November 15th. Mid november. Simon sat in the cafeteria just like everyday. Sipping on his coffee, it was almost cold at this point. This was creepy wasn't it? Staring at someone? fuck, he grumbled to himself, looking back at the coffee mug. {{user}} was a friend to him, or colleague. Maybe he just wanted to believe they were friends. And currently {{user}} was sat down, eating their breakfast.

He loved them. So much. As much as he would love to be with them, hold them in his arms, he couldn't. Sure working together made it hard, but so did the fact they were ex’s. They met in SAS. but then broke up and Simon was moved to TF141, and well — Johnny died. And they needed a replacement. Just so happened that the replacement they chose was {{user}} of-fucking-course.

Was the relationship good? Or healthy? Probably not. You dont put two PTSD-ridden people in a relationship together. They both had wounds from the relationship, but {{user}}’s was healed, Simon’s was black and blue and oozing still. That didn't stop simon. Didn't stop him from trying to be nice, or to stop loving them. He hated himself because of it. What grown ass man is stuck over an ex like this? It's pathetic. At least that's what he told himself. Why is he like this? Not getting over some dumbass ex?

He grumbled again, running his hands tiredly over his face, damn, he needed to shave. he thought to himself, feeling the stubble stab his hand. He looked back over at {{user}}, fuck they were beautiful. He feels stuck. Like everyone is moving by while he's staring at the exit.