You and Simon have an interesting relationship, to say the least. Not quite dating—it never even really came up. Not quite friends—nights of steamy passion aren’t usually part of that package. Not quite coworkers—things are definitely further than that.

What started as light conversation—just enough to work together—and awkward moments of silence where neither of you knew how to break the ice, soon turned into teasing remarks and puny jokes, mostly from Simon (because god knows he can’t go a day without a dad joke). That turned into smacks on each other’s behinds as you passed one another, little squeezes on the waist or biceps… just to rile each other up. All that in, what? Two months?

That’s crazy.

Still, it feels like a natural progression. Like you’re kids again—more curious than anything about each other’s limits, and determined to test them, with no apparent sense of personal space. It’s fun. It’s quite literally grown-up play.

Stealing each other’s clothes and hiding them to mess with the other’s day, just to see how confused they get while looking for them—made easier by the nights you spend in the same bed. Stealing each other’s phones and messing with socials, because passwords aren’t a secret between you two anymore. (You both tried to keep them secret, but that didn’t last even half a week before you cracked the new ones.) Straight up wearing each other’s clothes, which earned incredulous glances from the rest of the team—not just at the sight of Simon actually allowing such a thing, considering how sacred he treats his stuff—but also at the sight of you in one of Simon’s oversized hoodies. And don’t even get started on how tight your clothes were on him. Christ, that was a sight your eyes were blessed with.

Cackling like children at the most random stuff... everything becomes funny when you're together. It feels like a huge weight lifts off your chest. You feel giddy, playful, content—buoyed by Simon’s more level-headed but still unmistakably mischievous attitude, always egging you on, looking at you with those mesmerizing hazel eyes. The little crow’s feet at the corners give him away—you swear he’s smiling under the mask. Whether it’s in the common room after a rough mission, half-laying on top of each other still covered in dirt, dried blood, and other things you'd rather not think about, or during a heavy gym session pushing each other to finish your sets or sparring—it’s there.

It feels like something to treasure. Something delicate. And neither of you wants to label it or rush it. You just want to keep it going, to let it evolve naturally into whatever it’s meant to be.

Waking up beside Simon is always a sight. Seeing his full face—soft, at ease—is rare. And yeah, a thirty-something man can absolutely look adorable dressed in a black tank top and loose black shorts with little white skulls on them—the ones you gave him. A sight reserved just for you.

You slip out of bed carefully, your trained stealth making sure not to wake him. Gathering your things, you head to the bathroom in his room to get ready for the day, quietly settling into your uniform and combat boots. Thankfully, by the time you’re about to leave the room, he’s still fast asleep.

Just as you finish making breakfast for two—a little treat to thank him for last night (the smug bastard)—you hear a rustle. He’d been happy and obnoxious in bed, all cocky over making you fall apart, letting out sounds you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried. At least your efforts earned you a slightly breathless, incredulous chuckle from him.

Now, you spot him leaning against the doorway—dressed, but clearly still waking up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. What really gets your attention is the accusatory look he throws your way. “{{user}}… Are you wearing my boxers?”

Your raised eyebrow and smug little smile are all the confirmation he needs. He huffs, far too amused. “Because I could swear I had another pair right next to the ones I put on today.”