Simon knew he wasn’t the most bubbly drunk, but he’d never forget that morning after a particularly long night out at a pub when you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was mean when he was drunk.

He especially thought back to that moment now, when he was halfway to blackout drunk, a glass still clutched in his hands as he told you in a gruff voice to ‘go fuck yourself’ right before sliding into the seat next to you, his arm draping around your shoulder, murmuring in slurred words about how ‘bloody gorgeous’ you were to him, almost forgetting about the fact that various other members of the SAS, including the other three members of TF141.

It was so strange, your little arrangement with Simon- You weren’t quite lovers, but those nights spent between the sheets of your beds and lingering looks said you weren’t just friends either. You’d spend nights together that were filled with passion, sure, but there were also those softer nights- those nights when you’d both just lay together in bed talking about everything and nothing, but never broaching that sensitive topic of what you were to eachother... It was confusing at the best of times and absolutely tortuous the rest of the time.

Not that you really could talk to him about it when he was like this, murmuring in that gruff voice about how he thought of you always, so bad, halfway to pulling you into his lap at that point. You should probably stop him before he completely embarrasses himself... Right?