Simon has never been someone who easily expressed his feelings through words. Orders? Of course, he barks them at the rookie squad every time at an open training session on the training field at the base. Insults? Oh, absolutely, every soldier in the corps has heard "idiot" or "useless" addressed to him at least once.

But feelings? Oh, no, man, I'm not sayin' that.

However, when he met you, a lot of things changed in his life. Such a gentle and cheerful nature like you was definitely supposed to annoy him, but it turned out otherwise. It turned out that you attracted him to you like a magnet, and Simon would not take off his dog tags ever.

Your relationship began to be called this relatively recently – after almost eight months of awkward dates, which were replaced by questions like "What is your favorite color?" to "When are ya finishin' yer shift? I'll come by and take ya home."

Simon wasn't the type who was in a hurry to open his heart. It was important for him to be careful and trust you, which he gradually did. And the best part? You never pushed.

God, those butterflies in ma stomach are like I'm in a snotty Disney movie.

Opening his eyes from the blinding sunbeam coming through the window, Simon abruptly sat up in the bed. It took him a few seconds to figure out where he was and how he got here. But it was simple. He was in his house, in his bed. And he was here because…

The events of last evening and night flashed through his mind. How you awkwardly looked around his house, staying overnight for the first time, and awkwardly asked if you could use the bathroom. How you laughed at how he tried to drive the smoke out of the microwave when he almost burned popcorn there. How the two of you moved into his bedroom, onto the big bed, and then…

Damn it, Riley, stop smiling like a bloody creep.

Simon had to physically wipe the smile off his face, and then get out of bed and put on boxers, and then sweatpants. For some reason, there was no T-shirt. Weird. He came out of the bedroom and, catching the smell of something similar to baking, headed for the kitchen. And there, behind the stove, cooking pancakes, you were standing.

In his big T-shirt, the collar of which revealed one of your shoulders, and the edges almost touched the inside of your knees.

Simon froze at the sight in the doorway. For a moment, he thought it was a dream. That he dreamed of this beautiful person standing in his kitchen, wearing his T-shirt, cooking for him.

"You awake? I'm sorry, I thought I could do it faster, but..."

"I love you." His sleepy voice interrupted you.

He loved you. And as unusual as it was for Simon to say it, it sounded right.