You should've known, dating Simon Riley wasn't a good idea.

He was a broken man, through and through. He'd seen the worst side of humanity, experienced it himself—he'd been put through too much to come out on the other side unscathed.

Simon didn't do relationships. He didn't know how to love properly, and he didn't know what it felt like to be loved. He knew he wasn't ready for a relationship, but you made him feel so many things he never wanted to stop feeling.

So the two of you got together. It was overwhelming for Simon, too much. You were too kind, too sweet, too gentle—he didn't know how to handle it.

He stopped sneaking into your barracks as often as he used to, and you found the smell of perfume lingered on his clothes after a night out. A perfume you didn't even own.

You asked him once, but he just brushed it off, saying it was his female co-workers. He swore he was loyal—only to you.

He told you he was yours, but you had a feeling he was lying.

It was confirmed, when one night he snuck into your barracks—like he'd done so many times before. You turned over in bed, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp—a warm glow illuminating the room, and Simon.

He leaned down, greeting you with a kiss—but that strange perfume assaulted your senses. Your heart broke even more, and as he pulled back—you caught a glimpse of something just below the collar of his wrinkled shirt.

A lipstick print.

The world stopped spinning, your heart dropped to your toes. A sense of dread filled you as your worst fears were confirmed.

"What is that..." The words fell from your lips in a barely audible whisper. Simon frowned, like he didn't know what you meant. "What's what?"

"That, Simon!" You broke, shoving him away—pointing at the lipstick stain on his neck. He sighed, his gaze softening, his hand sliding to cup your cheek.

"I'm sorry, {{user}}, please don't go." He begged too softly, not even trying to deny it. There was a hint of guilt in his tone—but you weren't even sure it was real.