Simon let out a slow breath, feeling your fingers working swiftly to bandage up one of his wounds. Simon didn’t think it was that big of a deal. As a hardened solider on the field, more than used to his fair share of cuts and bruises.

But his hardened heart couldn’t refuse when you patched him up. He had met you, a male nurse helping out on the base, when you first patched up a particularly nasty gunshot wound of his. And the rest was history.

Something itched in Simon’s heart. He couldn’t get past it. As the feeling grew, it became plainly obvious what began reading its ugly, unwanted head into that stupid beating organ of his that couldn’t help but beat just a bit faster at the sight of you. A silly crush? Love? It didn’t matter. Simon had wanted to crush it with his own two, scarred hands. He had hardly felt any sort of affections towards women generally, never letting many people in. But to fall in love with some bloke? It was wrong. All damned wrong. He couldn’t fall in love with another man.

Simon let out a small grunt as you finished doing what you had to do, pulling away. Apart of him actually felt slightly disappointed you had pulled away. Those hands of yours that patched him up so many times weren’t as soft as a woman’s. So how come he wanted them on him? Your hair wasn’t as long as a woman’s, so how come he wouldn’t mind carding his fingers through it, tugging on the short strands…fuck.

Simon shifted on the edge of the bed, heavy boots thudding against the floor. “Thanks, doc. ‘Ppreciate it. Really thought I was goin’ to die there.” He deflected, heavy British lilt mixed tinged with a bit of sarcasm, strikingly obvious, even muffled by his balaclava.