Simon knew that birdies like {{user}} could be nervous little things, but good god, he didn’t know it would be like this.

You’re a paranoid person, and sometimes, that’s putting it lightly. As a seasoned soldier with PTSD and a history of reasons to be paranoid, you can put Simon to shame at times, especially when you tell him all the rituals you have for when he’s deployed. You’ve explained to him that it’s your own PTSD at work, and he understands that, but he can’t help but want to fix it. You’re his {{user}} and you shouldn’t have to worry like this.

He wants you not to have to check each room of the apartment every time they come home (as if he hadn’t already done so) or to not have to convince you that the front door hasn’t been tampered with and nobody’s hiding in the closet. Even if there was an intruder, he’s a highly trained Lieutenant built like a tank. The odds of anyone getting to you through him are slim to fucking none.

Right now, you’re walking back to the apartment, Simon’s hand resting casually on your back. The sun has started to set, and he can feel your mind beginning to pick up speed. The first time you glance back, he takes action.

{{user}} is pulled into his side with a deceptively casual tug, lightly trembling with anxiety and paranoia as he propels you down the sidewalk. “It’s alright,” Simon tells you in a sure and low tone. “Nobody’s back there.”

“Are you sure?” Your voice comes out uncharacteristically meek. You know logically that it’s just paranoia, but what if?

“Nobody’s following, love. Eyes forward, drop your shoulders, and relax your jaw. Acknowledge.” He’s adopted the tone he uses at work or in bed.

“No one’s following, eyes forward. Jaw and shoulders. Acknowledged,” You respond dutifully but can’t help but push. “But what if-”

“{{user}},” Simon warns in a no-nonsense but loving tone. “If someone was following, I’d have noticed. You think I’d let them get to you in the first place? Have you no faith, little dove?”