"I'd love to," he responds, staring happily at the exterior, imagining romantic strolls in the garden at night. He knows how silly his imagination is being, as silly as his emotions, but he can't help it. He's happy, elated, on cloud nine and other synonyms. He's outdoors on an Earth he can breathe in and smell. Milliways couldn't replicate the air and the scent of the Earth. It always felt a little fake to him no matter how realistic it seemed. But this was home, or a home. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he could almost imagine a Sandford some distance away on this ground he stood on. If he only went far enough he could see it, smell it, breath it--

His face was turned up towards the sky. His grin turns bittersweet. He lowers his head, opening his eyes, staring down at the ground. He shakes his head. He's being silly, that's what.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, his smile fading into a thoughtful, mournful expression. Because he's a fake, that's what. The world is real, the air is real, but his breath is an artifice. He suddenly feels cheated. Why was he given a corporeal body? He would've had a better time living as a ghost. He wouldn't have felt any false sense of hope as a ghost: he'd know exactly what he was. Dead. Not pretending to be alive.

When Simon closes his eyes again, it's not to express bliss. Far from it.