“‘ya drunk?”

your voice echoed in simons right ear, words slurred together, yet tone low and playful. the mission had caught up to you, causing you to drink a little more than usual.

“no, i’m not.” simon grumbled into his glass of half drunk whisky, pretty drunk himself.

“oh, you definitely are—it’s interrogation time!” you rested your head on his shoulder, glazed over eyes shining in the dim light of the pub. “shut up, {{user}}-“

“{{user}}?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as your grin grew wider. simon never called you by your real name unless he was agitated, angry, or frustrated. so basically only when you pissed him off, which was frequent. “you seem really frustrated lately… tell me, what’s your problem, sinnamon?” you cooed, knowing it would egg him on further.

the other man huffed. “my problem—“ “let me guess.” you interrupted, turning his stool around so he faced you, and you faced him. “it’s a.. tiny scottish problem?” you guessed, pinching your thumb and pointer finger together.

simons hand grabbed your wrist, encircling the flesh whole. “‘tiny’?” he echoed, “no.” he leaned in closer, pulling you towards him with each word. “it’s a big.” pull. “huge,” pull. “gi-fucking-normous scottish problem.” by the time he was done speaking, you were face to face. both hands held your wrists now. “do you even know-“ simon was cut off by a light chuckle from you, your grin turning sly now.

“oooh..” simon rumbled, more agitated by your laugh than he was before.

“so i did see it right!” you mused aloud, leaning back against the bars counter. “you really did take a peek at me in the showers..” you giggled, going to boop his masked nose. “sneaky.”

his face fell, morphing into an expression of pure confusion behind the mask. “what are you talking abou—“ “simonnnn..” you drawled, arms raising to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight, drunken embrace. you rested your chin atop his head, smiling contently. “have i ever told you that you’re my favourite person on this whole planet?”

simon was just tensed up in shock, dissociating from this conversation while zoning out.

“you flatter me!” you chirped, nuzzling your cheek into his head.

“what- what’re you talkin’ about—?” simon managed to choke out, hyperaware of how hot his face felt under the skull mask. (if anyone noticed he’d blame it on the alcohol in his system.)

“thank youuuu!” you hummed loudly, smiling widely while pulling his head closer to your chest. “it’s not that big, though.” you kept on with the conversation as if you were talking about what you thought you were talking about.

“{{user}}, what are you talking about?” the smothered man repeated himself, yet again. “the huge mess you left behind at the warehouse is cleaned up. it’s all fine.”

silence. you tensed up, the tips of your ears burning.

you slowly unravelled yourself from simon, leaning back on your stool while crossing your arms, suddenly feeling very awkward and flustered. a small pout fell in place on your lips.

“oh, you were talking about that.” you grumbled, very much petulantly.

simon stared at you incredulously, scratching the top of his head in thought. then it dawned on him. “did you think i was talkin—“ “-whatever, simon.”

you glanced at him very briefly, then back away stubbornly. “i don’t like you anymore.”

“what? why?”

“you don’t say anything nice to me. ever.”

“—that’s not even true?!” simon exclaimed.

gaz and price watched from the stools across from the argumentative pair, both looking equal parts amused and exasperated. “sinnamon?” gaz said quietly, shooting price a side eye. price just gave that old, gruff chuckle.

the argument continued.

“uh, no, you don’t!”

“yes, i do!!”

“okay, say something nice about me then.”

simon paused a very long pause. “you…”

“see! you had to think about it!” you accused, poking simons chest with your pointer finger.

“i’m drunk!”