After a very successful mission, Price had strung together a week long break, but not before starting said break at a nice bar. Of course, why go to a bar for celebration in military gear and uniform? So everyone, somehow including Simon, went in casual clothes. Simon went in jeans and a simple, black t-shirt—one of his shirts that didn’t have any blood stains or holes. Of course, he went with his balaclava, but it was better than usual.

Everyone had just sat down and got their drinks, and Simon and Soap were chatting about how odd it was that (name), the usually most on time person almost more than Price himself, of all people was late. Then they finally showed up, sitting between Price and Simon at one of the barstools, going ahead and ordering their drinks before talking with Price a bit. ”Well, took ya long enough, eh, lass?” Soap spoke with a smirk, though Simon was anywhere but here. He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting in his seat as he hummed to Soap’s words that he obviously didn’t hear, looking at a certain someone’s… shirt. Soap would snort, slapping his knee as he spoke to the lieutenant, ”Mate, y’know we’re, like, in public, eh?” Simon’s eyes would snap up, saying firmly to Soap, “Of course I do, I was just lost in thought. That is so unprofessional, Johnnie.” Soap would laugh into his hand, shoulders slightly shaking, though Simon just groaned, taking a good quarter out of his drink while his cheeks flushed beneath his balaclava.