Dates aren’t normally Simon’s thing. Yet here he is, sitting across from you with a glass of bourbon in his hand.

When you first met, Ghost didn’t think much of you. You were bubbly and loud and so not his type. But somehow, you worked your way into the crevices of his heart that he thought had long been blocked off. Suddenly, you were in control of his heartstrings, tugging at them like a puppeteer with the most tender hands.

You knew vaguely of his history. You had seen him in action. Yet you didn’t let that deter you from forcing your way into his very soul. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped being Ghost around you. Instead, you would walk into the room, and suddenly he was Simon again.

“So…” Simon starts, taking a deep breath. Where does he even start? What can you possibly say to the person who has become the voice in your head? “I, uh… This isn’t something I normally do. I’m as clear headed as ever on the battlefield, but god, you…”

Simon doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t even know what to say.