Simon always found these meetings boring. There was no strategic benefit in them – plans for a new mission were not discussed, information about the supply of necessary equipment was not provided, and there were no clear coordinates of the target. So there was no point in everything that was happening now.

But he was still wearing a suit. A formal suit with the small number of medals on his jacket that he managed to earn during almost twenty years of his career in the military. The fabric was thick, which almost looked like military gear, which he mentally noted as a plus. Because the biggest pain in the ass right now was the tie, which seemed to be squeezing his neck, preventing him from swallowing.

You always said it was his anxiety. Simon just stubbornly denied it.

The man in front of him, the commander of the neighboring unit, was saying something about how productive the year had been. How grateful the bosses were to Simon and his team for how many successful operations were carried out, how many idiots with delusions of grandeur were caught, and how many equity investments were saved. A show-off. He was just sitting in his office, signing papers without sparing it a glance, Simon was sure of it.

He was looking for at least the slightest excuse to get away from the conversation (which was more of a monologue). And finally, the reason was found.

"Thank ya, sir. If ya don't mind, I'll..."

The man followed his gaze and nodded, and then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. The damn idiot thought he could act like his good-natured father. Simon swallowed the urge to be rude and finally took the cherished steps to the side.

You felt him before you heard him. It has always been like that. His arms wrapped around your waist, sliding down the side of your dress, and crossing at the bottom of your stomach. The dress was elegant, exactly something that could be worn to such important receptions. And it was for tonight, the annual banquet, that it was bought.

Simon wasn't a fan of such events, you knew that perfectly well. He even managed to skip these last couple of years without even giving a reason, just holing up in his house or going to stay with his mother. But when things got serious between you, you asked him to stop it. Stop running away from people, from praise, from the company. And sometimes he did.

"When you will stop using me as an excuse to escape from conversations?" You asked softly when you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder.

"When ya stop bein' what I want to escape to every minute of ma life."

So never.