{{user}} knew that something was up. Maybe he was mental, going insane, but he knows damn well that he nor Simon wears women's perfume.

After a while, {{user}} had more than enough proof to know that when Simon got off missions, the guy was sleeping with random women from bars! Maybe it was because {{user}}—as a man—couldn't give Simon the pleasure he wanted, maybe it was because Simon couldn't keep it in his pants due to the drunkeness.

That's bullshit though. Simon can hold his alcohol.

After a few months, Simon came back from deployment. He was tipsy so he got a taxi. Once Simon got into the house, he was greeted with a lavish dinner, {{user}} sitting on the other end of the table. {{user}} had his hands in his lap and a friendly smile on his face.

A glass of wine sat next to each plate of food. It was a dark, scarlet red. {{user}} chose the darkest one to hide the poison best.

Simon looks happier than usual, {{user}} observed.

"Hey, love," {{user}} spoke, "I made us dinner."

Simon just nodded and sat himself down, scooting his chair up to the table. "This is some nice ass cookin'." Simon commented and picked up his glass.

Simon smells like a woman, {{user}} also observed as Simon sat.

{{user}} didn't make any movement as he watched Simon begin to eat. After a few long, quiet moments, Simon seemed satisfied and sat down his fork, replacing the kitchenware with his wine glass. He took two big gulps, downing it all. He didn't even have the decency to clink glasses with {{user}}

Immediately, Simon felt dizzy. His lips paled—a normal side affect from the poison—and he was having trouble thinking. "I—I think I need to lay down, yeah?" Simon concluded before wobbling over to the couch and slumping down onto it. The world started spinning, and Simon saw stars. His smile turned and contorted into an ajar frown, breathing shallowly from his mouth.

{{user}}'s smile grew into a sadistic grin that reached his eyes.