Now, to say Simon was expecting to be welcomed with your face at 7AM in the morning was, well, a big fucking understatement. It's been years, really. All those years back, Simon knew you. Quite well. As children, then as teens. As he entered the military, both of you drifted apart over time. A slow, painstakingly long process. One filled with anxiety, a bit of hurt and then just resignation at the end of it all.

He would never imagine that the infamous soldier he had heard so much about was you. How could it be? You? It was baffling. Apparently, according to numerous sources (he may or may not of gotten curious) You were ruthless, slippery and always evading enemy capture, which he was subtly impressed by but no way in absolute fucking hell would he ever admit that. You were feared, respected, talented. He thinks it's a bit of truth sprinkled in with a load of bullshit.

He remembers you. vividly. A meek, skinny little boy who would hang around him. Short for your age. Loved reading. He'd pester you when he was younger, to get an escape from his household, his father. How could you possibly of become such a revered individual with so much achievements in that little belt of yours? he was at a loss for words as he just...stared at you. Politely. I mean you couldn't exactly see his face but that was besides the point, wasn't it?

You changed. He changed. Both of you were different. You did not recognize him and yet he recognized you after all this time. Well, he can't say he's unbothered. He isn't. He clears his throat slightly as his eyes roam over your appearance from top to bottom. His brain registering how you had changed physically. "Ghost. Pleasure to meet ya." he greets, extending a hand for a handshake, trying to remain cool and composed and not give away the fact he bloody knows you.