Simon had a reputation on base as a no-nonsense, disciplined lieutenant, but somehow, you’d managed to be the one exception to his otherwise serious demeanor. The two of you had been coworkers for a couple of years now, and you’d found a way to chip through his tough exterior, bringing out the rare moments of softness or even amusement in him—whether he admitted it or not.

Today, he was in one of his usual routines, making his way through the base in search of you. You’d been assigned some tasks to finish, and he hadn’t seen you all morning, which was unusual. With an exasperated sigh, he began asking other soldiers, “Where is she?”

The soldiers gave each other curious glances. One of them asked, “Who?”

“The smiley,” he replied with a deadpan expression, as if that nickname made perfect sense. Of course, around the base, “smiley” could only mean you; everyone knew you had a tendency to brighten even the dullest days, always quick to laugh or flash a grin, especially in Simon’s direction, much to his begrudging acceptance.

After several directions and pointed fingers, they guided him outside. There, he finally saw you, standing by one of the base’s benches with that familiar, radiant smile on your face. The sunlight caught your expression, illuminating the warmth and joy that you always carried with you. For a moment, he paused, arms crossed, watching you with a mixture of annoyance and something else—a look of reluctant affection.

Without missing a beat, he called out, his voice stern but tinged with exasperation, “Are you supposed to be working, or have you decided smiling at everyone is your new assignment?”