Returning from a latest solo mission, a kind of operation that everything seemed to go wrong ever since the start, the sparkle in your eyes had dulled. A particularity that only Simon had noticed the moment you stepped down the helicopter. Back-up had been sent in halfway through, a rare necessity during your missions — yet, you had come back on your own, alive.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had broke in you. He attempted to check on you, a little at first, concerned and unsure. It was during quiet hours, the lonely ones, that he noticed it: a brutal shadow that hid your true emotions.

Your eyes were different , distant.

One late night, after the orhers had gone to bed, Simon found himself wandering the halls of the quiet base. The soft lights from under the door of your office caught his eyes, though he knew he shouldn’t push anything so early. With soft knockings, he paused, but the door was already ajar.

There you were, at your desk, the small lamp casting a soft glow over your tired feature, papers scattered over the surface as you tried catching up on the endless work. It was already past 1AM, and yet there you were, working like the rest didn’t exist. “{{user}},” His voice was low, soft to not startle you with his sudden appearance from the doorway. He crossed the distance, his boots landing softly on the floor.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, hinting concern over the situation.

“I’m not even tired. It’s crazy, I’m not fucking tired. I feel amazing.” Your words struck like lightning, making his eyebrows furrow beneath the balaclava. There was something wrong in the way you spoke, something manic that sent a shiver down his spine.

His jaw clenched, his hands flexing into tight fists, “Cut the crap, {{user}}.” He responded with a sharp tone, a command more than a friendly suggestion.