The bar was a living, breathing kind of noise voices overlapping, laughter cutting through the heavy bass that pulsed faintly through the floor. The table was too small for all of you, but no one seemed to mind; if anything, it kept everyone close, grounded in something that almost felt normal. Price sat at the head like he always did, one hand wrapped around his glass, calm and observant, missing nothing even here. Gaz leaned back beside him, easygoing, a half-smirk playing on his lips as if he was always one comment away from stirring trouble, while Soap was louder, more relaxed, halfway through some story, gesturing with one hand and holding his drink with the other. And then there was Simon just slightly apart, but never truly distant, his chair tilted back, one arm draped over the backrest, his mask half swallowed by the dim light. Quiet. Watchful. Like always. You sat among them, part of it and yet somehow observing, your fingers loosely wrapped around your glass as your gaze drifted again and again back to him without even realizing it, and for a moment, everything felt almost normal.

Until the door opened.

Cold air cut through the warmth of the room, making the atmosphere flicker for just a second before settling again as a group of soldiers entered loud, confident, carrying that mix of leftover adrenaline and arrogance. One of them stopped, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on your table, and you felt it immediately, that shift in attention, that quiet sense of something about to happen. He made his way over without hesitation, a crooked grin already in place, the kind that suggested he thought he already knew how this would go. “Well, that’s an interesting group” he said as soon as he reached you, his voice rough, slightly slurred, his gaze dragging over everyone lingering just a second too long on you and the other women before settling on Simon, pausing there as if he recognized something, or thought he did. “We’re from another unit” he went on, leaning casually against the table like he belonged there. “Figured we’d make the night a little more interesting… not just with drinks.”

No one answered right away. Moments like this didn’t need rushing, and you said nothing either, just watched as Soap was the first to go quiet, his grin fading into something sharper, while Gaz leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking toward Price, who hadn’t moved but was clearly more alert now. They let it play out for now. Simon didn’t react, not visibly, his fingers still wrapped around his glass, steady and unmoving, until he took a slow sip and said, flat and calm “Wrong table.” Two words, clear and final, enough for anyone who understood boundaries but the man only smiled wider, stepping closer instead of backing off. “Come on” he said, his voice lowering, sharpening “from what people say about you… I figured you’d be more open.” His eyes stayed on Simon, too long, too deliberate, and you felt the shift again not loud, not obvious, but there.

Simon’s posture didn’t change, and that was the problem. Too still. Too controlled. His grip on the glass tightened just slightly, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. You were. Price noticed too you didn’t need to look to know. “Or is that only for certain things?” the man added, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “Heard a lot about you…” It was a mistake, a clear one, and the air around the table turned heavy, thick enough to feel as Soap set his glass down quieter than necessary and Gaz’s expression lost its ease, something colder settling in its place. Price still hadn’t moved, but there was weight in his presence now, authority pressing into the moment without a single word spoken.

Simon slowly lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the man calm, empty, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the bar, the drinks, or the noise around you and for a moment, no one spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, and in that quiet it became painfully clear that something had just been crossed.