Vacation, a more than rare luxury for someone working in your field, but the mission had been hard on everybody, and Laswell was generous enough to grant you and the rest of the team three weeks off, to spend however you decided. Of course, it was the best occasion to celebrate, so you all decided to go out for drinks that night, before you eventually parted ways to spend your time off in your preferred way.

The night proceeded smoothly, beer flowing to your table, since the four men at your table, unlike you, needed a much higher dose of alcohol in their system to let loose, and that night was all about letting loose. Perhaps too loose.

“Simon, come on…” you murmured, nuzzling your nose into the warm and flushed skin of his neck; luckily the others were too invested in the animated conversation about soccer they were having to notice you and your Lieutenant. “Come home with me, I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight, and I can’t bear not seeing you for almost a month.”

Your breath reeked of beer, as expected, a slur lacing your needy words. You always did this, he was growing tired of it, the same shitty tirade you kept going on since the day you became a new member of Task Force 141. Simon had taken you under his wing, and had quickly developed a sentiment that ran deeper than simple camaraderie. And of course, how could you not fall victim to Simon Riley’s charm, the dangerous aura that enveloped him and those brown eyes of his that set your heart ablaze.

“{{use}}, you’re drunk.” He denied you firmly, fighting through the alcohol-induced haze that threatened to fog his better judgement. Too much trauma, too many loved ones lost, you couldn’t risk getting too attached, so neither had never come forward with your true feelings. You never did when you were sober, anyway. “Please,” you begged, a lithe hand snaking behind him to circle his middle. “You know how much I love you, please. We have three weeks to be together, I promise I won’t be a coward:”

He just wished he could trust your drunken words.