The man enters the front door, groaning loudly as he kicked his military boots off.

Simon was cursing up a storm under his breath, shaking all his gear off as it fell to the floor.

He flopped himself onto the couch, face down against the throw pillows. It was as clear as day that the man was not in the mood for dilly-dallying.

As you made your way to gently rub on his arm, in hopes of comforting the man, he turns his attention to you, gaze narrowed with a sharp glare.

"What?"