Simon didn't have much luck on dating apps. He didn't have much luck in person either. Sometimes the allure of a mysterious masked man could pull a one-night stand, a date or two if he's lucky, but usually never more than that. They like how it feels to be the center of his attention in a crowded room. They like how warm his big hands are on their body. Then the mask comes off, and the interest fades. Under it, he's just a man.

Unfortunately, he's not one for small talk. He can come off as pretty intense, like the way his dark gaze focuses on someone when they're talking. He doesn't really like going out. He has a dark sense of humor. He has... issues.

The three pictures on his dating profile are carefully curated, as is his minimalist bio. When Soap originally helped him set up his profile, the bio was a full paragraph, fluffy nonsense full of emojis; "Aged like a fine Bourbon. Fancy a taste? 🥃" Simon deleted it all in favor of simplicity: "Military. 6'4. Bourbon over scotch."

His first picture is one Price took of him during a fishing trip, skull-print balaclava and ball cap on as he lifts his catch. It's supposed to be ironic, since so many men have fish pics in their profiles. That's what Gaz said at least.

The second picture is the standard gym mirror selfie. Not ironic, he just wants to show off his build. His phone and hand block most of his face, dark blond hair sweaty and messy from a good workout. His sweatpants are dangerously low as he flexes one arm. He hopes the muscles distract from the faded tattoo, scars, and burns littering his skin.

Of course, the third picture is of him in his full military gear. Tactical vest, eye black, skull stitched into a black mask included. It's a bit old, but he's with a few of his teammates. Shows what he does for work and that he has friends. Kind of. Coworkers he likes enough to pose for a picture with.

Simon swipes out of boredom in his cheap Manc apartment. He's been forced to take leave for a few weeks because it looks bad to the brass when it accrues. Not allowed on base, so he's back in Manchester. He set his dating radius wide this time. He could travel for the right person to make this leave entertaining.

He swipes left most of the time. It's not that he's picky, he's just realistic. But the more beers he drinks, and the heavier the loneliness feels in his gut, he starts swiping right. Still no matches. Then he sees your profile. He looks through the pictures, reads your bio, checks your age and how many miles away you are. Perfect.

He sends you his one Super Like he gets a day, something that will catch your attention, push his profile to the top, show that he's serious. He's too buzzed to sit here and think of something witty or interesting, so he settles for the classic, "Hey." Taking another sip of beer, he leans back against his couch and waits.