Curate, connect, and discover
I know I'm (very) late, I just forgot how to write and lost any and all motivation for a lil while.
Warnings!: Fluffy fluff, sickeningly soft. Polyamory and awkward conversations. If you want a song for mood, "luther" by Kendrick Lamar and SZA is what I was listening for the entirety of writing this.
Nightmares are common among people of your station.
The SAS is no easy place to be, and sometimes... viciousness is a gruesome requirement of work.
That being said, the fear is a good reminder. The breaths you swallow, greedy for air and sweating a little, remind you that you are human. You are a being of feeling, despite what you've done.
What you feel is not fear. For a few moments, it is a blind panic, but that settles quickly. No, what overtakes you after is a mild annoyance with your mind's need to pull a fast one on you mid-sleep.
"That was just unnecessary, really."
You speak into the comfortable darkness of your small room, hearing your own voice crack as it warms back to life again.
Music smoothes your nerves over as you pull yourself up and our of bed, into the kitchen to fill a cup of water and sip it.
You know you're not alone long before Simon steps in, and you still.
Right as he crosses the barrier, you speak.
"Hey, Lt."
He doesn't flinch, but you grin as you hear his breath catch in his throat, followed narrowly by a grumble.
"You."
He croaks back, a little too fond in the voice to be normal. This means one of two things: He had a really bad nightmare, or you'll have to deal with the rain of fire and the end of days.
The way you tilt your head when you look at him, curious in the same way as one of those parrots that just won't shut up makes Simon chuckle to himself.
God, he has a type. Dammit.
"Got a question?"
He asks, stealing the glass with your water before taking a sip, and then another, smirking to himself as you sputter with a tamed, playful sort of indignation.
"Most of them are why you're so fond o' stealin' my shit."
If you only know what you've stolen from him. You'd die of embarrassment.
"S' alright. I can pay you back."
Your eyebrow raises, but Simon reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants to produce a small trinket for you. It's a simple puzzle, the sort he's seen you collecting for months now.
Five aluminum parts, unassembled.
He doesn't even let you see how they should fit together. Gives you the challenge.
"Why?"
He shrugs, taking one more sip of your water before setting it back down, finding his voice more functional than it usually is in the mornings.
"Check the calendar, I'm going back to sleep."
"Sure."
You're a little too focused on the metallic pieces to check immediately, and you hear Simon padding off as you rotate two in just the right way, slotting them together with a gratifying click.
You realize what day it is right as his door quietly shuts somewhere down the hall.
Oh.
Fuck.