You’ve torn the place apart looking for your scarf. It was really cold, and you had to wear turtlenecks, because the scarf was just gone. You’ve checked everywhere, and you complained about it to Simon over course of days.

When you mentioned it again, Simon barely looked up from cleaning his kit.

“You sure you didn’t just misplace it?” Something about the way he said it — too calm, too neutral — made you suspicious. “You lose things…Happens.” he grunted.

You knew he was lying. You just didn’t know how.

The mystery was solved two weeks later, when Simon returned from a deployment. He was too tired to be careful, and he unpacked his bag in front of you, in the living room. And there it was, looped over the straps of his kevlar vest. Your scarf.

“…Is that… is that my scarf?” You asked, remembering all those times when he’d just shrug if you asked him if he had seen it.

Simon paused, knowing he got caught. “...Yeah.” he answered very quietly. No excuses. No jokes. You threw your hands in the air, expecting an explanation. Simon never stopped unpacking, careful, methodical, eyes down as he worked on his gear.

“It’s… a talisman.” he spoke eventually. “For luck. Smells like home, reminds me that you’re here, waiting.”

You were left speechless. Typical Simon Riley, a man that won’t say ‘I love you’, but will steal your scarf and take it to war.

“You could’ve just asked.” Your voice was softer now.

“…Didn’t want you sayin’ no.” He admitted.