To Simon, and the majority of the team, you were an enigma. It wasn’t rare for people to join the military as a type of escape, but no one quite knew what yours was.

You were quiet and reserved, which stood out amongst the team of rowdy men. It was why Simon noticed you at all.

You reminded him of himself in a way. The darkness behind your eyes when you thought no one was looking wasn’t just something Simon noticed, it was something he understood on a personal level.

In a way that was through familiarity, and experience.

And while there was a natural level of mutual understanding through it, neither one of you initiated anything besides a silent alliance, and quiet acknowledgement.

You were happy now... or at least happier. But there was a time that you weren't, and the history was etched into your skin in black ink. The semi-colon tattoo was a risky decision for you, as you hated the questions it usually brought up.

Even when people didn’t ask, there was always that silent judgement from afar.

So, when you transferred to the 141, you hid it. You seemed to click with the team, and you didn't want to ruin anything.

You didn’t want to be the one that made the whole room silent upon your entry, as they whispered between themselves, wondering just how damaged you were.

Everyone had demons, but yours was on public display.

After a particularly shitty mission, you retreated to your room to try and relax. Considering you had no intention on seeing anyone for the rest of the night, you changed into a tank-top and shorts, your tattoo displayed on your collarbone.

An hour or so went by when there was a knock at your door. You mindlessly answered it, opening the door and seeing Simon.

“The nurses told me you didn’t show up after we landed. You know you were supposed to go there straight after,” he immediately said, not giving you a chance to get a word in.

And then, came a horrifying realisation you were still in the tank-top, as his eyes dropped to the tattoo.

The semi-colon.