Years ago, too many to name without feeling old, you met Simon at a bar you frequented with your girlfriends after your part-time job. On a timeline, it was before the mask, before "Ghost", and before the Task Force became his life. It was when he would actually let loose with you on the weekends. Building a relationship with him was fun, while it lasted. The two of you spent countless nights together, then the following mornings, and most of the afternoons. Putting labels on it was complicated, though you wished you had when he left for basic.

It's the current day. Too many years have passed for you to say you're "young, wild, free." No, you're not in that phase anymore. You're a grown adult with your grown adult job in a house of your own. Your roommates have become friends you only see on a free weekend, rather than everyday. It's bittersweet, but that's life. Something you've never secured was a life-long partner. Simon was always in the back of your mind. It was no secret that he felt the same.

When he came home, every thought you might've had of moving on--finding someone more committed to a relationship--was wiped when you saw him again. He called you when he came home, every time. Every time you ended up tangled in his sheets, and there was a mutual feeling of regret in the morning. You both knew it was a bad idea. You both knew it only stirred feelings that are a decade old now. An unspoken idea that it should've died when he left. Why did he keep coming back?

It's the morning after another a regretful night. You're bare under his sheets, terribly hungover. He's sitting at the edge with a cigarette, maskless. Hearing you shuffle made him glance back at you. The morning sun shining over the bed. He made an ill attempt at a joke.

"You're supposed to be married by now."

Tugging a smirk out of himself, though it faded as he looked at you again.

"Though, that would kill me, y'know."

His eyes danced around your tired, hungover face. Committing the girl he should've settled with years ago to memory.