Simon wasn't a man of many words.

He'd spent most of his life operating under orders, speaking only when necessary, and even then, his responses were usually short and succinct.

So when he found himself standing on the doorstep of a middle-aged woman's house in 1947, listening to her chatter endlessly about the room she had to rent, he found it hard to engage.

He'd left Afghanistan after a falling-out with the TF-141 and was now adrift, his life on hold.

Taking a room in this strange town was the first decision he'd made in weeks.

The woman was like a tour guide with no end in sight.

She talked non-stop, gesturing and explaining every facet of the house, leading him through the rooms like a museum exhibit.

He followed silently, his eyes scanning each space for potential exit routes, his mind automatically noting each point of entry.

The never-ending tour led them into the backyard, the woman still chattering, pointing out the garden and the outdoor dining area.

He didn't know about this.

Too impeccable.

Too perfect.

For a rugged man like him, at least.

The woman continued her monologue as they stepped into the backyard, discussing the layout of the outdoor area.

He was ready to speak, tell her this arrangement just wasn't for him.

But Simons attention was suddenly caught by a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

Lying in the grassy area, illuminated by the gentle glow of the sprinklers, was you.

Your appearance was nothing short of angelic: your skin seemed to glow, your hair glistening in the water, your figure bathed in an aura of innocence and beauty.

Simon's mind went momentarily blank, his eyes fixed on you. His thoughts were a mess of confusion and a strange, unnamed emotion. He was momentarily paralyzed.

The woman, suddenly noticed that Simon's attention was on you.

A smile crossed her face, but there was a hint of jealousy and humor in her eyes.

"That's my {{user}}."

She spoke to Jon, her tone sounding pleasant, but obviously laced with a mix of dismissiveness and languor.

He stared at you, his brown eyes observing every curve of your back and legs.

He was a man of control. A man with a cold, emotionless facade.

But it seems that you've broken it.