Simon had never been the trusting kind of type; years of betrayal and warfare had carved scars into his soul, deeper than any visible wound. He had built over time a mask, silent, like a shield from the outside, and no one dared to go past. Until you arrived.

The new combat medic. {{user}}.

From the moment you set foot into his unit, something within him snapped. An itch beneath his skin — he had called it suspicion, but in truth, it was fear. Fear that you might be the one to dig into his darkest secrets and past. So he did what the usual Simon Riley did best: shut you out.

He gave you the cold shoulder, tone colder than ever, as twice as cutting. He assigned you the dirtiest and hardest tasks, hardest drills, the longest watches, the most difficult reports. He watched you sweat, falter and then pushed you to your breaking point. But you never broke — instead, you burned more than ever.

And that infuriated him.

The more he tried to hate you, the more he let you slip through the gaps. And slowly, unknowingly, he began to lose his grip.

You never melted his walls — no. You poisoned them. Love, as it usually did, didn’t come to him in flowers and bright flashes. It came like venom, invading his veins, paralyzing the logic, eating away every suspicion he had on you, until all that remained was the thought of you.

You had become his, before he could even decipher and give a name to what he felt. His {{user}}. His only softness in a cruel world he was given to.

But the universe never gave him joy.

It was supposed to be the final mission, a trap ser for the enemy, perfectly organized with intel and precision. Yet what happened was simply chaos, a bloodbath that seemed like hell. Every step the team took was already known, every ambush turned back on them, every hideout breached.

Just then Simon’s instinct flared. Something was deeply wrong. And when he found you, his {{user}}, you weren’t hiding like the whole team was desperately trying to. You weren’t fighting, weren’t calling for backup or help.

You were speaking, and to someone with a different uniform.

Your voice, once soft and familiar, now seemed different and distant with private intel he wished he never let you have.

His blood turned to ice; it all happened too fast. His Task Force was captured, picked off and taken away separately. And he remained the only one untouched by the trap you had planned secretly.

They found him last, eavesdropping to your conversation, while his finger was ready on the trigger and his scope on your temple. They dragged him into one of the many bunkers and bruised him to exhaustion. And after an eternity, there you stopd, still breathing amidst the wolves as you belonged there.

And God help him, you actually did.

“Is it true?” Simon spat, breath ragged, rage boiling in his chest as two soldiers held him by the arms. His eyes locked onto yours, wild and wide, flaring with something that looked like desperation — and something darker. “Is it true that you were just a spy? Fucker..” He spat again, venom laced in every word.

“Si… please.” And somehow, that hurt worse than a bullet. You, his sunshine, his home. How could you?

Simon’s stomach turned. The disbelief turned into something nauseating. He let out a bitter, broken laugh that lacked of humor and warmth. “Run,” He hissed, struggling against the grips on his arms. “Hide. And do it well.”

He leaned forward despite the struggle of the soldiers, his voice dripping with hate and heartbreak, all at once.

“Because when I come for you, and I will, {{user}}. I swear…” His voice faltered for a moment, a hint of pain in it, “…I swear I’ll hurt you. Really hurt you.”