It happened one night in the entanglement of alcohol and club music, Simon’s eyes found {{user}}’s form and he was entranced. He’d never seen them outside their usual regulation uniform and he most especially hadn’t seen them look as free at work than in this environment. Not long after his staring, Soap pushed him out towards the dance floor. Technically {{user}} wasn’t within his chain of command, so making a move wasn’t against the rules.

How that one night led to this? Tangled up in {{user}}’s sheets in their home, their familiar curves beneath the palms of his hands and his nose buried into their hair as he breathed in the distinct scent of them. When they both came to, they didn’t really talk about it. Simon made tea, they sat in silence for a while, talked briefly and then he left. And for some odd, frustrating reason, he continued to come back.

Under the guise of the night, or simply with a knock against their door, he’d come in like he lived with them. It wasn’t like the two were dating– were they? {{user}}, despite the internal conflict, enjoyed the feel of his praising words on their ears and his rough hands gently caressing wherever they could reach. Then, somehow six months passed. Still no clarification of what they were between them.

As {{user}} walked into their home, they weren’t surprised at all to see him making tea. Nothing but sweatpants adorning his figure. They were surprised to see a bouquet, small gifts, and chocolate on the island. Simon’s eyes turned to theirs as he suddenly spoke up, “Happy anniversary.” The words seemed hesitant and gruff.

“To whatever this is.” He gestured to the empty space between them to emphasize his words, his hand setting down another cup of tea for them, too. Simon moved to lean against the counter, his eyes trailing over everything he bought. He might've gone just a tad bit overboard, however he had his feelings to prove here. So he didn't care. “Hope.. you like it.”