giving a nod as he waited expectently.

"Am I scary?" Simon blurted out rather suddenly, causing his captain to quirk an amused brow.

"I mean, I'd pity anyone who found themselves on your bad side, but I have a feeling that's not what you're asking." He sighed, stretching his back out with a loud pop. "This something to do with why you've been skulking about the admin block the past few days?"

He should've expected Price would notice.

"Could be."

Simon was being leveled with that unwavering stare Price had. The one that usually had recruits admitting to every slight mistake and error they'd ever made during drills. The captain had even had a fair few commisary items slipped in past base security using that look.

"I think I scared 'em off."

Price waited, lips pursing as he watched the way Simon's eye flickered to the side.

"I may 'ave been… a bit upset abou' my tea. Being replaced. With Tetley."

"Ah." The captain nodded sagely as he grabbed the whistling kettle, pouring a good amount into his mug.

"I dunno w'ot to do. Got 'em chocolates. A plant. I fixed what needed fixin'. Still haven't heard a thing."

"Have you actually apologized, Simon?" Price picked up his folders and mug again, raising it with a knowing hum. "Forget the gifts or acts of service. Start with the word sorry, and go from there."

Simon was left blinking at the kettle as Price left on his merry way, only realizing a moment later that the captain had comandeered all his boiled water. With a sigh, he refilled it and set it to heat again, taking the time to ponder his advice.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The past several days you'd been a bit distracted, but not so distracted that you didn't immediately notice the massive dark shadow appearing before your desk, causing you to glance up slightly startled.

"Oh! Lieutenant-"

"M'sorry."

Your eyes widened, brain grinding to a halt. "Lieutenant… what?"

He had never felt more nervous and jittery in his goddamn life. He'd found himself in knife fights less anxiety inducing than this.

"M'sorry I upset you. Should've been sayin' thank you for replacin' the box. You did somethin' nice an' I shit all over it."

"Riley-"

Simon was probably wearing holes into his gloves from how tight his hands were clenched at his sides. "Understand if you'd rather not see me around. I can change w'ot time I go get my tea so you don't have to worry abou-"

"Simon!"

Simon shut up immediately, mouth still open from his previous rambling as a shiver travelled up his spine. He could feel the heat suddenly radiating from his face, trapping itself within his mask. He was willing to bet the entire back of his neck was flushed.

"I'm not upset."

What.

"Well, I mean, I may have been a little bit upset, but not anymore. Thank you for the apology though. Is that why you haven't been around lately?"

Simon suddenly noticed something he really should have caught before. On the corner of your desk in plain view, in it's cheery cat shaped pot, was the tiny cactus. You hadn't tossed it.

You followed his gaze, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"It was from you, right? I thought it might be. Honestly, I've been trying to track you down for the past couple days to say thank you." You turned back to him, smile spreading further across your mouth, almost like you couldn't help it. "Thank you, Simon."

He was left trying and failing to recover from hearing his name in your sweet voice. Not Lieutenant. Not Riley. Simon. You'd called him Simon. You weren't upset. You were smiling. At him.

Simon never really understood it, someone sticking around and waiting like that, willingly risking heartbreak when the object of their affections didn't return home.

Lucky bastard.

Kyle was halfway through explaining a rather amusing blunder that had happened with some of the greenies on the obstacle course, Price leaned back in the booth with an amused twitch of his mustache and Soap cackling at the mention of an unexpected flying boot, when Simon's eyes off-handedly scanned across the pub.

The usual suspects occupied the stools by the bar along with several new faces, which was no surprise given how many new recruits had been shipped to base last week. There was a table off in the corner that Simon was fairly certain was filled with civilians, the group of men likely just finding the place from a stray online review.

He almost turned his attention back to the story being told, when his gaze stopped dead in it's tracks, drink paused halfway to his mouth.

Among a small group of people who'd just arrived, many whom he recognized vaguely, you stood out like a beacon. You had just shrugged off your jacket and Simon's brain stuttered for a moment. He was used to seeing you bundled in your scarves and hats and swaddled in your thick cardigans. Your usually loose and comfortable looking clothes were absent, replaced with articles that were more fitted and revealed more skin than you'd ever exposed on base. Not indecent by any means, just… different. Very different.

Bloody hell, you were a vision.

He somehow managed to drag his attention away, sipping at his bourbon and giving an occasional hum or few word answer in response to the conversation at the table, but if his gaze occasionally flickered back over to the bar, who could blame him.

Simon ended up staying beyond when he'd usually end the night, the pub filling more in the later hours. He'd never been a fan of sticking around when it got packed. If the sergeants noticed anything amiss, they didn't mention it. He was on the receiving end of a rather curious look from Price though, later morphing into an understanding and bemused tug of his lips when he spotted you at the bartop.

It wasn't long after that Soap hopped up with a large grin and a sweep of his arm. "Another round? Yer buying cap, aye?"

"Smacked our head hard enough to babble nonsense, hm?" Price shifted in his seat with a cheeky look, raising his brow at the small defeated breath Soap let out.

"Fine, fine. System's broken as shite, not treatin' us with that big ol' Captain paycheque o' yers."

Simon allowed his eyes to follow the Scot as he meandered towards the bar to order, glancing over towards where you were perched on a stool and chatting with one of the fellow people from the admin block. It was easy to assume the 141 weren't the only ones out for a bit of a celebration after making it through the week.

"Think he needs a hand?"

His eyes narrowed, a low chuckle escaping Price when he was quickly brushed off.

"I'm sure he'd be grateful for your offer." Simon stated bluntly.

Soap returned shortly after, and Simon almost thanked some higher power that the guy hadn't spotted you while he was over there, the thought of the following discussion threatening to make his head ache.

He did notice however, about halfway through Soap's ramblings over a recent demo he'd done for training, that while you hadn't caught the Scotsman's attention, you had attracted someone else's.

One of the men from the table in the corner, his eyes trained on you and a smirk that Simon was more than tempted to go knock off his face.

He continued to sip at his drink, staring daggers into the guy's back as he roared in laughter along with the others in his party and went back to the conversation. A glance your way eased some of the tension in his shoulders, watching the way you chuckled into your palm in response to something your coworker had said.

The thought struck him rather suddenly. He'd never heard you laugh before. It left him internally cursing at the bustle of the pub that drowned out the sound, curious what it sounded like.

It made him wonder if you'd find amusement in any of his jokes. Maybe next time you were both in the kitchenette, just the two of you, he could tell you his best one. Maybe he'd get a laugh out of you that he could memorize and tuck away in his mind, replaying it over and over like a worn record.

Stuck in his thoughts, he almost missed the man getting up from his table and heading to the bartop, the coworker you had been sitting with missing from the stool beside you which allowed him to slip onto it casually.

Simon's spine straightened, eyes fixated on the guy as he said something to the bartender, before he turned his body towards you. Whatever he said was met with a polite smile and a nonchalant wave of your hand. The universal sign for "I'm being polite and civil, but I'm not interested". Which must have meant this man was a complete numbskull, not taking any part of the hint and leaning forward in his stool as he continued to try and have a conversation with you and earning the tug of a frown at your lips.

Simon was seething, releasing his grip on his glass and standing up from the booth, ignoring the somewhat confused question aimed his way as he started making his way through the throngs of people crowding the floor. His glare turned downright murderous when the guy slipped his hand from the bartop and towards your thigh, blood rushing in Simon's ears as he nearly shouldered someone out of the way, ready to grab the bastard by the scruff and-

The man went suddenly rigid, but his gaze hadn't shifted away from you at all. His eyes were wide and his expression was pinched in some mix of discomfort and disbelief. Before, he looked like he was perfectly content to be where he was. Now he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He looked like he was second-guessing every choice he'd ever made in life.

It became very obvious why when the crowd parted slightly for a moment, Simon's steps faltering.

You still had a polite smile on your face, but the look in your eyes was quite the opposite. You looked angry. Not the anger fueled by concern that Simon had been witness to before. You looked proper pissed off, smile doing nothing to mask the ice cold glare you had leveled the bastard with while you held his family jewels in a vice grip that threatened to end his bloodline.

Simon wasn't even sure what you said to the guy, who looked like all the blood had drained from his face, flinching when your grip tightened with your words. It lasted less than a minute, but when you finally released him, the bastard practically stumbled off the barstool and scrambled back to his table, making a quick exit from the pub in it's entirety.

Simon was still rooted to the spot when your coworker returned a moment later, stowing their carton of cigarettes back into their bag.

Fucking Christ.

He left you and you to your night and managed to snag his jacket from the booth, only catching a questioning look from Price, before managing to slip out the back door. He leaned heavily against the brickwork of the building, blinking belatedly.

His hands shook as he lit up a cig, head falling back against the wall as his mind ran a million miles a minute. It refused to settle on any thought, except for one that left him adjusting the very obvious tent in his jeans.

That was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen.

So, of course, he spent his afternoon searching up gift ideas instead of reviewing the latest sparring schedules. It started with a fairly vague search.

How do you choose a birthday gift?

He clicked link after link, advice ranging from checking through their things to find out what needed replacing, to just getting something that screamed them. Simon wasn't sure what the latter meant, but the first one made him hesitate.

Last Tuesday he had practically launched himself into the kitchenette when a loud crash echoed out from the space, his mind flipping directly into fight mode. Whatever he had been expecting to see, it was nothing compared to the utterly heartbroken look on your face as you stared down at the pieces of shattered ceramic littering the floor. Your favourite mug had slipped from your grasp and had not survived the fall. You'd brushed it off, a smile much too forced on your lips as you swept the pieces up.

It was the first time your smile had caused his heart to stutter in a way he didn't enjoy, a sad expression that didn't fit your usually chipper attitude. You'd ended up using one of the spare mugs in the cupboard ever since, some dull beige thing with the name of a random company stamped onto the side.

Something practical. Something that needed replacing. Maybe this gift thing wasn't that difficult at all.

•••

Simon was in hell.

He hadn't been able to get away for the rest of the day, dragged into a sudden meeting with Price and a few of the higher ups that lasted hours. By the time he'd managed to escape, it had been too late. Which is why the next day, after he had managed to wrangle Soap into covering his afternoon sparring drills with the greenies, he found himself in the middle of a giftshop that was bursting with pastels and cute stationary. He stuck out like a sore thumb, a mass of shadow surrounded by items so dainty looking he was hesitant to pick anything up.

He had been staring at a shelf of cat themed mugs for ten minutes.

Not because he hadn't chosen one. He'd decided the moment he'd set his eyes on them that he'd be purchasing the one that looked like your cat, the somewhat distrusting calico that he had barely caught a glimpse of just before he had left you to unpack your new apartment. No, the issue was it didn't seem like enough. What secret message would a mug send? It seemed like such a small thing, much to small in comparison to the effect you had on him daily.

"Would you like me to wrap one of these up for you?" She had moved so silently, Simon actually startled, head whipping around towards the elderly woman. She smiled warmly at him, silver hair tucked up into a neat bun and a floral printed apron smooth over her long skirt. "They're cute wee things. The part on top actually doubles as a coaster. Or a small plate if you're like me and enjoy a nice biscuit with your tea."

She spoke to him like he didn't look like a massive heathen in the middle of the boutique. He nodded slowly, pointing to the black and orange patterned ceramic.

"Yea… that one there if that's a'right."

She beamed, pulling the box from the shelf and continuing to chat, tucking the mug into the tissue paper. "My daughter insisted on these when we found them. Said all cat owners love finding small things that look like their little babies. You have just the one?"

Simon blinked in disbelief. "Have one… baby?"

"A cat, dear." She chuckled, patting his arm lightly.

"Oh, erm… no. S'not for me."

The woman practically lit up like the last time Johnny got to use C4. "A gift then? For a special someone?"

If he'd been wearing his usual balaclava, it would have better shielded the blush that flooded his cheeks, but he had elected for the basic medical mask since he had wanted to avoid scaring every civilian on the sidewalk.

The flush on his face only seemed to encourage the older woman, a twinkle in her eye as she placed the lid on the small box. "Do they know they're a special someone yet?"

Simon had never felt so transparent and easily read in his life. If the shop owner ever wanted to join up, she'd make a hell of an interrogator.

"Not…" He pressed his lips together for a moment. "D'you have… any suggestions?"

He trailed after her to the front as she reached behind the counter, pulling out a giftbag and a spool of ribbon. "Well, what kind of gift is it?" She hummed, carefully slipping the box into the paper bag.

"Birthday."

"Well, I can't say what your special someone would enjoy, but I always think birthdays call for something sweet." She carefully curled the ribbons, fixing the curls to the bag. "Though my husband always swore by flowers."

"Flowers die though." He stated bluntly, and it got a loud laugh from her as she slid the bag towards him.

"Very true."

When Simon pulled out his wallet, he was left baffled when she shook her head. "Don't worry about it, dear. It was the last one on display."

He paused, before gingerly picked up the giftbag, utterly confused by the whole interaction. "Thanks…"

It was when he was halfway out the door that she waved him off with a chipper, "Good luck!".

When he got back to base that evening, Simon was sat at the desk pushed against the far wall in his quarters, staring down at the cluttered surface. His conversation with the woman from the gift shop had caused him to do something possibly foolish. He didn't even know if he would be able to pull it off, but with a quiet huff, he got to work.

•••

He hadn't been able to psych himself up to the point of handing you the gift in person, so he resorted to his old standby of leaving it on your desk, dead center for when you arrived to base that morning. He would've been lying if he said he hadn't been loitering around the administration block and occasionally peering in. He felt almost jittery. He'd faced men bigger than him wielding knives, and even rappelled from the top of a skyscraper, but giving you a gift had him a mess.

It was his third circle through the corridor when he caught sight of your familiar jacket, slowing and peeking through the doorway as you came to a stop at your desk. It was torture, waiting for you to move at all, your body faced away so he couldn't gage your expression. Did you hate it? Was it a foolish decision? Should he go find Price and demand to be sent on the next long term op that became available?

You slid your jacket off, before stepping forward finally, sitting down in your chair.

You were beaming.

Atop your desk, placed with care, was the cute cat themed mug already holding your usual tea. Not only that, but beside it resting on the lid was a small decorated cupcake. And the part that Simon had been most nervous about, fingers sporting several papercuts from his attempt to get it right, was a small bundle of carefully folded paper flowers.

When you glanced up, looking to the doorway where you thought you saw a shadow from the corner of your eye, it was already gone.

And Simon had a noticeable bounce to his step on his way to his morning briefing.

(Simon's gifts to reader on their birthday)

The way your lips tugged upwards with a bit of pride and cheek made his head feel less busy, but it didn't mask the way your gaze turned somewhat distant when you went back to your mug, stirring in your spoonful of sugar carefully and pushing the other across to him.

"This one's all yours."

His hands wrapped around the offered mug, fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment and causing his heart to do that little stutter.

"Something's wrong." His words caused you to blink slightly.

"With your tea? It's the PGtips you usually drink… did I put too much mil-"

"No." He continued. "With you."

When the expression on your face shifted, taken aback, his mind panicked and his words burst from his chest in an attempt to elaborate.

"Y'look distracted. Somethin' happen?"

The quiet laugh that escaped your mouth was not overly convincing and Simon's gaze burned into you, eyes narrowing as you waved him off.

"No no, I mean, life just happens sometimes. Nothing I can't handle."

His hip leaned against the counter, arms crossing as he raised a concerned brow. Staring intently. Expectantly. Unconvinced. Watching you fidget and bite at your lip, which made him want to gently pull it from between your teeth.

You lasted longer than most of the recruits he trained, but when your eyes met his again, you caved just a bit. "I'm… trying to move is all. Kind of last minute? It's been a bit stressful in all honesty."

Simon nodded slowly, turning your words over in his mind. "Why the rush?" His brain supplied the unhelpful idea that you may be moving to another place further away, transferring to another base, which he promptly ignored.

"I- um… well, my place got broken into. And it doesn't-"

"WOT?!" His voice rang out louder than he'd intended, causing you to pause in surprise. He was too preoccupied with the information you'd just shared to worry about how it may have carried.

"Broken into? While you were home?" His body had gone rigid, jaw tense and thoughts swirling through his head in a rough storm of rage and panic. The shake of your head calmed the waves a bit.

"No no, I wasn't there! I'm alright. It just doesn't feel… good to be there anymore, you know?" You hummed, thumbing at your mug as you stared at the milky tea. "Trying to find somewhere half decent that's close was harder than I expected, but I actually found one that isn't too far. My landlord's being a pain about it, though." A sigh escaped your mouth.

"He doesn't want to give me back the deposit because of the damage to the doorframe. Just stressful life things." You shrugged.

His mug clicked against the counter as he set it down, fire in his eyes. "I'll help you move."

Your widened eyes met his, mouth opening in protest. "Simon, it's fine! I don't even know if I can get out of my current lease yet."

He hummed lowly, biting the inside of his cheek before pulling the small pad of paper off the fridge and scrawling something on it, setting it on the counter in front of you and heading out of the rec room with an air of determination.

To top it all off, when he'd had the scarce moment to just sit in the quiet and have a cuppa, the pathetic excuse for tea mocked his every sip. It had barely even qualified as tea in his mind, the drink bitter and watery, diluted and constantly catching the stray sprinkle of sand that dropped from his gloves. Utterly horrifying.

It had only made him all the more eager when they'd finally returned, stripping free of his cumbersome gear before setting off towards the little kitchenette he'd been dreaming about since the second night away. If a sergeant was nearly bowled over in his determined rush, who was to say.

He fell into the familiar movements behind the counter, setting the kettle, pulling his preferred mug down, opening the cupboard to reach for his favourite tea…

…which wasn't there.

Simon blinked at the crowded shelf, moving boxes and jars about in search. Surely, it had just been pushed towards the back due to his absence. Maybe it had been moved to the next shelf up to create more space. He could feel a vein in his forehead tick with every box that wasn't his, eyes scanning for the familiar packaging and the permanent marker scrawl across the front, 'Ghost's. Don't touch'.

He paused when he caught sight of his name. Not his callsign, but 'Riley's :) Please do not touch!' in neat lettering on the front of a box that was not his tea. Instead of his well-balanced and well-loved PGtips, the box in his hand was-

"Fucking bloody Tetley?! Who in the bloody fuck thought I'd drink this pisswater!?"

He felt scandalized. Surely, this was a joke. Not a funny one by any means. He was already plotting within his mind how he was going to track down the culprit with the same gusto he gave to his sniper drills, turning on his heel to get to it when his gaze fell upon the slightly deflated figure in the doorway.

"Oh… I'm sorry Lieutenant." Your voice was so quiet, and he'd never seen you try to take so little space. "I tried to replace it, but the commisary didn't have any of your usual brand."

You're shoe scuffed against the tiled floor. Your hands were fidgeting with the sleeves of your cardigan. You weren't looking at him.

Fuck.

His mouth opened to try and backtrack, hands already raising placatingly. He would drink the entire box to get you smiling again. He's go run laps until he collapsed. He'd walk into the mess in nothing but his boxers to get a laugh from your lips.

A voice down the hallway called out to you, and Simon didn't even get the chance to utter a word of his still formulating apology before you had slipped away, the smile you'd plastered on too tight and not reaching your eyes.

Simon stared at the empty doorway, your drawn together brows and downcast gaze burned into his brain.

Fuuuuuuck.

He was too preoccupied thinking of the break he'd have between drills and reports. When he'd hopefully catch you having your tea time same as him, like usual. If you'd returned to work, things with your family had to be okay again, right? He hoped so. He didn't know your family, anything about them really, but you were obviously close if you wasted no time in rushing to their aid.

So of course when he showed up to the admin block, eagerly stepping towards your desk with your usual tea, he had decided he would try. He'd attempt a normal conversation and ask about your family. That's what normal people did, wasn't it?

Seeing the cell against your ear caused his steps to falter slightly, gaze dragging over your face to try and gauge the tone of your current discussion. Positive, if he were to guess. You were wearing that warm smile that made his heart do a weird flip, and your shoulders weren't drawn up like they were when you had too much on your plate.

He loitered by the doorway, giving you space and time to finish your conversation. He wouldn't rush you, didn't want to inconvenience you when he hadn't been able to see you for almost a week. Of course, he didn't intend to overhear your conversation either.

"-he's was pretty under the weather. Wouldn't eat a thing."

Father? Brother?

"Oh, yeah. He's usually so chatty and asking for kisses, but the poor guy was all tuckered out. Ended up just cuddling in bed most of the day. Not that we don't usually do that anyways."

…oh.

Simon tried to ignore the painful twist in his chest, and set your mug on the paper crammed desk as you ended the call with a chipper goodbye.

"Lieutenant Riley! It's good to see you feeling better!" You beamed, pulling the mug towards yourself and warming your fingers against the ceramic.

He nodded silently, eyes drifting to the dark screen of your phone.

"You been nursing everyone back to health then?" He internally cringed at the almost accusatory way the words left his mouth, but luckily, you didn't seem to catch it.

"Oh! Yeah, my poor baby wasn't feeling well either. Had to take him to get checked out just in case." You sipped at your tea, and Simon just felt the vice tighten around his heart.

"He… he feeling better then?" He did tell himself he would try, though he hated the thought that you considered this guy of yours serious enough to fall under the family emergency category. Damn bastard probably didn't even realize how lucky he was. Prick.

"Mhm! Back to his usual self. Even demanded his usual morning kisses." You chirp out before your face brightens. "Want to see pictures?"

Simon nods as you reach for your phone, but his thoughts are a mixed bag. No, he doesn't want to see pictures of the man who garners all your attention and affections. No, he doesn't want to see pictures of the two of you doing soft, domestic things. No, he doesn't want to close his eyes and have pictures of you with this sad sod burned into the back of his eyelids.

The only reason he could think of to look when you turned the screen towards him was that, if this bastard ever did anything slightly untoward to you, he'd know what ugly mug to search for and bloody up.

He forced his gaze to the picture, heart panging as he saw you in a rather cozy sweatshirt, curled up with a laptop and smiling at the camera, hand brushing over his… tail.

"Isn't he just the cutest thing you've ever seen?! His name's Gus!" You gush, swiping through photos of your cat.

He'd spent most of yesterday afternoon correcting the forms of officer after officer, questioning whether any of them had actually held a rifle before. He'd nearly lost his head when one of them had turned to ask a question, the barrel swinging around towards the other recruits.

"RIFLE FORWARD, YOU DAFT FUCK!" The words had bellowed from his chest in an instant, anger spiking through his body much like a match hitting gasoline. Said officer avoided his gaze for the rest of the drill after that, which was good survival instincts on his part.

When he was done scaring the tac vests off of the trainees for the day, he was back to what could be barely considered his desk again, more paper than furniture.

It was a relentless cycle that carried on throughout the week, running many of them ragged and leaving several ranked officers in a less than stellar mood.

Which was why Simon was in an even more foul mood than usual when he was pulled from the deep blanket of sleep, groaning when the quick, yet insistent knock sounded at the door to his quarters again.

He had tried to ignore what was likely one of the other officers trying to offload another group onto him, or looking for his signature to finalize a report. Whoever it was must have had a deathwish at the very least, given his alarm hadn't even gone off yet.

Simon flung the pillow from over his face, blinking up at the ceiling with a glare so deadly, it was a surprise the thing didn't burst into flames.

Another knock had him throwing himself off of his mattress, crossing the room in a few long and heavy strides before he wrenched the door open, hinges squealing with the force.

"What in the bloody-"

He stopped cold, anger dissipating immediately at the sight of your wide eyes staring up at him, hand still raised and poised to rap at the door again had it still been closed.

He noticeably softened as he blinked down at you in slight confusion, exhaustion still fogging his mind and not processing why you looked so surprised to see him in his own room.

"What're ye doin' 'ere luv?" His voice rumbled out, still deepened and thick with sleep.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, your gaze still flickering over him.

"U-um- uh… Captain Price asked me to… to come get you." You stumbled over your words slowly, and Simon's brows furrowed in concern.

"Is somethin' wr-"

"You're pretty."

"...wot?"

Simon was still dreaming. He was still in bed and asleep, he had to be. Regardless, he could feel the heated blush brightening his face and creeping down the back of his neck, causing him to drag a hand down his face-

His bare face.

Panic laced through his ribs, whispering cruel things at his heart as his hand froze, hiding the lower half of his very flushed face from view.

You were still peering up at him, just staring for a long moment, before a warm smile broke across your lips.

"You're pretty, Simon." You repeated your words, nearly sent him into cardiac arrest with them. His mind completely blanked, heart thrumming in his chest.

"Anyways!" You shook your head, patting his chest lightly before heading off down the hallway with a bounce to your step. "The Captain said you're late!"

Part of him had almost been tempted to enlist the help of one of the sergeants, but the thought of them being around and garnering some of your attentions turned him against it. The stubborn streak in him was perfectly willing to move the larger furniture with nothing but his own strength and a dolly, but not before he made sure you ate something.

Starting early in the day let the both of you escape most of the heat from the sun beating at your backs, but after hoisting up several loads of boxes and loading them into the back of a rented box truck, Simon relented and slipped off his outer layer. He had only just tossed the hoodie onto the passenger seat before heard a slight clatter behind him.

When he turned around, his eyes immediately caught onto your form, bent over and quickly gathering up the box you had dropped.

"Lost my grip a bit. All good!" You insisted quickly with a bright smile, seemingy already a bit flushed and breathless with exertion. Simon gave a small nod as you turned away to load the box, eyes stuck on you for a long moment before heading to grab another load.

"Take a break, if you need."

By the time the truck had been completely stuffed to the brim with all your posessions, the sun was high in the sky and you were both ready to leave the somewhat dilapitated building behind. Simon couldn't believe you'd ever lived here in the first place, the lock on the front lobby door completely busted and the occasional unsavory figure loitering in the alleyway beside the building. None had stuck around very long, slinking off the moment they found his eyes pinned to them.

The landlord showed up as Simon was locking up the back of the truck, taking the apartment keys from you and wishing you luck, casting a somewhat nervous glance towards Simon's towering form before scurrying off. Luckily, you didn't seem to think anything beyond maybe that the man had been startled by the size of your companion, too eager to hop into the passenger seat and head on over to the new place.

The apartment you signed a new lease on was much more bright and spacious than your last one, and while you were busy finalizing the last few things with your new landlord, Simon took the opportunity to give the place a cursory once-over. He examined the windows and gave the locks a quick test, glanced at the fire alarm to catch the slow blinking of the light, and even nudged open the drawer beneath the oven. Clean. Clear. Decent place in a fairly safe area. Had pretty standard security in the lobby. All in all, it was a lot safer than your old place. Secure.

He waited until the landlord had left you to your own devices, leaving you her contact information and your copy of the lease, along with a brand new set of shiny keys.

"Seems nice." He grunted out, nodding at the space.

"Yeah, doesn't it?" You practically thrummed with excitement, peering about the open room with a newfound spike of energy and rolling back on your heels. "It's so much bigger!"

"Security's decent." His eyes track your expression, ready to pinpoint any concern or worry and immediately fix it. No such concern flickered across your face, only genuine enthusiasm. "Best start getting your things up then. I'll bring 'em. You find spots."

It was a quicker process emptying the truck than it was filling it somehow, the different rooms in your flat stacked with all the boxes soon enough.

After bringing up the final stack, taking advantage of the dolly to drag them all up at once, Simon let out a long breath and stretched his back carefully. His t-shirt was a bit worse for wear, soaked though with sweat in some places and his mask was a bit stifling. He took the opportunity to splash his face in your bathroom sink, the cool water rinsing away the beaded sweat along his forehead.

"Hey, Simon?" Your voice carried around the corner, and he shoved his mask back in place before your head peeked around the doorway. You paused for a slight second, eyes flickering down to where water dripped from his muscled forearm, but snapped your gaze away so quickly he wondered whether he had imagined it. "I've got the kettle out. And found my mugs and tea! Care for a cup?"

And who was Simon to refuse a mug of tea.