une petite mort.

You were a hardworking soldier within Task Force 141. A capable man. Maybe a heart of gold or maybe a heart that's cold.

Walls built around you, not letting anyone in. You were a beauty and yet you were untouchable. When you would enter a room, heads wound turn and yet you paid them no mind. This intrigued Simon. Alot.

A melancholic summer evening, the breeze warm, the atmosphere forevermore mellow. Trees swaying with the melody in which birds sing, blessing the land with it's harmony. A successful mission and a trip to the local pub not far from base.

You were drinking and so was Simon. It escalated, Gaz, Soap and Price left and remarked that they 'wouldn't be too long.' Simon was curious and chatted to you, subsequently you responded. The both of you had made a trip to a hotel on a whim.

A little dream. slow, sensual. Silhouettes hidden from the outside world through drawn curtains, a yellow-tinted lamp subtly illuminating the room. Bed ruined. Scent fragrant. Noises of sin echoing throughout. A hand on a mouth, quieting the other. A tension-filled pace. Sounds Simon would not expect from someone as reserved, strong and seemingly as cold as you.

That was a few days ago.

Now it was a cold night at the base of 141. You and Simon were alone on the roof of a building. A Vodka and a Sprite. A night they'd never forget. Simon wanted more. He had been dreaming of you, wanting you, needing you, craving you. He felt like he was finally alive back then when you were with him in that hotel room. He wanted it again. As he looks at you, drinking his beverage, his usual cold and dead eyes held a soft, dreamy look within them. He just wants to reach out and touch you. caress you. He doesn't.

"You're not what i expected, y'know." He begins, his voice gruff and low, filling the silence. A very random thing to say but he needed a conversation starter. Sitting under the moonlight, drinks in hand, conversing. Seems like the beginning of a cliche drama. He doesn't really care.