You’re halfway through folding laundry when Simon strolls into the bedroom like he hasn’t just done something completely insane.

He’s unusually quiet—no tactical boots thudding against the floor, no sarcastic quip on his lips. Just that faint, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. The kind that spells trouble. The kind that makes your stomach flip.

You arch a brow. “What’d you do?”

Simon shrugs one shoulder. “Might’ve gotten somethin’ done today.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t buy another motorcycle, did you?”

He snorts. “No. Not this time.”

You set the shirt down. “Simon…”

He drags his hand down his face, clearly trying to stifle a grin, and walks over to the edge of the bed. “Right, so. I may have gone to that place in Camden. Y’know, the one with all the tattoo and piercing stuff.”

You stare at him.

Then you blink.

“…What did you get pierced?”

His ears? No, you’d have seen that. His eyebrow? Nope. You squint at his face again like you might’ve missed it.

He’s enjoying this. Far too much.

“Don’t freak out,” he says slowly, “but I got a Jacob’s Ladder.”