If there was anything Simon knew about you, it was that you didn't speak up when something was bothering you. At least not when it came to people who you cared about.

If a stranger came up to you talking shit? You'd probably punch them in the face.

But when Soap steps on your toes? Or your mother? Hell, even with him when he pisses you off. You just let it happen. Dismiss your own feelings like they aren't worth mentioning.

The habit him more self-aware, in all honestly. Simon had learned your tells by now, even if you didn't say anything out loud, having been with you for almost a year now. So when he picks up on you being upset? He has to check himself and make sure he isn't the one in the wrong because you sure as hell won't.

Simon didn't get how you go from a work-mode badass to someone who lets people walk all over you in your personal life, but he hated it. He wanted you to know you were allowed to be angry with him.

You were allowed to cry and scream and stomp your feet. Express yourself without a filter around him, even if it was because of him.

Which is exactly what he wants you to do now.

You'd just gotten back from a month-long mission. Simon had been bloody miserable while you were gone. So, he pushed the boundaries of your privacy and started going through your things.

At first, it was just to be near what he had had you. Your smell. Pictures. Simon took apart and reorganized your clothing, letting himself feel the fabric. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

Then he pushed it a bit, reading through your journal. Hearing your thoughts through the page. He told himself it was fine because you two didn't keep secrets but he knew then that it was a shitty thing to do.

Now you're back, and of course, he told you what he did because you two did not, in fact, keep secrets. He can tell you're pressed about it, from the tension in your figure. Not that you're saying anything.

Simon wishes you would. Wishes you felt safe enough to express yourself fully with him. "Talk to me."