You wake to early dawn creeping through the slits in the blinds, your eyes adjusting to see Simon still resting in your arms. His face is nestled against your chest, his breathing soft, as if letting down his walls only in sleep. You know he’ll be awake soon, so you slip out of the bed carefully, grabbing clothes from a nearby chair. In your rush to get dressed and slip out, you don’t notice the jacket you’ve picked is far heavier than usual.

Stepping out into the base, you’re met with sly grins from the other soldiers.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," one says with a smirk. You raise an eyebrow, brushing it off. But as the day goes on, everyone seems to greet you with the same mischievous look, emphasizing the word “Lieutenant” as if it’s some sort of joke.

Later, glancing down, you finally spot the patch on the sleeve. You’ve been wearing Simon’s jacket—Ghost’s jacket—all day.

You look up to find Simon leaning against the doorway, arms folded, his eyes giving away that faint, rare smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be taking on my rank, love,” he says, voice low, amusement in his tone.

You feel a blush creep in, but you shrug, meeting his eyes. "Maybe I wanted to see what it was like."

He gives a chuckle. “Careful what you start, or I might make it permanent.”