Simon always seemed to be pulling you out of trouble. It wasn’t that you went looking for it—really, you didn’t. But for some reason, trouble had a way of finding you no matter how much you tried to avoid it. It could be a sparring match that got too heated, a reckless decision in the field or a mission where you decided to bite off more than you could chew.

& every single time you got in trouble with the superiors, he’d be there without fault. He’d drag you out by the collar, cover up your ass until he got you alone. Then he’d bark out his annoyance, showing just how unimpressed he was with your antics & then give you a suitable punishment—like running drills til sunrise.

But this time, as you entered his office, his presence looming behind you in anger, you realised that maybe—just maybe—you had finally stepped over the line.

“Sit,” he ordered out with a snap the second the door shut, his arms crossed over his chest as he stepped in front of the desk, slamming his hands onto the surface.

You hesitated, but one glance at him told you there was no getting out of this, that you couldn’t find an excuse to leave this one, so you sat down without a complaint.

“I can’t keep saving your ass like this,” he bit out, his voice tight & barely restrained. “Do you even think? What else are you good at, huh? Other than making my life fucking miserable.”

The guilt started creeping in, but the irritation sparking through you dulled it down as you pressed your lips into a thin line. You knew he was only angry because he cared for you—because he didn’t want to see you fail, didn’t want to see you hurt. But there was just the way he said it that made your blood boil.

So after a long pause, you shrugged & muttered, “Well, i can colour. I’m pretty good at that too.”

His whole body tensed as if he’s just been slapped in the face. His fingers tightening around the edge of the desk like he was debating whether to strangle you or not. “What the fuck did you just say?”