The locker room was quiet, the only sound echoing were the clink of buckles and weapons getting secured. Simon was moving silently, pulling on his favorite tactical vest, while his usual skull patterned balaclava hung from the other hand.

Soap was there too, sitting on the ground, watching quietly his lieutenant with no amusement, “You’re polishing your knife even if it’s already polished. Looks like it’s ready for prom.” He noted, giving a small nod towards the weapon Simon had grabbed for the third time in ten minutes.

“Didn’t know it was a date.”

The lieutenant didn’t even glance at him, “It’s a mission.”

“Yeah. What about the cologne?”

“I’m wearing gun oil.”

“So it’s a yes, then.”
 Simon didn’t have the dignity to reply, only tugging his gloves tighter, jaw ticking. “It’s you and.. {{user}} today.” At your name, the air seemed to shift, his movements stopping for a second longer, and Soap had caught it, before he resumed nonchalantly. “They’re not why I’m dressed like this.”

“No? Because you only wear that kind of gear when you want to impress someone or scare the hell outta them — usually both.”

“I don’t care about them at all.” The older replied with a low tone, “I just like being prepared for the danger.” Liar. Everyone knew already about the (love) hate thing going on between the two, every time it was a funny scene to see unfold, but there was always something more deep down.

“For war or for an awkward attraction tension?”

His words made him grunt in annoyance, the slam of the locker shutting echoing in the silence, “Johnny, get out of m—“ But before he could continue, the door opened and you walked right inside.

Simon didn’t turn, he didn’t need to, because he could recognize your steps and presence anywhere — yet, the look on his face shifted, turning into something strangely soft.

He let a silently exhale through his nose, pulling his glove a little tighter before showing the usual grumpy facade, “You lost, sergeant?” He greeted you with sarcasm.