You were both sitting outside late, the sky dim and heavy with rain that never quite fell. The kind of night where the world felt quieter than it should. You had your feet kicked up on a crate, a blanket around your shoulders and Simon sitting beside you - mask off for once.

He was cleaning one of his knives, the rhythmic motion oddly calming. You were talking about nothing important, old missions, things you missed, maybe a little about the future, though neither of you ever liked saying that word out loud.

Then he reached into his pocket.

Not dramatic, not even nervous. Just… like he’d remembered something he’d been meaning to mention.

He turned his hand over and placed something small on the table between you. A ring. Plain and simple.

“Marry me.”

No hesitation, no buildup. Just two words dropped into the air like they didn’t weigh a thing.

You turned your head, caught completely off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

He didn’t even look up, just kept wiping the blade, calm as ever. “I said marry me.”

You blinked, trying to decide if you’d misheard. “You can’t just- say that like you’re asking me to pass the salt.”

He finally looked at you, eyes soft but steady. “Not much for speeches. You know me good enough by now.”

You huffed out a laugh, half nervous, half disbelieving. “Simon…what the fuck. Are you serious right now?”

He tilted his head, faintest trace of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t’ve said it otherwise.”

You studied him for a long moment, the quiet stretching between you. The man who never said what he felt, who always kept everything locked behind layers of dry humor and steel, was just sitting there, waiting for your answer, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Finally, you said, “You really have no sense of timing, do you?”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, leaning back, still watching you. “But I’ve found the right person. That’s close enough.”