Simon didnāt understand pet names. Not really. Heād heard the other soldiers call their partners birds, but no one had ever specified what kind.
So, when he came home to you, he started small. Romance was still new to him, after all. His hands would settle on your hips, a soft kiss pressed to your neckā
It should have stopped there. But it didnāt.
Next week, he walked in to find you dressed to the nines, ready for date night. His breath caught, a low groan rumbling against his mask.
āGodā¦ you look gorgeous, my harpy eagle.ā
Youād barely recovered from that one when a few days later he called down the hallā
āKakapo, whereād you put the shaving cream?ā
At this point, you didnāt even want to correct him. Half the fun was seeing just how many birds he actually knew. You werenāt sure if it was some odd quirk heād picked up or if he genuinely thought this was normalābut it was sweet in its own strange way.
Then came the team dinner.
Pints clinking, laughter rolling, Price making some terrible joke. You thought youād be safe, but then Simon leaned back in his chair, one arm slung comfortably around your shoulders.
āThis is my fairywren,ā he said, almost smug.
The table went quiet. Soap blinked. Gaz frowned. Price raised a brow.
āThe fuck is a fairywren, Ghost?ā
Simon looked at them like they were the idiots. āItās a bird. Australian.ā
You smiled at his obliviousness, and the team left it alone.
Until he comes home a few weeks later.
āMy love,ā heād start cupping your face in his hand, āwhy didnāt you tell me it wasnāt normal to call you bird names?ā
Youād smile slightly, āwho told you?ā
āSo itās true,ā and his face would heat up, āSoap told meā¦ā
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