best friend simon riley who you’ve known for over 20 years and suddenly when he thinks about you, the image in his head is anything but friendly.
he doesn’t know when it started. shit, it could’ve been there all along. but he was too deep in the grief of breaking up with his first love to ever notice.
she and him were great together until they both got complacent, said the wrong things at the wrong time, and things got rocky. she ended up breaking up with him to better her mental health and promised him that if she got better and still thought of him the same way, she’d come back.
and of course he waited for her while you stood at his side consoling him struggling to hold back your tears because why couldn’t he love you the way he loves her? when you realised she wasn’t coming back, you knew he wasn’t going to be okay for a long time.
you were selfless. you would take care of him to the best of your ability—watching over him as he cried and ranted about how he doesn’t understand, making sure he ate when he didn’t have the energy to, all of the things. over time, he got his past traumas figured out in therapy and was slowly moving on from her and he was different—in the best way.
best friend simon riley who now, fast forward to today, 10 years after the fact…
they say time changes things, but sitting across from you, he isn’t sure that’s true.
you’re still here. you’re still you. the same steady presence he’s leaned on for longer than he cares to admit. and somehow, despite everything, despite all the ways life could’ve chewed you up and spit you out, it never did.
“you’re staring,” you tease, stirring your iced coffee with your straw.
he blinks, caught. “am I?”
you nod, smirking. “yeah. something on my face?”
he could say no. could make a joke, brush it off, shift the moment before it settles too deep in his soul. that’s what he’s used to doing—compartmentalising, keeping things locked away because that’s what his job demands, that’s the man he’s become. you don’t let yourself need people when you know you could lose them.
but instead, he finds himself saying, “i’m just… thinking.”
“dangerous habit,” you quip, leaning back in the passanger seat of his car.
he chuckles, but it’s hollow—like his mind is too full to focus on anything but the weight of realization pressing down on him. because somewhere along the way, without even noticing, he’s fallen in love with you. not in the way he once thought he loved her, full of urgency and uncertainty, but something softer. steadier. a love that’s already rooted itself into the foundation of his life.
an: is this something chat