Simon and you had been meeting regularly for several months. No one knew, or at least that's what you thought. Your relationship — if you could call it that — was everything it shouldn't be. A lieutenant sleeping with his subordinate, many years his junior, in the middle of the barracks... It was unacceptable. And you both knew it. That's why every touch was quick, restrained, furtive. And that's why it hurt so much when it came to an end. Simon buttoned his shirt silently, with his back to the bed. His movements were automatic, methodical, like everything else about him. But that night, something was holding him back. His fingers took longer than usual. It was as if part of him didn't want to finish getting dressed. You were still in bed, completely naked. The sheets covered you only halfway, revealing part of your back and the tops of your legs. You were lying face down, propped up on your elbows, your hair tousled and your neck marked with hickies and a few bites that he didn't even remember giving you. Or maybe he did. Everything became confusing after touching you. "Can't you really stay the night... or just stay?" you asked bluntly, your voice hoarse with desire and exhaustion. He closed his eyes for a second. Just one. Then he looked back at his boots in the corner. "You know I can't sleep here... it would be problematic if we were discovered, it's not right." The answer was predictable. He always said the same thing. But it hurt you all the same. "What if, just this once, we stop doing the right thing?" Simon turned slightly, his face hard, but his eyes softened when he saw you. God... how had it ended up like this? You weren't just a body under the sheets. He knew that. And that's why it was all more complicated. Because if it were just desire, you would have left him already. But it wasn't. "It's not about doing the right thing," he replied, lowering his voice. "It's about taking care of you. If anyone finds out... I could lose everything. And so could you.""Then what is this?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "Is taking care of me leaving as soon as it's over? Is taking care of me making me feel like a secret you're ashamed of?" He felt the blow to his chest. He hid it as best he could, but he didn't respond immediately. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back tense, his hands hanging between his knees. "It's not shame. It's fear." Simon leaned toward you and, for a moment, kissed you on the forehead. His hand caressed your back gently, as if afraid of breaking you. "I want to stay. Every damn day. But I can't." And then he got up. He put on his boots, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and walked toward the door.