It wasn't often that Simon messed up on missions, or got into predicaments such as these.

He was an extremely skilled soldier, a practiced killer, and anyone who didn't fear him on the field was just plain stupid. But here he was, stuck in a tiny office supply closet, with you.

In any other situation, this might've been... exhilarating, but now? It was just plain frustrating. Whichever idiot provided the team with intel had mixed up the time that the guards switched off—causing you two to almost be caught, if it weren't for Simon pulling you into the cramped space.

It was a stealth mission, too, intel collection. Not like you guys could go out guns blazing and fight your way to exfil—not if you didn't want to ruin this whole mission and tip off every bad guy the team was after.

Simon's chest was practically glued to your back, his shoulders almost too broad for the space his hands were forced against the wall right beside your head—boxing you in against the door. He was so close every breath tickled the hairs on the back of your neck, and you could feel every rise and fall of his chest.

The proximity was starting to get uncomfortable, you were beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic—causing you to shift slightly on your feet. Simon hissed quietly as the bulk of your gear dug uncomfortably into him, one of his large hands darting down to grab your hip—forcing you to still.

"{{user}}, quit movin'." His voice was basically a growl, a low rumble in your ear that sent a shiver down your spine—and you couldn't tell if it was a good one or not. He huffed, seemingly satisfied, when all you answered with was a shaky nod.

His hand never left your hip, every shift had gear and limbs rubbing against the walls or shelves, and it was too risky to make noise—not when a pair of footsteps walked past the closet you two were stuck in almost every minute.

Simon leaned in closer, right beside your ear—his breath fanning across the side of your face. "Looks like we'll be in here a while. Better get comfortable."