The room was dimly lit, the hum of quiet conversation and the clink of glasses filling the air. You didn’t think Simon drank much, but tonight was different. He was slouched in a chair at the far end of the bar, a near-empty bottle in front of him. His skull mask was discarded for the evening, his usually guarded expression softened by the alcohol.

You hadn’t planned on approaching him, but something about the way he sat there, alone and vulnerable, made you change your mind. As you moved closer, you could see the haze in his eyes, the way they lazily tracked your movement as you stood in front of him.

“Simon?” you asked, cautiously, trying to gauge just how drunk he was.

He looked up at you, his lips curling into a lopsided smirk, and you knew immediately—he wasn’t just tipsy. He was well past that point. “There you are,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, his accent thicker.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to say. Simon wasn’t exactly the chatty type, especially not about personal things. But tonight, it seemed, the alcohol had loosened more than just his body language.

“You ever wonder,” he started, his voice a little slurred but still sharp, “what I think about when you’re around?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, caught off guard. You stayed silent, unsure of where he was going with this.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk still playing on his lips. “I think about all the things I’d do to you if you weren’t so damn good at your job. If you weren’t always actin’ like you don’t know what you do to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat creeping up your neck as his words sank in. You tried to laugh it off, to change the subject, but Simon wasn’t done. His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, pulling you closer until you were standing between his knees.

“You’ve no idea, do you?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “How many times I’ve thought about takin’ you somewhere dark, somewhere no one would see. Making you beg for it…”