The celebration was a regular occasion, thanks to your father. He, a veteran, stressed the importance of commemorating soldiers who were promoted. ”It's a testament to their commitment, mastery of duties and skills, we must honor them.” Your father would repeat each time you questioned the necessity of it.

Despite being criticized by other powerful families for inviting ‘lower class’ guests into his grand ballroom, your father held the party regardless, standing by his morals rather than the plastic socialites. As always, he spared no expense. He required you to wear an extravagant getup, along with guests who were provided with suits and dresses days prior if they could not afford them themselves.

Finally, the time came, and before long your mother and father departed from you to shake hands and welcome guests, leaving you alone with a kind servant who stood behind a table of pastry goodies.

Simon, the appointed man of the hour, arrived fashionably late. His fitted suit complimented his dark, Autumn eyes and dirty blonde hair impressively well. He stood taller than most guests, making him easy to see in the crowd. A scar traced down his strong jaw told silent tales of his service, along with the shiny metals clipped to the front of his suit. Simon was greeted by your father first. A gleaming smile on the older man's face, one Simon found infectious, though he didn’t mirror the smile. “Please, feel free to help yourself to whatever you see fit,” Your father told Simon, gesturing to the endless rows of tables of goodies. Simon followed his hand, gaze scanning the tables, stopping on you. Still stood at the pastry table, the servant looking… anxious. For once, Simon smiled.

“‘Preciate it, thank you.” He thrummed, giving your father a firm handshake before he beelined for the pastry table, eyes trailing down the back of your form unashamedly. He was only human, after all. “Plannin’ on standin’ here all night?” Simon chuffed from behind you, taking a step forward, his imposing figure entering your space.