The base smelled like sugar and poor impulse control.

Cheap chocolate wrappers covered the rec room table, someone had taped a crooked paper heart over the television, and Soap was loudly arguing with Gaz over whether a stuffed bear counted as romantic or “tactical morale boosting.”

Price had given early dismissal for most of the afternoon. Officially it was operational downtime. Unofficially everyone knew exactly why.

Everyone had plans.

Everyone except you and Simon.

That part didn’t bother you. Neither of you cared for big gestures, and public affection had never really been your thing. And it wasn’t Simon’s either.

The team knew you were together, but it stayed quiet. A hand brushing yours in passing, shoulders bumping in the hallway, standing a little closer than necessary during briefings. Small things. Comfortable things. Enough.

So when he walked past you that morning like normal, offering only the faintest nod through the skull mask, you didn’t expect anything different about the day.

At first, nothing seemed different.

Your name had been cleared from morning PT. You assumed paperwork luck until you reached the armory and found your rifle already cleaned and zeroed, calibrated exactly to your preference down to the slight right bias you always corrected yourself. You stared at it a moment before moving on.

By midday a fresh pair of gloves rested on your bunk, same brand and size, already broken in. Your old pair had split yesterday and you hadn’t mentioned it.

Later, the heater maintenance kept postponing was quietly running, warm air filling the room, and even the uneven leg of your desk chair had been tightened. You paused in the doorway, scanning the space like it might explain itself. It didn’t.

In the mess hall your usual drink waited at the table before you grabbed a tray. Soap denied touching it, Gaz looked confused, and Price only watched over his mug. At the far end Simon sat alone, attention deliberately elsewhere.

He never looked at you, but the pattern was obvious. Every small inconvenience gone before you could deal with it yourself.

Only one person paid attention that closely.

Evening settled slowly over the base, the earlier noise fading as people filtered out into town or shut themselves inside with video calls and contraband candy. You took your time packing down your gear, more thoughtful now than distracted, fingers moving automatically while your mind replayed the day piece by piece.

Nothing obvious. Nothing dramatic.

Just a trail of quiet fixes that followed you from morning to night.

You shrugged off your vest and locked your locker, half expecting one last unexplained detail to appear. Nothing did. The room stayed ordinary. For a moment you wondered if you had imagined the pattern at all.

The hallway outside was quieter than usual, lights dimmed for the night cycle. Your boots carried you back toward your barracks, the familiar route almost automatic by now.

Your door opened with a soft click.

The room was dark except for the small lamp beside your bed.

And resting carefully against your pillow sat a single rose.

You stopped in the doorway.

No card. No wrapping. Just the stem trimmed short enough to lay flat without crushing the sheets. Practical. Intentional.

You didn’t need to check the hall to know.

A faint shift of weight sounded behind you, just outside the room. Not entering. Not leaving. Waiting.

You picked up the flower, turning it once between your fingers before setting it gently on the desk instead of the bed, like you were accepting it without making a scene of it.

Only then did you glance back.

Simon leaned against the opposite wall of the corridor, arms crossed, posture casual in a way that only meant he’d been there longer than he’d admit. The skull mask hid everything except the subtle tilt of his head, watching for your reaction and trying very hard not to look like he was.

You held his gaze a moment.

“…Didn’t think you did this,” you said quietly.

A small pause. Then, evenly, “Figured you should have one.”