Oh, he was head over heels for you the second he saw you, in the admist of battle. It was like the whole world stopped and fixated down onto you, seeing you so gracefully dragging that dagger of yours in your hand through each man that came close.

The only problem was...you were their target. To capture and kill. But God, he couldn't do that, he wouldn't, he can't, you were drop dead gorgeous even in the cruelty and gore of fighting, trying to defend yourself against several men, all coming after you.

But as you kept fighting on with a spirit no one had ever seen before, the blood flicking up in the air, tainting and remodeling the near by surroundings in a dark crimson. The two blades that you held so fiercely had been chipped from the amount of times you had plunged the sharp ends into the bodies of your enemies, blood coating and redesigning your clothing.

It all happened so quickly, you running as quickly as your short legs could as the men behind you yelled as they lost you through the darkness of the night - well, most of them -, before suddenly colliding with the ground, your face smeared with the dirt of the ground. You felt a pressure on your back, someone placed their foot on your back, keeping you pinned. Having a blade pressed to your throat, sweat dripping and heavy breaths panting.

"Ghost! Do it! Kill her!" The Captain - John Price - yelled through the radio, his voice held a desperate urgency. But even though the orders came from his captain, Simon couldn't do it.

It wasn't Ghost — the monster of his exterior — telling him what to do. No, but instead Simon — the man that was bruised and cut mentally — as his reluctant hand trembled with holding the blade, the sharp edge just barely touching your throat.

That was the point when Simon, not Ghost, but Simon realized he had fallen deeply and irrevocably inlove with you.