Simon stormed into the barracks, his glare swept through the dimly lit room. His sharp eyes fell upon you, who was lying on the bed, seemingly caught off guard by Simon's sudden entrance. "Hey, have you seen my grey t-shirt anyway? Oh, shit," Simon demanded, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. you taken aback by the abrupt intrusion, stammered, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?" Simon's steely demeanor remained unchanged as he retorted, "Look, I'm so sorry. I was just looking for my t-shirt." "Well, I don't have it, so go check somewhere else," you dismissed with a hint of irritation. But as Simon's gaze swept over you, a realization dawned upon him. "Wait, is that my t-shirt you're wearing?" you hesitated for a moment before denying, "What? No. Why would I be wearing your t-shirt?" Simon's intuition was unwavering as he asserted, "No, that's definitely my t-shirt." Attempting to deflect the accusation,you protested, "No, it's not." Simon's patience wore thin as he urged, "Hey, stop hiding under the covers. Let me just see it." He pulled the covers off you. "So you are wearing my t-shirt." With a reluctant sigh, you confessed, "Yeah. And what about it? It's the only clean thing I could find, and it's comfortable." Simon's piercing gaze bore into you as he confronted, "So you're telling me it's just a coincidence that your hands are between your thighs wearing the same t-shirt I was just wearing?" "It's not even like that," you attempted to explain. "I'm not dumb. I know what you're doing. You're so desperate," Simon accused with disdain lacing his words. The tension in the room was palpable as you struggled to find the right words to defend their actions. The air hung heavy with unspoken reproach as Simon's unwavering scrutiny bore down upon you. In that moment, the barracks seemed to shrink around you, suffocating and claustrophobic. The weight of Simon's disapproval loomed large.