stop the world i wanna get off with you
as an neurodivergent person the number one thing about being neurodivergent to me is that nine times out of ten you will not be a big fan of most other neurodivergent people so when you and simon’s undiagnosed asses simply click with each other I think he starts believing that this soulmate thing is actually possible after all.
it probably starts with the very root of every relationship: communication. you don’t even have to be necessarily an introvert or keep to yourself. you can be as loud and excited as you want or as quiet and invisible as humanly possible. What really brings you two together is that he doesn’t have to tell you things; you just know.
you know that you first have to rover your hands over him before actually touching. you know you have to wait until he shows you were he’s wounded instead of searching for it or simply going for the obvious bloody bullet graze or fucked up limb. you pick up when he tenses at the contact between your plastic gloves and his bare skin. you know when to look at his eyes and when not to. you say so little. you ask what’s essential. you are clean and straightforward and so so incredibly easy.
and he knows not to touch your shoulders but only lay his hand above your elbow when he wants to talk to you. knows not to fidget with his zipper when you’re around to hear the sound. knows he can stare at your feet and your hands and your pretty lips but knows he won’t get anything from you if he stares at your eyes. He understands why you’re always with your headphones on. he understands why you have bandages on your fingers without any wounds to justify them.
you two work so well together. so it’s only natural you two are almost attached at the hip. dancing in the same tune, at the same pace, and when the melody drifts away you two always manage to bring each other back to the rhythm without even needing to start the song again. it’s twin telepathy according to soap. you’re his sub-lieutenant. he’s your lieutenant. fraternal twins.
it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole lives for the moment you two could waltz together. you both are so painfully different yet so much like each other. pieces of a puzzle. dogs of the same den.
and you two are stubborn. because of course you are. so love bleeds slowly, so painfully slowly. like stitches tearing apart. a needle drifting of a record player. it takes so fucking long for you two to admit that you want more
you want so much more than just fitting into each other, you want to test it out. you want to feel the warmth of his chest against and your back, how your neck muscles feel over his shoulder, how the broad of his hand feels pressing into your stomach as you sink into him. how his cheek feels as you press your nose into it. the warm musk of skin. the pulse beneath the carved and cuts of flesh. you fit right into him. like puzzle pieces. weightless. seamless. quality manufacture.
simon likes to bury himself in you too. to hide from himself in your sternum as your hands cup the sides of head. your voice a cold, rolling breath of air on his ears. like waves. cold blue waves. The music of nature. grounding. maternal as in not so perfect, like an attempt at it. lone and evergreen. you’re his sister in arms. his twin. his polaris. it’s hard to not get freudian about it
you normally hate to stare. you hate having people look into your eyes and you hate looking into theirs. but god doesn’t it feel like heaven to drown in those crystalline cesspools of faded blues? you hate when he says his eyes aren’t “all that” because oh how they are. you could spend hours fixated looking into them. you want to be the chlorine that cleans those pools so that teary shine can sparkle in the sky like stars saying goodbye at dawn.
god, you know you can’t live without this, without him, anymore. can you?