Nervously twiddling a rose between his big fingers, Simon sits alone at the only outdoor table of the restaurant on the shore, close enough to the lapping waves to hear them growl and hum.

Oh god, he hopes to hell that you don't think he's weird now, for after so many years of being just a friend and colleague, asking you out on a real, romantic date. Not a hangout, or a bite to eat, or hitting the pub, he said "date". Shockingly, you smiled and said yes.

So there he is, blond hair slicked back, suited up, no mask, brown eyes peering everywhere nervously for you. But he freezes when he finally catches sight of you, approaching him with a smile as you walk over with a big smile, the nightsky behind you, hair done, in a nice silk dress. He catches a whiff of your perfume— oh god, is that vanilla?

".. looking sharp, Si." you grin, but he doesn't reply, lips open in a small 'o', standing up suddenly, but forgetting to pull out your chair, just stood at attention, eyes wide, accidentally dropping the rose onto the sand.