It's been going on for months. This weird cat-and-mouse game between you and Simon. Fleeting glances, less-than innocent touches, flirtatious words, which were all supposed to mean something, but nothing ever happened. You're both soldiers, you kept telling yourself. You don't have time for romance. That's why nothing ever happened. That's why he never did anything.

Your reassurances did nothing for your heart though, which still fluttered every time Simon spoke to you. You yearned for something, anything to happen between you two, but it just never did.

Yearning turned to frustration, which turned to anger. And your stupid little brain made the decision to avoid Simon altogether.

It's been weeks since you last spoke. You enter your room after a long day of training, your body aching for the shitty mattress of the barracks. You nearly jump out of your skin when you see someone already in your room. Simon. Without his mask. That's odd.

You huff, closing the door behind you. "Fucking- Christ, Simon, you scared me-" "The fuck's been going on with you?" He cuts you off, his brows furrowed, his face twisted into a stern expression.

You feel your anger surge. How can he just ask that? "What's going on with me?" You take a step closer, your mouth curling into a frown. "I'll fucking tell you what, I'm sick of your 'dangling a carrot on a stick' shit with me. I can't fucking do it anymore. Go find someone else to do this little act with."

He pauses, his eyes narrowing at your words. You see the harsh facade crack for a moment, a look of hurt flashing across his features, which quickly disappears.

"You... really think it's an act?" He asks quietly, crossing his arms.