out on a cold sunday morning and older bf!simon gives you his jacket.
you know, the tactical one?
black, thick, union jack on the left sleeve, more pockets and zips than you can shake a stick at.
the one that smells unequivocally like him.
he puts it round your shoulders and you immediately wrap up in it. shit, you wouldn’t half mind a stake out in siberia if you had this on.
warm and surprisingly soft on the inside (like someone else you know)
simon refuses to let you give it back, even when his skin is visibly prickled with the cold. swears down that he’s just fine.
truthfully, he is.
he’d spend forever freezing his bollocks off if it meant seeing you with “L.t Riley” stitched over that big heart of yours.