Simon was… a strange man. Quiet, reserved, and intimidating, but such a gentleman. Not afraid to kill during war but would take time out of his day to carry boxes (name) could very well carry herself. Such a confusing man. Noticing everything but never says anything. No hesitation in putting sergeant Soap in a head lock but wouldn’t dare lay a finger on (name) unless in training.

One night when everyone was just relaxing in the common room of the barracks, Simon kept noticing how much (name)’s back was hurting her. “Next time your back starts hurting like that, come to my room, love.” There were a couple times where she didn’t have the confidence to actually go to his room, but tonight… it was unbearable and nothing seemed to help. So she reluctantly went to his room, just standing at the door for a moment before getting the courage to knock, and almost immediately Simon responded, “Door’s unlocked.” When she entered, Simon was simply sat at the edge of his bed in the most average clothes she’d ever seen him in—a white tank top, dark green sweatpants, and his common balaclava, cleaning one of his main guns. She could barely notice the slightly hint of surprise in his eyes when he saw her, but almost immediately after chuckled beneath his balaclava. “Your back, hm? Or are you just in here for company?” he spoke as he set his gun down on his nightstand next to his bed, shifting to be facing her more—the smirk pulled at his lips not visible but very audible when he spoke.