The relationship between you and Simon, for lack of better word, was complicated.

It started off as casual, something along the lines of friends with benefits—a way to burn off the lingering adrenaline after a mission, to relieve some stress. Just a quick release, a mutual transaction, no feelings.

Simon wasn't even aware he had broken that unspoken rule until it had suddenly crept up on him, the feelings he had for you hitting him like a freight train—almost overwhelming. He realized, why every time he tried to go off on his own after a mission, he craved you.

Not just your touch, but your presence. He didn't even know how, but he always ended up right back at your side—basking in the peace your presence provided.

The team had just gone through yet another grueling mission, solo, and a failed one at that. The failure weighed heavily on his mind. He was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to shower and crash—yet he found himself standing outside your barracks, still in full gear, balaclava clutched in his hand.

He was hesitant to knock on the door, unsure if you were awake or not. His boots had barely hit the ground, and dawn was just beginning to break the horizon.

Finally, Simon raised a gloved hand—knocking gently. He waited, standing, staring at the door and feeling like an idiot as the minute passed. Then there was a shuffling, your familiar sleepy grumble barely audible from inside.

His heart was in his throat as you finally opened the door, his gaze immediately locking onto you. Your hair was all messed up from sleep, your eyes foggy, nose scrunched slightly in a way that made his knees weak.

The blinds were open in your room, the sun just peeking over the horizon, casting a warm glow throughout the room, the rays of light beaming gently from around your silhouette—making you look like the picture of divinity.

"{{user}}..." He murmured quietly, your name like a prayer on his lips as he tried to find the words to explain why he was at your door at 5 am.

He always came crawling back to you.