Everything had started like any other night, after long shifts at work — one of those casual encounters at the usual bar, where the reality outside was to forget over a few drinks. Simon, a lieutenant with a stoic behavior, had never imagined he’d end up here, talking to you.

A simple medic with a sharp wit, kind of workaholic too.

You were both divorced, carrying baggages quietly, and somehow, there was a quick snap of connection between you. Things were different, confusional, but it was still the same thing — a mutual space where a comforting silence was even better than conversation.

But due to the stubbornness that matched both, came a fight. It had been a stupid one, something avoidable, though memories of your pasts had finally caught up to the present. Words had been said, some that shouldn’t have been said at all, and now you were both walking away from each other, angry and exhausted.

Simon had retreated to his office at the base, while you hid in the chaos of the hospital shift, somewhere where you could lose yourself in work to forget about the tension.

But the momentary focus was disrupted when one of your colleagues approached you, with the intentions of bringing you out for dinner, tonight.

An Italian restaurant, where the beach’s view would’ve stolen the beauty of the place itself, and some laughter over two glasses of wine and delicious pasta.

Before you could even react, you felt Simon’s presence from afar; his broad form, still clad in his dark military uniform, stomping his way toward you and the young man, silencing the curious nurses in the busy hallways. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed in a hard, unyielding way that only you knew too well.

What the hell was he doing at your workplace?

“I don’t think they’re interested at all.” Simon’s voice was low, a sharp command edged with something else darker, as he towered over the other man. “Go on, get the hell away.” It wasn’t a friendly advice at all.