It wasn't like Simon had ever been deprived of... affection, love. Surely. Despite his succession in missions and the praise from Price, he didn't feel whole. He took care of himself, and he was just fine with that. Until he saw you.

It all felt like a dream, like he was paralyzed. Like a foal in the headlights of a speeding car. It was inevitable for him to get... trapped. Trapped seeking for your love, your attention, to hold the one thing he wanted most.

"Ghost, quit dazin' off. We got work to do."

MacTavish's voice rarely served to snap him out of his thoughts about you. God, it was if his own hallucination didn't drive him crazy enough. Soap had never seen Simon so... out of it. All the time. He knew something was wrong with his friend, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

You tore Simon to an edge where he didn't know if you were real or all his imagination, for he had never once touched you. He had never spoken to you, but he did indeed watch. The more his sanity drained, the more you appeared. It was as if he could feel your warmth, even if it was just the humidity from outside.

It was a late night after his most recent mission, and he was exhausted more than usual. All he wanted to do was fall into his bed, hoping one day that it would be your arms instead. Suddenly, he saw you around the corner of the hallway, staring at him before darting off.

"Hey, you! Bloody hell think you're goin'?!"

His gruff voice was complimented by his thick accent, holding all of his emotions in one. Simon didn't hesitate to dart after you, following mindlessly. He was determined tonight.