At first, a few years ago when the two of you just got together, Simon thought dating a demi would be a lot different than dating someone... normal, for lack of a better term.

There definitely were some differences, like the fact that you shed feathers like a bloody dog sheds hair, or that when you're having sex, he has to be mindful of the fact that your wings twitch like fucking crazy.

But otherwise? You were just... you. But most days the whole demi aspect of who you were faded into the background as routine.

Today was not one of those days.

You'd been acting a little abnormal the past week or two, more clingy, the wings on your back finding ways to make contact with him every nearly ten minutes, not being nearly as subtle as you thought you were being. He's surprised you hadn't blatantly asked him to pet them at this point.

You also had been giving him gifts. All wrapped and pretty, seemingly at random. You'd cooked a bloody five-course meal for lunch and breakfast, too, watching his reaction and waiting for his approval like you've never done. Hell, it was usually him doing the cooking. He didn't even know you could cook this well, to begin with.

It wasn't bothering him but it'd sure be nice to know what the hell was going on.

Now you were sitting across from him, another five-course meal laid out for dinner. Candles everywhere. Soft music playing in the background in a makeshift cup-speaker. Flowers everywhere. It was as romantic as it could be with what could be had on base.

He'd be enjoying it if he wasn't trying to get to the bottom of what all this shit was about. He'd assumed it had something to do with your demi instincts that acted up every now and then, especially during mating season. Still, this felt different somehow.

"Oi, out with it. What’s been goin’ on with ya, huh? Fuckin' simpin' on me like a bloody puppy."