The party had been loud, full of laughter and the clinking of glasses as Task Force 141 celebrated another successful mission. You’d spent the night by Simon’s side, watching as he lingered on the outskirts of the crowd, nursing a drink, his mask still in place despite the relaxed setting.

Now, the celebration was dying down. The streets were quiet as you and Simon walked home together under the soft glow of streetlights. You’d dressed up for the occasion—something nice, something that made his dark eyes linger on you longer than usual. But the heels? A mistake.

With each step, a dull ache crept up your legs, making you wince slightly. You didn’t say anything at first, but Simon noticed everything.

"You’re limping," he stated, voice low and rough, but full of concern.

Before you could answer with an 'I'm fine', he bends down and, without a shred of effort, lifting you up into his arms. One arm secured around your back, the other hooking under your knees. You gasped as he adjusted you effortlessly, his strength a quiet but ever-present reminder.

"Not lettin’ you break your ankles ‘cause you wanted to look pretty." There was a teasing edge to his voice, but his grip was firm, protective. He smirks down at you