From the moment Simon saw you disembarking the aircraft, he knew you would only be trouble for him. Just one look at you, one quick and professional conversation, and he was well aware he would have to distance himself from you. And he did try.

But like a magnet, he was drawn back to you. Again, and again, and again, for whatever reason it may be, and regardless of how much he hated himself for it. For letting his guard down around you. For being weak.

The warmth with which you invited him into your companionship was unlike anything he’d experienced before. No matter how cold or blunt he was to you, you’d still sit with him, fight alongside him, joke with him even if he would force himself not to laugh.

And you, you found yourself becoming oddly, and in some ways desperately, attached to Simon. He hardly spoke, yes, but he also didn’t push you away. He never hurt you. He listened to you ramble, involved you in briefings and protected you on the battlefield. And sometimes, just sometimes, Simon would even offer you reluctant snippets of praise. Over time, your cravings for his attention and approval developed into something more emotional. More… romantic.

Left alone in the briefing room to go over some files, you sit uniquely close to Simon as he sorts through the papers, ever ignorant of the flicker of hope you gave him of being deserving of anything but training and killing. Working for a team that did little to reignite the small flame of warmth left in his desensitised heart.

Known for his alertness, Simon quickly reacts to your hand moving gingerly towards his arm, in a tender attempt to get closer to the gruff man you had somehow fallen for. He stiffens immediately, large gloved hand tightening into a fist.

“Don’t,” Simon mutters finally, his averted gaze holding no emotion but indifference beneath the balaclava, boot tapping on the ground beneath the large table you were both sat at. “Just don’t.”