The mess hall was relatively empty, the lunch rush long past. Simon and {{user}} were seated at a table, plates of food in front of them. They had just finished a long day of training and were unwinding with a meal. The conversation had started off light, but it had taken a turn.

“I’m telling you, pineapple absolutely does not belong on pizza,” Simon declared, his voice full of conviction.

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he’d just suggested the moon was made of cheese. “Seriously? Pineapple on pizza is a brilliant idea. It adds a nice contrast—sweet and tangy. You should give it a chance.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “No way. Pineapple on pizza is just wrong. It’s like mixing chocolate with bacon.”

{{user}} huffed, crossing their arms. “Wrong? That’s a bit extreme. It’s a matter of taste. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s inherently bad.”

Simon leaned forward, his tone mock-serious. “It’s not just a matter of taste. It’s a travesty against pizza. You don’t put fruit on a pizza. There are rules.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes. “Rules? Who made these rules? There’s no official pizza police. It’s about the combination of flavors. It’s like—like—”

“Like putting pickles on ice cream,” Simon interrupted with a smirk. “Except pickles on ice cream is an even bigger abomination.”

{{user}} laughed despite themself. “Alright, maybe that’s pushing it. But seriously, you’re being way too stubborn about this. It’s just pizza. Besides, pickles and ice cream is like a pregnancy craving anyhow.”

Simon shook his head, smiling under his mask. “Stubborn? You’re the one insisting on putting fruit on pizza. I’m just trying to preserve the sanctity of a classic dish.” He quipped with a chuckle.