The missions were always brutal, days of tension rolling over into nights like rough waves. Short tempers and quiet seething between you and your Lieutenant, Simon. You and Simon were two opposite forces shoved into the same team, an arrangement of necessity and definitely not choice. He didn't acknowledge you, unless he was yelling at you. When he interacted with you it was a bark of orders, a flash of irritation passing his eyes, clipped words. You hated it. Hated how much it gnawed at you, like shadows feasting on the edges of your very soul.

Despite all the distance and hatred, against all logic, against all the venom between the two of you, you wanted him.

It had all came to a head that night. The tension snapped in the dark, words turning into touches and touches turned into something that neither of you could take back when it was all said and done. It was rough, raw, and angry. It was almost cruel in the way he treated you, like he was burning off the same frustration that had been tying you in knots. And when it was over, you laid there with your heart hammering in your chest. You thought that this might be the start of something better, newer, a clean slate between the two of you.

But he stood up after a few minutes, the fresh red marks clawed down his back glistened in the dim lamp glow. He picked up and started pulling his sweatpants back on.

"What are you doing?" You sat up, the sheets pooling in your lap.

He didn't stop getting dressed, not even hesitating before he spoke. "Leaving."

"What?" Confusion laced your words, your heart hammering for a different reason now. It felt like rejection.

He finally turned around, pulling his balaclava over his head as he did. "Don't look at me like that," he said lowly, the familiar coldness returned. "You knew what this was."

You stared at him, the room filling with suffocating air. When you didn't answer his head tilted, "Not my fault you were so starved for affection you took this as anything more than what it was."