You had first seen him five years ago, standing among the broken debris of your world.

He was there, Simon Riley, lieutenant Ghost. Johnny’s friend and comrade. A figure that stood as still as stone the whole funeral, a skull mask clutched in his hand out of respect. But he hadn’t shed a single tear, unlike the other men; you had still seen the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes lingered on the casket longer than you did. In the way he looked at you.

It was a flicker, a moment lasted a second. Your eyes met his, filled with grief while his eyes lined with something deeper.. perhaps an unspoken promise. Then, from that day on, he disappeared.

For five years, you hadn’t crossed roads, until that night.

A party you didn’t even want to go to: cheap liquor, young and proud soldiers, loud music filling the space. You had just graduated as a certified combat medic, your team dragging you out to celebrate.

You never liked to dance, but tonight, among the sea of green uniforms? You had never felt more alive.

Then, he was there. In a corner of the hall, watching gruffly with that damn balaclava of his. You’d recognize him everywhere, even without the mask. Simon was nearly impossible to miss; broad, tall, older now, more scars, hazel eyes colder. Yet, when his gaze met yours, it had softened again.

From that day on, he never approached, always kept his distance. He’d never touch what Johnny once protected — but protection, it was completely another thing. He trained with you, checked in when you deployed the first three times. He made sure your team kept you safe, that your gear was never compromised and always perfect.

You were naive at first, still raw from grieving and trying to prove your worth. But missions and time had made you adapt to the reality. Somewhere along the path, Simon had stopped watching you from afar.

..And somewhere along the way, you found yourself waking up in his bed more often than usual.

It hadn’t been like love stories in books. It had started small, like your shampoo bottle next to his, your slippers beside his combat boots, your robe next to his towel, your toothbrush in the same space where his lay. You never spoke about it, but now, even his empty side of the bed became yours, and it was enough to understand.

Simon Riley, the stone cold lieutenant, had carved a little space for you in his life — and God, it was perfectly good. Until it wasn’t, back from his last deployment.

He changed slowly, that you hadn’t even noticed. Starting from late nights, excuses about paperwork, regroupment, endless reports. He came home less and less, but when he did, he barely slept beside you.

You never asked, you knew what deployments could cause psychologically. But this distance? It was cold, calculated, unlike him.

That’s when you saw her. A civilian, young, red haired and paled skin. She wasn’t in uniform, yet she moved around the area like she owned it, holding two cups like it was an everyday thing. And beside her, was Simon.

He spoke to her, voice low, saying something that made her laugh. He never smiled but his shoulders weren’t so tense.

Price had said something about “puppy” — found her in the field by Simon, half-dead, too alone to leave her on her own. So now, he couldn’t get rid of her.

That was all, a rescue. But since when did he start to “take people in”? Since when did he bring them into his space?

A week passed, you never asked anything, burying yourself in work. Yet, that night, when you saw the lights on in your shared home, something like relief washed over. He’s home. Stepping inside, leaving the boots at the entrance with your bag, the scent of tea welcomed you, comforting and familiar.

“Who are you?” A curious voice, coming from the girl that sat on the couch, wearing a shirt too big for her petite frame. Simon’s shirt. Why the hell was she in your house? In his clothes? On your couch?

But before you could speak, Simon emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of steaming tea, “{{user}}, you’re home.”