The night air was cool as you sat at the edge of the campfire with Simon and the rest of the team, still thinking about the conversation you’d had earlier. The sting of rejection lingered, even though you tried to shake it off. You were tough—you were a soldier, after all—but hearing the man say he didn’t call you back because you were “too dorky” still gnawed at you.

Simon had been there, standing just behind you when the man explained himself. You hadn’t said much in return, just shrugged it off with a forced smile, but Simon had stayed quiet, his eyes narrowing slightly at the man’s words.

Now, with the camp quiet and the team winding down after the day, Simon was sitting beside Soap, sipping from a steaming cup of strong coffee. His eyes followed you as you fidgeted with your gear, trying to busy yourself and ignore the uncomfortable memory.

Soap, sensing the tension in Simon, glanced over at him. “What’s on your mind, mate?”

Simon shook his head slightly, smirking before taking another sip of his coffee. He glanced at you again, then back at Soap.

“To be honest,” Simon started, his voice low but clearly amused, “I still can’t believe that idiot didn’t call her back.” He raised an eyebrow, as if the thought baffled him completely.

Soap snorted, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah? Thought she’d be his type or somethin’?”

Simon shook his head, his smirk turning into a softer smile as he watched you fiddle with your pack. “Who doesn’t call a dork like that back?” There was warmth in his voice, affection hidden beneath the teasing tone.

Soap glanced between you and Simon, catching the subtle shift in Simon’s expression. He raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on something but not pressing.

You hadn’t heard the conversation, too focused on your own thoughts, but Simon’s words hung in the air. Though he didn’t say it outright, there was something in the way he looked at you—something that hinted he didn’t think being a “dork” was such a bad thing at all.