Simon doesn’t like touch, and no one dares touches him. His history of sexual assault also meant he’s never pursued anything healthy sexual relations, and that’s fine with him. He doesn’t care.
So when he sees you and something urges him to ask you out, he doesn’t care that you say you’re waiting for marriage. I think it makes him feel safe with you, that you wouldn’t try to initiate anything with him.
But you’re also a very affectionate person, at least not so much in the beginning but throughout the months of dating him, he notices the way you subtly press closer. Especially after a hard day and you want to be comforted. You don’t push it, you know it’d push him away.
But then the one time you’d rather just be on your own, frustrated and mad, you come home surprised he’s there. You bump into him, “Sorry.”
And you’re changing out of your work clothes and into running clothes.
“It’s dark.” He states.
“Then come with.” And he does.
———
When you get home you shower first, before he showers, and you’re already in an old men’s shirt and shorts, bare feet padding around your house.
“Why are you with me?”
“I like you.”
“Are you sure? You don’t even hug me, or, or, hold my hand, kiss my cheek?” You say softly, stuttering from the emotions.
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you, to want to. Simon, not cause I want it, because you want to do it.”
He’s silent, which isn’t unusual, but he nods, looking down at you.
“I’ve never kissed anyone.” He admits. You sit on the kitchen counter, motioning him to come closer, he does.
His eyes crinkles, as he returns the gesture.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.” He leans in tilting his head and you lean in, hands in your lap, trying not to scare him off.
“You can put your hands on me.” You look surprised and smile bashfully, hands on his shoulders, he kisses you softly. When he pulls away he asks, “Can I hug you?”
“Yes.” He’s pressing himself into you, arms gingerly holding you. “Something happen?”
“Jus’ missed you.” He buries his head in your neck, his stubble tickling you.
simon was anxious to show you what his face was. he swore to himself the next time he opened himself to someone would be during his autopsy. until he met you.
you changed everything. his whole life began to revolve around you. he adored you. he constantly worried if you felt the same. simon’s a confident man, he wasn’t ugly - far from it, but he worried about what taking off the mask symbolized.
late at night, you two stayed up in bed, talking mindlessly. simon had promised to show you his face tonight. you waited patiently for him. you knew that no matter what simon looked like, you would love him.
as the conversation dulled, simon took a deep breath and silently slipped off the mask. you stared at his face in pure awe and adoration. he was perfect to you.
immediately, you nuzzled your nose against his, pressing your lips onto his, savoring the taste and feel of his lips. simon drew your body closer to him.
as you pulled away, you don’t know when you teared up, you babbled your next words, “si..”
“yes, lovie?” he whispered.
“i never would’ve guessed you were blonde,” you choked out through tears.
simon simply chuckled in response, kissing you once again.
i’ve studied and practiced my english for YEARS and NO ONE told me gargled was not a term for speaking. /nm
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