The living room was awash in the warm glow of the Christmas tree, casting soft shadows over the walls and filling the room with a quiet, festive stillness. Snow had been drifting down outside for hours, and you’d made sure every light, every ornament, and every candle was perfectly placed to welcome Simon home.

Wearing a red Mrs. Claus dress, a little more daring than the classic holiday image, you settled yourself on the plush rug by the tree, surrounded by gifts in bright paper and ribbons. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his reaction; Simon was a quiet man, but you knew how to break through that cool, stoic front.

Finally, you heard the door open. His boots thudded softly as he walked in, the weight of the day lingering in his footsteps. Simon paused in the entryway, momentarily stunned by the sight of you, lounging under the twinkling tree lights. His gaze, usually so guarded, softened as he took you in, lingering over the playful red-and-white outfit that was as much a tease as it was a holiday costume.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare, quiet spark of amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t know Mrs. Claus was making house calls,” he murmured, voice low and gruff.

You grinned, patting the empty space beside you. "Merry Christmas, Simon," you whispered, eyes twinkling with warmth. "Thought you deserved a holiday surprise."

He stepped closer, every bit the silent, rugged soldier you knew so well, but tonight, his usual composure softened, and you saw something warmer and gentler settle over him.