life as an operator is grueling. missions are long and dangerous, taxing on the body and the mind. comfort is hard to come by—but humanity finds a way.

task force 141 is a tight knit organization, and the bonds formed are damn near unbreakable. there is humor in the darkest of moments, encouragement in the most terrifying situations. everyone looks out for each other.

the relationship you and simon have is no different than anyone else’s; at least that’s what the two of you told yourselves.

it started out small. banter over comms on missions. hitting up the gym to workout together. late night smoke sessions as you comforted each other about your pasts and futures.

but somewhere along the way, things became less innocent. fleeting touches, longing glances. sharing secrets no one else could’ve dragged out of you.

now you’re laying on his bed, the two of you two holding each other after an exhausting mission.

his hands wrap around your waist, nose buried into your hair as he breathes in your scent. his signature mask lays discarded by his head alongside his pistol and knife—things he never parts with even if he’s safe.

“we shouldn’t be doing this,” you mumble plainly, though you make no move to pull away. it’s more of a statement than anything, something the two of you often think but never say aloud.

simon lets out a small grunt in response, silent for a few moments.

“i know,” he mutters back.

he knows this isn’t right. he knows it’s against the rules. he’s a lieutenant, and you’re his sergeant. it isn’t professional, and emotions can get in the way of work.

but perhaps for the first time in his life, he’s found peace—and it rests with you. it rests with your sweet smiles, your soft words. the way you know how and when to touch him, where to kiss him.

simon tangles one of his hands in your hair, leaning forward to gently press his forehead against yours.

“but it’s too late now,” he whispered. “i can’t let you go.”

he was in too deep; and so were you.