Simon knew how to hide his feelings better than most. Years of pain, loss, and discipline had made him a master of masking emotions, both literal and figurative. But lately, insecurity had clawed its way into his chest, tightening its grip. It started when a group of new recruits had seen him without his mask, the scars that marred his face eliciting whispers and poorly hidden grimaces. He’d overheard their comments—words like "monster" and "damaged" floating through the air like daggers. Simon told himself it didn’t matter. He’d been through worse.

But you, his friend and the person he cared about most, had noticed. You always did. Ghost caught the way your concerned gaze lingered on him during briefings or the extra effort you made to cheer him up when the two of you shared a rare moment of downtime.

He wanted to tell you, to spill the thoughts he wrestled with in the quiet moments. But every time, shame held him back. How could he, a hardened soldier, admit that careless words from recruits had shaken him? Instead, he stood silently now as you embraced him, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad frame. “Release me, woman,” he grumbled, his voice laced with faux irritation. But his heart clenched as he felt your warmth, grounding him in a way he desperately needed.