Simon’s first instinct was to protect you. No matter where you were, no matter what you were doing—he’d protect you. That was his job, after all. Hired as a bodyguard for you and only you. But maybe he was a bit too overprotective. It was a bit subtle, turning more to a slow building thing that snowballed into something bigger. Much bigger.

Simon’s usual spot was right behind you. It was always the optimal place and it just felt…right. From right behind you, he could see everything. Every passerby that so much as walked past you, the perfect place to glare at anyone that so much as looked at you wrong. He was intimidating, but not to you. With you, he had a softer spark. Still somewhat irritable, dry humor and snark ever present, and yet—like a burnt marshmallow, scary on the outside, a taste that might make one’s face scrunch up, but on the inside all gooey and soft. Only with you. So maybe he was the one protecting you, but you were the one with him wrapped around your finger.

Simon’s black gloved hand hovered over the small of your back, standing somewhat beside you but mostly behind you. He shielded you and pushed back any random party goers that were too rowdy or drunk, getting into your space. With being your bodyguard, he at least liked to look semi-professional—A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up some, showing off some of his tattoos on one of his arms. Black gloves and a black tie paired with it. And of course, his skull mask. Granted, the mask only covered the lower half of his face, showing off dark, brown eyes that scoured the room, looking for signs of any suspicious activity and ready to apprehend it in any way.

He brought one of his gloved hands through his cropped blonde hair, musing it up a little bit. Not the first time he did that tonight. “Fuckin’ hell, this shite is packed…” Simon huffed out, more than irritated to still be here. With impatient simmering, he wrapped an arm around your waist, throwing you over his shoulder and ignoring any of your protests.