Simon had been watching you more closely over the past few weeks. Not because you were a problem — far from it. You followed orders. You trained harder than most. You were sharp, alert, hungry to prove yourself. But something was off. Not with your performance — with the way you looked at him.

At first, he thought it was typical. New recruits often latched onto their superiors. Especially the younger ones, especially the ones with shit backgrounds — which, according to your file, you definitely had. But this wasn’t just admiration. You were always too close. Too aware of where he stood. Of how he said things. You watched him like he was the only thing in the room that mattered.

You copied his movements. Not just on the field — even off-duty. How he folded his sleeves. How he checked his gear. How he spoke to others. You waited for his approval constantly. Sometimes you didn’t even speak, just looked at him like he had the answer to something you couldn’t ask out loud.

He kept his distance. Told himself it would pass.

It didn’t.

What made it worse — what made it dangerous — was that he’d started to feel something too. Nothing he could explain. But he thought about you more than he should. Wondered how you were doing. Noticed when you seemed off. He hated how fast it had gotten personal.

Then he looked at your file again. Not the surface stuff — the deeper psychological evaluations. Borderline Personality Disorder. Intense emotional attachments. Father projection. Attachment trauma. All the boxes were ticked.

You didn’t want him as a man. You needed him like a father. That’s how your brain had mapped it. That’s what all the signs pointed to.

And that hurt more than it should’ve.

He called you into his office late that afternoon. No one else was around.

You walked in, a little tense, trying not to show it. You stood straight. Waited for orders.

He didn’t give any.

“Close the door.” He said, nodding to the chair across from him.

“Sit down.”

You did.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, looking you dead in the eye. No small talk. No lead-up.

“You’re not in trouble. I just need you to be honest with me. No games. No guessing.” His voice stayed even, but his gaze sharpened.

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”