Part Three of Where We Part
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Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader
At first, you could only blink, the cigarette dangling from your lips as his words settled over you like a slow, creeping dusk.
After all these years, standing in front of you, bigger, harder, and somehow even more distant than the boy you once thought you knew. It was like some cruel trick of fate, a cosmic joke that you werenโt sure you were ready to face.
You let out a surprised, awkward chuckle, but it caught somewhere between a giggle and a whimper. It sounded so awkward, so pitiful. Gosh, you acted ridiculous, like a bloody schoolgirl, but the alcohol had numbed the embarrassment.
You really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Simon Riley, standing outside a pub in Manchester like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like his entire life hadnโt been torn apart. Like he hadnโt disappeared from your life without so much as a word all those years ago. The laugh died in your throat, because there was something about the way he carried himself that told you he wasnโt here for a casual pint with old friends. Simon would never be here for something so trivial, so simple.
โYouโreโฆโ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat.
You wanted to ask where heโd been, why he was here, why he looked so different yet so familiar at the same time. But nothing coherent came out, just a jumble of thoughts, words and emotions that refused to form into sentences.
The last time youโd seen him, he was just a skinny boy.
Now, he was all sharp edges and quiet intensity. He was hard. Rough. Weathered. His face, a canvas of scars and hardship, told you that the years hadnโt been kind to him, but God, theyโd made him heartbreakingly handsome. His body, once lanky and hunched, was now huge and muscular, the kind of frame that spoke of power, discipline, and control. His scars, the faint lines etched around his eyes, the ruggedness of his faceโthey only added to the dark appeal that cloaked him like a shadow. And with those intense hazel eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets, he was the kind of man who turned heads, who commanded attention, and somehow, that was making your head spin more than the beer had.
You shook your head quickly, like a cat trying to shake off water, hoping to rid yourself of the thoughts creeping into your mind.
He didnโt smile. He didnโt offer any pleasantries. It was as though the years that had passed between you were an afterthought, insignificant compared to the weight of the heavy silence that lingered in the air now. You tried to find your footing in the forming conversation, your mind still struggling to keep up with the reality of him standing there, right in front of you.
โIโsorry, I just... didnโt recognise you,โ you stammered, your voice a bit too loud, too high-pitched in the quiet night. You took a nervous drag from your cigarette, stealing a glance at his face.ย โBloody hell, seems like you only pop up when Iโm tipsy.โ
You attempted a joke, your voice trembling slightly. It was weak, you knew that, but it was the only thing you could manage in the sudden tension of the moment. You flicked the cigarette nervously, watching the ashes scatter to the ground. Anything to stop yourself from looking directly at Simon, anything to break the intensity that had settled between you.
โNot intentional,โ he said simply.
โGosh, you look soโฆ different,โ you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasnโt a question, but a statement, an observation that felt far too obvious.
Simon tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze flicking over you, sizing you up with that same old intensity that made you feel like he could see straight through you.
โYou donโt,โ he said flatly, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot.
You snorted, rolling your eyes. โLiar.โ
Simonโs lips twitched, but it wasnโt quite a smile, more like a faint acknowledgment that heโd heard you. It was painfully obvious that he wasnโt going to indulge in any sort of nostalgia or humour. He was as closed off as ever. And yet, despite it all, despite the time and the layers of this strange silence between you, the weight of history between you was undeniable.
The warmth of the alcohol in your blood made it easier to stand there without fidgeting, but deep down, you were brimming with questions, confusion, a strange mix of anger and relief.
You couldnโt decide whether to yell at him for disappearing or thank him for being here.
โWhereโve you been?โ you finally asked, trying to sound casual, though the question felt like it was hanging heavy between you both, too loaded with unspoken things.
Simon let out a soft huff as if the answer was far too complicated to explain in the back alley of a pub. He didnโt want to talk about it, that much was clear. You desperately wanted to keep him there, to say something, anything, that might ease this strange reunion.
โYou justโฆ vanished,โ you pushed. โAfter everythin'.โ
His hazel eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, there was something thereโsomething raw and fragile beneath the stone mask he always wore. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by that cold, guarded look you had always known him for, even as a kid.
โHad to,โ he said, his voice dry as sand.
โThatโs it? You justโฆ had to?โ
He glanced away, the flickering light from a distant streetlamp casting long shadows across his scarred face. โDoes it matter?โ
His words hit you like a punch in the gut.
Did it matter? Was he mad? Of course it mattered.
How could it not? Youโd grown up together, after all. Youโd shared so much, more than either of you ever said aloud. His family buried, his house empty, no one knew where heโd gone. You had carried that silent burden with you for years, the burden of not knowing, letting it weigh down on your heart like a lead weight. But maybe that was the root of the problem. Maybe you had been holding on to something he had long since let go of. Maybe you were clinging to the memory of a boy who didnโt exist anymore.
You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to press him further.
This wasnโt the time or the place to dig into the past. Maybe not ever. Simon wasnโt the type to dwell on old wounds, and you knew that no matter how much you wanted answers, they werenโt going to come easily. Instead, you took a long drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs and dull the ache in your chest, watching the pale plume rise and disappear into the cold night air.
โSuppose it doesnโt,โ you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
Simon didnโt respond. As usual.
You both just stood there, cigarettes burning down to their stubs, and you couldnโt shake the feeling that the silence between you wasnโt just awkwardโit was something more. It was the echo of all the years that had slipped by without either of you being part of each otherโs lives. Fifteen years. You were different people now, shaped by other worlds, and yetโฆ here you were, standing in the same place, in the same city that had once been your entire universe.
Much to your surprise, Simon was the one to speak again.
โHowโve you been?โ he asked, the question almost noncommittal, but there was an edge to itโlike he wasnโt sure if he wanted to know the answer.
You hummed, looking down at the scuffed toe of your polished shoes, suddenly finding the concrete more interesting than his piercing gaze. A frown formed on your lips as you mulled over his question, not sure how to respond. There was something so absurd about it, but at the same time, something so normal about him asking how youโd been. Something that almost felt... wrong. As if you were supposed to have a neat little answer, a perfect summary of everything youโd done, achieved, or failed at since heโd vanished.
But you didnโt know what to say.
How could you compress the years, the loneliness, the small victories and large failures into one simple response? How could you even begin to explain everything youโd gone through, all while he was somewhere you couldnโt reach?
โUhm, dunno,โ you muttered, your voice full of bitterness you hadnโt meant to let slip. It sounded insignificant, just like how you felt in that momentโsmall compared to the towering presence of Simon Riley and whatever hell heโd walked through to get here. โWhat am I supposed to say to that?โ You laughed, but it was hollow, like you were trying to convince yourself that you found it funny.
Simon crossed his arms over his broad chest, deep in thought.
His cig hung loosely between his fingers, the glowing tip flickering like a beacon in the dark. His brow furrowed as if he were calculating something important, something far beyond the alleyway of a dingy Manchester pub.
And then, out of the blue, he asked something ridiculous.
โYou married? Got kids?โ
For a moment, you thought you misheard him.
It was such a normal question, one you might expect from an old friend or a distant relative. But coming from Simon it was jarring. Almost laughable. It didnโt match his rugged, military exterior at all.
You snorted, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
โNah,โ you said, shaking your head slightly. โNot even close. My fiancรฉ cheated on me with my roommate from uni, if you can fuckin' believe that. But that was years ago now. I havenโt really had anythin' serious since then.โ The chuckle that followed your statement was missing humour. You said it as casually as you could, but the old wound reopened just a little.ย
Simon didnโt respond immediately.
He didnโt flinch, didnโt offer pity or sympathy, but you saw something flicker in his eyesโan acknowledgement, perhaps. Maybe even some empathy, though it was hard to tell with him. He was never one to show his emotions easily, not even when you were kids.
โBastard,โ he hummed after a beat, the word falling from his lips with the same cold weight that had always been in his tone.
It wasnโt much, but somehow, it felt perfectly enough. Like in that single word, he had offered all the understanding you needed.
He took another long drag, exhaling slowly, smoke curling up into the air and disappearing into the night. The question had seemed so out of place, but maybe it wasnโt. Maybe it was his way of trying to understand what heโd missedโwhat had happened to you in all those fifteen years he was gone.
โWhat about you? Wife, kids?โ you asked, your voice softer now.
Somehow, you were afraid of what his answer might be.
โNo,โ his voice was flat, almost mechanical.
There was no trace of emotion, no elaboration.
Just a simple, cold statement of fact.
His gaze flicked briefly to you before settling somewhere off in the distance, like he couldnโt quite bear to look at you for too long. Then, the quiet between you stretched on again, thick, unyielding and undeniably familiar. The sounds of the city filtered in, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional shout from the pub, but here, in this small bubble of time, it felt like the world had fallen away. Like it was just the two of you, suspended in the remnants of a shared past that neither of you knew how to navigate anymore.
โI thought about you,โ you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with the confession. โA lot, actually. I wondered where you were. If you were alright. If you were even alive.โ
Simon shifted, his gaze fixed on the ground.
It was more than youโd expected from him. So you just nodded, unsure of what else to tell him. You stood there for a moment, your heart thudding in your chest at the weight of Simon's quiet apology. You werenโt sure what to say in return. It hung in the air between you, fragile and tentative, like a bridge over a chasm that neither of you were ready to cross. His eyes, once sharp and piercing, softened in the dim light, but he kept his gaze away from yours, as if looking directly at you would acknowledge the gravity of what youโd said. That you had thought about him. His broad shoulders shifted, his jacket rustling slightly, but he didnโt move away.
You felt a sudden tension in the pit of your stomach.
The kind that comes when youโve said something too vulnerable, too real, something that canโt be taken back. Therefore, you took a deep breath and decided to shift the conversation, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had settled thickly between you both.
โSo, youโre still in the military?โ
You flicked the last of your cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with your shoe. He nodded, but didnโt elaborate, his face unreadable in the shadowy light of the pubโs back alley.
โOn leave?โ you hoped to get something, anything, from him.
โYeah,โ Simon replied curtly, his voice rough and clipped.
He ignored the question that still hung in the air: why here?
You licked your lips nervously, wondering if you should keep going or let the conversation fizzle out. But there was something in the air tonight, something that made you feel like you had to at least try. This wasnโt just some coincidence, was it? Seeing Simon again after all these years felt too significant to let it slip away without trying to make sense of it.
โWhere do you live now?โ
For a second, he hesitated, tapping his lips with his cigarette, clearly weighing whether or not to answer you. His gaze flickered to the side, his brow furrowed in thought, and then, finally, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said, โGot a flat in London.โ
London. The city you both now called home.
Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. The vast city suddenly felt much smaller. He was so close, yet heโd been so far from your life for all these years.
โWell,โ you scratched your neck, unsure how to approach the next part. โYou could visit me sometime. You know, when youโre on leave. Iโm not far, really. We couldโฆ catch up.โ
It was a clumsy invitation, but it was genuine.
Despite the awkwardness between you, you wanted him to know that he wasnโt alone. That even after all this time, you were still here.
Simon didnโt react at first. He stood there, arms crossed, his still frame making it seem like he was wrestling with something deep inside. You werenโt sure if heโd refuse, brush off the offer like it meant nothing, but he didnโt. The silence stretched on, but then he shifted again, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
โMaybe,โ he muttered, his tone giving nothing away.
It wasnโt a yes. But it wasnโt a no either.ย
His next question, though, caught you off guard.
โHowโs your parents?โ
You hadnโt expected him to ask about your family. Your parents were never nice to him. But something in the way he asked, in the way his voice softened ever so slightly, as though asking about something more human softened the edges of his tough exterior, and that made you realise that maybe he hadnโt forgotten everything from your childhood. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared, in his own distant way.
โTheyโre good, well, as good as can be, I suppose. They moved to London a few years back, actually. After my dad was diagnosed with cancer.โ
The words felt heavy, even though youโd gotten used to saying them. It had been years since the diagnosis, but the weight of it never really faded. It was always there, lingering in the background, a reminder of time slipping away. His expression didnโt change much, but there was a shift in his postureโa slight drop of the shoulders, a softening of the jaw. It was subtle, but you saw it. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot with a sharp scoff, a sound that was more resigned than dismissive.
You pushed yourself away from the wall, the sudden anxiety making your pulse quicken.
โLeavinโ?โ the question spilled out before you could stop it.
The fear of him slipping away again, without any warning, without a trace, gnawed at you.
You immediately felt heat creeping up your neck, embarrassment flashing across your face. Why did you care so much? Why did you sound so desperate? You pursed your lips, trying to gather the frayed edges of your dignity, feeling a bit foolish for asking.
Simon looked at you, raising an eyebrow as if youโd just asked something utterly daft. His expression didnโt change much, but there was a glimmer of something, amusement, perhaps, in his eyes. โNo,โ he muttered, resting his now free hands in his pockets. โNot yet.โ
The relief you felt was almost palpable.
You bit your lip, feeling foolish for jumping to conclusions, for thinking heโd just disappear again without a word. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart, grateful that he wasnโt about to walk away just yet. There was still time. Time to say whatever it was that needed saying, even if you didnโt quite know what that was yet. You watched him carefully, still half expecting him to turn and leave despite his assurance.
The years had taught you not to rely too much on anything.
The autumn wind picked up, sending a sudden chill through the alleyway, but neither of you moved. This whole charade, the whole small talk felt like a delicate danceโone wrong step and it could all come crashing down, leaving the silence too much to bear.
โThought youโd be married by now,โ Simon said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet.
You blinked, startled by the sudden statement.
Pouting a bit, you looked up at him, feigning offence. โCanโt tell if thatโs an insult or a compliment, mate.โ
He shrugged, tilting his head to the side, and for a moment, the faint shadow of a smirk played on his lips, barely noticeable. He looked at you, not just a glance, but a slow, measured observation, like he was trying to piece together who you had become after all these years.
You found yourself doing the same.
When you first saw him that night, standing in the dark, your reaction had been immediate. You were drawn to him. Not just because of the memories you shared or the ghost of the boy you once knew, but because of him, the man he had become. The raw, rugged power he exuded. It stirred something deep in you, something that made you feel small and breathless in his presence.
What did he see when he looked at you? Did he think youโd aged poorly? Did he think you looked tired, worn out by the years? Or did he see the remnants of the girl you used to be, the one who had laughed too loudly and dreamt too big?
โWhy did you say that?โ
โFigured youโd have that all sorted by now. You always talked about it.โ
You blinked, momentarily thrown by his response.
Of course, he remembered. He always had a knack for remembering the things that mattered most to you, even when you hadnโt realised how much they mattered to yourself. You had talked about marriage that much, hadnโt you? About the picture perfect life you imagined for yourself. A house, a garden, a familyโsimple dreams that felt so far away now.
โYeah, true. At one point, all I could dream about was that,โ you confessed, your voice quiet, almost lost to the night. โPerfect house, perfect family... maybe a couple of dogs runninโ around in my perfect bloody garden. I thought I had it all mapped out when I left, likeโฆ you know, everythinโ would just fall into place once I started my life in London.โ You smiled faintly, but there was no happiness in it, only a soft, sad acceptance. โBut it didnโt. None of it did.โ
The confession felt surreal, especially with Simon standing there, his presence almost too big, too solid for such vulnerable words. But at the same time, there was something comforting about it, knowing that he wouldnโt judge. Simon had never been one for meaningless platitudes or false reassurances. If anything, his silence, his mere presence, felt like the only kind of understanding you needed.
You could feel his hazel eyes on you, heavy and contemplative, as though he was waiting for you to continue. And suddenly, you wanted to. The words spilled out, unfiltered, like they had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for far too long.
โNow? I dunno. Now Iโm just happy if my parents are healthy. If Iโm healthy. Iโm not really thinkinโ about love anymore. Not like I used to, at least. When youโre young, you think youโve got all the time in the world. You think everythinโs just gonna... work out. But then life happens. Things change. People leave.โ
Simon's jaw tightened just a fraction, as if the truth of what youโd said had hit closer to home than heโd care to admit. You wondered if he thought about those years like the way you didโif he ever looked back and felt the same sense of loss that gnawed at you every time you remembered the way things used to be.
โYou can still have that,โ he muttered, his voice low, almost gruff. The words felt heavy, like they carried the weight of more than just an offhand comment. โIf that's what you truly want.โ
A sharp pang hit your chest, not from the words themselves but from the rawness of them. It was the sort of thing people say when they donโt know what else to offerโwhen theyโre too afraid to dig deeper, but they can see the cracks in your carefully maintained faรงade.
You werenโt sure if he meant it to be comforting, but it didnโt land that way. Instead, it just scraped against the edges of something you didnโt want to acknowledge.
Without thinking, you reached into the pocket of your jacket and fished out your cigarettes, suddenly needing something to do with your hands, something to break the intensity of the moment. You tapped the pack against your palm before offering it to him. He looked at it, hesitating for a moment before shaking his head.
โMaybe once,โ you mumbled, trying to play it off like the subject didnโt sting as much as it did. โBut not really anymore. Iโm too old for that shit. That shipโs sailed, Si.โ
Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on, the small flame illuminating his roughened features in the dim light as he leaned toward you. You cupped your hand around the flame, lighting your cigarette. He watched you closely as you took a drag, his eyes following the trail of smoke as it curled upwards into the cold night air.
โYouโre not old,โ the tone in his voice was oddly serious, almost reprimanding, as if he was annoyed at your self-deprecation.
You snorted, a dry laugh escaping your lips, smoke swirling around your face. โYou should tell that to my back,โ you joked, shaking your head. โSome mornings, I feel ancient.โ
Simon didnโt pick up on your sarcasm. He fixed you with a look, his brow furrowed, as if he was thinking back to something. โMaybe you didnโt take my advice last time we talked.โ
You stilled at his words, as his reference hit home.
You knew what he was talking about.
That summer night, fifteen years ago, when youโd left him standing under the rose bush in your parentsโ garden. Heโd told you to live your life, to move on. And you had, for the most part. But now, standing here with him again, you wondered if you had truly moved on, or if some part of you had been stuck in that moment ever since.
You felt a sudden ache, a strange emptiness you hadnโt realised was still there, like a flower wilting under the weight of its own bloom. You looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, feeling the years press down on you like the world had shifted beneath your feet.
You let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling small in his presence. โYeah, maybe I didnโt.โ
You hadnโt taken his advice. Youโd spent too long waiting, too long caught up in the idea of what could have been, of what should have been. And now, here you were, standing in the same city, still trying to figure out what your life was supposed to look like.
Simon pushed himself off the wall, straightening up, his large frame suddenly seeming even taller, more imposing. His movements were deliberate, but not rushed, as though he had made up his mind about something. Your cigarette hung loosely between your fingers, long forgotten, as you watched him, your heart sinking as you realised he was preparing to leave.
โFind the happiness you deserve.โ
It wasnโt a command, but it wasnโt a casual suggestion either.
This time, you didnโt mock him. You didnโt roll your eyes or laugh it off, like you had fifteen years ago. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, lowering your gaze to the ground. You werenโt sure if you could say anything to that. What was there to say?
Before you could fully gather your thoughts, Simon stepped forward, and suddenly, he was standing much closer to you than before, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.ย Your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching in your throat as you instinctively looked up at him. His presence was overwhelming and it made your pulse quicken in a way you hadnโt expected. The air seemed to freeze around you both, suspended in that moment.
He didnโt say anything, he just watched you, his hazel eyes studying your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. His gaze roamed over your features, and for the first time that night, you felt truly exposed under the weight of his attention.
Then, without warning, Simonโs hand came up, and his fingers gently grasped your chin. The touch was firm, but not harsh, guiding your face up toward him, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. You felt the cigarette slip from your fingers as you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden closeness, the unexpected touch. What was he doing? What was he thinking? The warmth of his hand on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Simonโs gaze remained fixed on yours, his calloused fingers still holding your chin in place, as though he wanted to see you clearly, perhaps for the first time in years. You didnโt dare move, didnโt dare breathe, afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment this was. The world around you faded into the backgroundโthe pub, the noise, the cold. None of it mattered. Only him, only this moment, suspended between the past and the present.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.
Simon released you, his hand falling back to his side, and he stepped away.
โIโll visit,โ he promised, his voice calm, almost casual, as if nothing had happened at all. The distance between you felt sudden, leaving you dumbfounded and your cheeks burning hot red. He turned away from you this time, his broad back blocking out the rest of the alley as he moved to leave. โIf Iโm in London again.โ
You blinked, still trying to process everything that had just happened.
The impact of his intoxicating presence, the way his warm touch lingered on your blushed skin, the way his words seemed to hang in the air long after heโd spoken them, like a secret. The whole situation, the proximity, the way he had touched you, the idea that Simon Riley might actually show up again, left you reeling.
Maybe this wasnโt just a fleeting reunion. Maybe it wasnโt just a chance encounter. There was something more to this, something unspoken but undeniably real.
โYeah,โ you breathed, not sure if he heard you. โIโd like that.โ
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.
Originally, I planned to end this story after the first chapter, but the kindness and encouragement in the comments have inspired me to keep going. Now, the story feels incomplete, like there's more left to explore. Iโm considering turning this into a short series, with one or two more parts to make it feel whole. Thank you for your comments and supportโI really enjoy talking with all of you!
