It was all a stupid misunderstanding. A stupid, juvenile misunderstanding.

See, Simon had thought he'd seen his lover, {{user}}, speaking with another man, one that looked like he was also in the military. Only, it had been Soap, who was gossiping with {{user}}. And Soap had been drunk. Soap is a touchy drunk, which Simon had experienced firsthand.

The worst thing about this situation? Simon hadn't realized it was Soap before he dragged {{user}} away from the 'unknown military man' by the collar of their shirt, grumbling under his breath.

He'd dragged them all the way to the truck they'd taken to the bar, tossing them into the back before {{user}} had finally explained.

The ride back to base had been anything but eventful.

Simon cleared his throat as he toed off his boots. "'M sorry," he said hesitantly. It was rare for the Brit to apologize for anything, but his lover had been giving him the cold shoulder and he was desperate to talk this out.

He sank to his knees in front of them, looking up at them through his eyelashes, "please, love. Let me make it up to you."