He was an odd one, that soldier.

He’d come in, order a drink or two and then move off to a secluded corner and stay there. Any time you’d visit the bar, you’d see him. It was creepy in a way, but it also intrigued you. You’d spend a good portion of your time at the bar making subtle glances at the man, and would barely touch your drink.

It had seemed that he’d notice, he’s a soldier, of course he would. He’d return the glance almost every time and would make you snap your head forwards or stare at your drink. It amused him. The only movement he’d give away of that is the subtle shake of his shoulders or shaking his head.

—

Over time, the man gradually began to find seats that weren’t so secluded, and seats that were near you. Until one day, he joined you at your table, which had you spiraling with confusion. Your eyes locked together, and no one said a word for a moment before he spoke up with a deep, but soothing voice.

“Simon.”

“What?” You quickly blurt out, brows furrowing as you tried to wrap your head around that this mysterious soldier was now sitting down with you and speaking.

“Simon, my name's Simon.” He repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone as he stared at you. Now that he was closer you could see that he had a surgical mask that hung low on his nose. After a moment of staring, you quickly snapped your self out of the gaze and your ears tinted in embarrassment.

“{{user}},”