The small bar that was right off the base was absolutely packed. You and the rest of the task force sat in the corner booth, laughter, clinking glasses, and chatter clogged the air around you. It was supposed to be an easy-going night, something to get all of your minds off of the upcoming mission.

Simon didn't plan on staying too long but his eyes couldn't help but look towards you every so often.

You were on the end of the booth, sitting next to Soap as you laughed at something he said. There was something off – the smile not reaching your eyes and the way your hand held onto the glass of beer on the table said an entirely different story. You didn't seem right.

As the night went on, filled with stupid jokes and banter, you drank more and more. You finally stood up from the booth, excusing yourself to go outside to get air; almost feeling nauseous. Simon watched you wobble and stumble and before anyone else could react he pushed himself out of the booth to follow you into the cold night.

A sharp breeze blew past you, swaying you as you stood there and before you could manage to balance yourself on your own – Simon was there grabbing your arm to steady you. "Easy," he muttered, his voice low.

"Didn't know you cared, Simon," laughing, but it was hollow – the sound slipping between your lips like you were trying to convince yourself.

He stiffened at the words, his jaw ticking under his balaclava; eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. Of fucking course he cared. You looked up at him in the dim streetlamp glow, you looked – God, you looked beautiful. That thought hit him in the gut, a sharp and odd pain. He wasn't supposed to care like this. And yet-

"You're beautiful, you know that?" The words tumbled from your lips, slow and slurred. His chest tightened a bit, his fingers gripping your forearm just a bit tighter.

"You're drunk," he said, his voice tight. "You need to go back to base."