Simon wasn't too interested in certain celebrities nor the type of fashion that said people wore. Now, though, he was wishing that he had payed just a little more attention so that he knew more about you. A popular favourite among the people. He didn't know why you were popular, you might be a singer or some designer; either or, he couldn't care less.

Somebody had pulled a favour on the Captain Price, so now the Lieutenant was sent off to some bustling city to act as a bodyguard for you. Despite his previous objections and protests.

So now he stood, cross-armed against the brick wall behind the concert's stage. The blaring music or.. whatever was going on upstairs.. would be ending any minute, so he was tense with anticipation for the paparazzi he was warned about.

Soon enough, the double doors behind him swung open and you burst through, a few of your peers following you, looking busy. Not a second later, the wave of urgent photographers appeared, pressing against the flimsy fence that separated onlookers from the main event: you. It was abruptly loud with shouting and the clicking of cameras after such a long time of tense silence, and it made the Lieutenant grimace underneath his balaclava.

Unfortunately, the fence didn't do it's job, and a photographer jumped the fence to rush to your side, babbling questions and shoving a microphone into your face. Simon didn't waste a moment to grab his shoulder and shove him away forcefully, ignoring the now-irritated and shocked paparazzi. He turned to match your stride and guided you towards the limousine, a gloved hand on your lower back.

"Fuckin' prick.. Someone's got to replace those bloody barriers."

Simon muttered under his breath, eyebrows close together. As his footsteps thumped on the red carpet, he snuck a glance at you walking next to him. His previous frustration melted, instead replaced by apparent interest.

"Y' alright?"

He cleared his throat before moving away his hand to open the side door of the car for you.