summary: SIMON IS ATTRACTED TO YOUUU. And yes I was listening to Attracted to you by PinkPantheress while writing this!!!
warning: slight yearning I guesssss.
You notice him before he ever speaks to you, not because he’s loud or trying to be seen, but because he isn’t.
Simon leaning against walls with his arms crossed, shoulders relaxed but never careless, skull mask hiding everything except his eyes. Those eyes always seem to find you, even when you’re not looking for him, even when you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.
At first, you think you’re imagining it. He never approaches you, never starts conversations, never gives you a reason to believe there’s something there. But he watches... Like he’s making sure you’re still breathing. It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don’t understand, and you hate how aware of him you’ve become, how every time he enters a room, you know without looking.
It’s late one night when you finally end up alone together. The rec room is quiet now, the TV still on but muted, casting soft light across the floor. You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, pretending to scroll through your phone even though you haven’t actually read anything in minutes.
You can feel him there before you look up. He’s sitting across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his big frame somehow both relaxed and tense at the same time.
His eyes lift when he notices you looking at him, and for a moment neither of you says anything. It isn’t awkward. ike there’s something sitting between you that neither of you knows how to touch.
“You always stay up this late?” you ask finally, your voice softer than you meant it to be. He shrugs slightly. “Sometimes.” His voice is low, rough in that way that makes your stomach twist without permission. You nod like that answers anything, looking back down at your phone, but you can still feel him watching you.
“You?” he asks after a moment. You glance back up, surprised he spoke again. “Yeah.” you say. “Can’t really sleep.” He hums quietly, like he understands more than he says. Like he always does.
After that night, it becomes a thing you don’t talk about. You start noticing him everywhere, or maybe he was always there and you just didn’t let yourself see it.
He stands a little closer than he does to others. He listens when you speak, even if you’re not talking to him. He notices things nobody else does.
One afternoon, you mention that the mess hall coffee tastes awful, and the next morning there’s a different cup waiting for you, still warm. You frown at it, confused, looking around the room until your eyes land on him. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, already looking at you. You walk over slowly, holding the cup.
“Did you do this?” you ask. He shrugs, looking away like it doesn’t matter. “You said you didn’t like the other one.” Your chest tightens. “You didn’t have to.” He glances back at you then, eyes steady. “I know.” That’s all he says, but it means everything and nothing at the same time.
You don’t know when it turns into this quiet thing between you, this invisible string pulling you toward him even when you try to stay away from him.
Sometimes you catch him staring at you like he forgot how to look away.
Sometimes you pretend you don’t notice, even though every part of you does. It scares you, how much space he takes up without touching you.
How much you think about him when he isn’t there.
One night, you find him sitting alone outside, the air cold enough. You hesitate before walking over, but he already knows you’re there. He always does.
“Can’t sleep?” you ask softly. He shakes his head slightly. “No.” You sit beside him, not too close, but close enough to feel his presence.
The silence settles around you again, familiar now. Safe. “You don’t talk much,” you say after a while. He lets out a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh. “Don’t need to.” You look at him.
“I don’t mind it,” you admit. His eyes flick to you. “No?” You shake your head. “No. It’s… nice.” He looks at you for a long moment, and even behind the mask, you can feel the weight of it. “You’re good to be around.” he says quietly. Your heart stutters. You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all.
The realization comes slowly but all at once. It’s in the way he always finds you in a room.
The way he stands slightly closer than necessary. The way his eyes soften, just barely, when they land on you.
It’s in the way you look for him without meaning to. The way your chest feels lighter when he’s near.
One night, you’re laughing at something Soap said and when you glance over, Simon is already looking at you. He doesn’t look away when you catch him. He doesn’t pretend. He just stays there, quiet in the only way he knows how.
You walk over without thinking, stopping in front of him. “You stare a lot,” you say softly. He tilts his head slightly.
“Do I?” You nod. “Why?” He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Like they matter.
“Just making sure you’re still there,” he says. Your breath catches. “Why wouldn’t I be?” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Things disappear.” Your chest aches at the way he says it.
You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.” He studies you like he’s trying to memorize the truth of that. Like he wants to believe you, but he’s afraid to.
He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But he stands closer now, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him beside you.
It’s terrifying how much you want him to stay there. How much you want him to want you. You don’t say it.
