Simon Riley who’s just completely fascinated with you.
He shouldn’t be. There isn’t a need to be. He only knows you in small interactions at the cash register and the pick up station at the cafe you work at as a barista. You know him as the big guy in the skull mask or the black one he wears sometimes. A military man most of the the time, and then the rare almost life changing (on your end) occasion when he wears that tightly fitted black t-shirt that hugs his beefy arms it makes you want bite him—
You know him as ‘Henery’ because that’s the name he gave you, you were in a rush that day and spelled it any kind of way and it stuck on your end. He didn’t correct you on the weird spelling, there wasn’t time for it. You just make sure his tea is right— ginger, 3 splashes of milk, two sugars. Call out his name, he gets it, gives you a nod and you tell him ‘Have a good day.’
Simple.
You don’t think the man is giving you the time of day. Most guys that look like Simon don’t. Atleast, not outright. Maybe in a dm. In a random hotel— that’s besides the point.
Simon Riley adores it.
Likes the times when you pick up on his energy and just make the drink, not a word said between the two of you, likes when you give a cool smile when he’s watching you make the tea. Simon doesn’t know you by name, you don’t wear a name tag, just that dove button. A cute little dove fluttering from middle earth. And then theres the day, he’s decided he needs to hear his real name come from your lips, he corrects you when you get to him on a slow day— rare and yet— he takes his time to look you in the eyes. And he sees you chuckle. Unmoved, you sarcastically correct, “Henery-Simon.” As if it’s a matter of fact while you write the name on his ticket. The brute lets his eyes linger to the curve of your back, the way your jeans hug your ass and thighs. Gorgeous, gorgeous thing.
“Henery-Simon?!” You call out, his drink his hand.
It’s a millisecond of your fingers grazing his, enough to make your heart and mind overworking themselves. Simon gives nod, amused as you press your lips together to contain the shy smile you’ve got.
It’s god sent he sees you at the bar again, with your mates, laughing and loud, drawing attention. Completely different from Simon who is just barely hanging onto the conversation Soap and Gaz are chatting about. And then he sees something that makes him shift in his seat, how a woman comes up to you and you so gentlemanly hold her steady and away from the crowd that’s filling the bar. Hand on her back as you laugh at something she says, eyes on the well put together woman. You’re In a jean jacket, piercings fill your ears, a few rings on your fingers, curly hair perfectly done. You two look good together, almost too good—
“Eyes on you, 3 o’clock.” You friend, Gabrielle smirks your way and your eyebrows furrow together, thinking of the clock in your head. It’s visible on your face your friends laugh, you throw them the bird but find them Honey brown and deep pair of eyes sat right across the bar. Simon takes a swing of his pint of beer.
You give him a salute with your fingers, mouthing, ‘Henery-Simon.’ And Simon can only smile with his eyes, putting his head down because it’s stupid. Really fucking stupid. He doesn’t mind it, if it’s coming from you.
Soap, nods toward you and your friends who are still chatting. “You know him?”
Another swing of beer, he cracks his neck, so nonchalant. “Bloody stranger that bloke is.”
A stranger for now, atleast.
a/n: I’m building plot here. Stay with me. I love a meet cute. I know it’s been 3 generations since I wrote my male reader, STAY WITH ME 😭
