frayed synapses *ೃ༄
╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part vi.
pairing *ೃ༄ simon "ghost" riley / fem therapist reader
fic type *ೃ༄ angst, fluff, mutual pining (?)
cw *ೃ༄ descriptions of self sabotage (yes, again), two idiots in love, that should be it
summary *ೃ༄ with the burden of job-related stress weighing on your back, you decide to unwind at a local pub. yet instead of relaxation, you find out that your neighbor is none other than Simon RIley, a member of the military. after making the decision to clumsily ask him to have tea with you after an embarrassing first impression, you find that underneath Simon Riley's hardened, stone-cold façade, is a man who desperately seeks an end to the turmoil that plagues him.
note *ೃ༄ right, sorry this took so long lmao; between college, my hobbies & being a latina in america, i've been pretty busy. hope y'all enjoy !
masterlist | series masterlist | prev . . next
You meant to keep your distance, you really did.
Still, seeing Simon’s sunken, glassy eyes and tired figure made you act on instincts you didn’t even know you still had. You had hastily grabbed his clammy, calloused hands and led him into your apartment, desperate to offer this statue of a man an ounce of comfort. It pained you because letting him in like this would mean that he was no longer just a neighbor to you- no longer an avoidable stranger.
But he didn’t need to know that.
“Here,” A thick and soft blanket was handed to Simon, who muttered a quiet ‘thank you’. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from his earlier screams, you guessed. “Make yourself at home, yeah?” You smiled a little and offered him a glass of water; His fingers were warm when they brushed over yours to take the glass. Simon sat on your couch which took up most of the open space you called a living room while you turned off the kitchen lights you’d left on. You lowered the volume on the record player, thankfully it was just jazz so it was probably more comforting to him than annoying. At least that’s what you hoped.
“Should I turn the music off?” you asked him quietly, not wanting to disturb him with sudden noises.
Simon got comfortable on your couch, his arm underneath a throw pillow and the lower half of himself covered in the blanket you’d offered him. “Nah, s’fine.. Are you going to sleep here or..?”
“No, actually,” you sat on the carpet with your back to the foot of the couch; Your computer was set up on the coffee table in front of the couch, hundreds of work-related windows open on it. “I’ve got some work still left to do here.” He looked down at you from his spot on the couch, gazing at the way your slightly-chapped lips sipped from the glass of water you currently held. He had been in close proximity to you many times before but this time felt more.. Intimate.
You’d brought him into your home and given him a place to rest his head like it was normal. He wasn’t sure if he was terrified of it or welcoming it- he was somewhere in between, for sure. “You’re working at this hour?”
“Yeah, just a few notes I’ve got to catch up on, nothing too stressful thankfully.” Your fingers worked their magic on the keyboard; There were bags under your eyes but you still seemed awake enough to continue your work. Simon laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, the jazz and soft clicking noises from your computer painting the flat with a calm atmosphere; A stark difference to the cold and empty space he rented on the other side of the wall.
A few minutes passed by and Simon was still tossing and turning. You didn’t say a word about it though; Too focused on work to spare him a glance. He wondered if it was intentional. There wasn’t any silence in this room, but your quietude suffocated him enough to keep him awake. Maybe he was just overthinking it, but the way you gazed at him with such warmth and worry in your eyes when he opened his door to you was something he couldn’t get out of his head. He hated that you had this much of an impact on him even after the two of you had spent a significant time apart.
Were you betraying yourself for him?
‘Couldn’t be’. He thought to himself as he watched you get up from your seated position. Your steps were near-silent and you stretched on your way to the refrigerator to get yourself something to drink. He laid on his side, observing you silently, as if you were a mythical creature who would flee if he made any sudden sounds or movements. Your lethargy was evident from the way your form hunched over on the kitchen island. You rubbed your face and took a deep breath before pouring yourself a cup of juice and placing the half-empty container of cranberry juice back into the fridge afterwards.
“What are you writing?” His voice was quiet yet still gruff as ever.
Your brows lifted as your sights were set on him for a moment, “You’re still awake?” A chuckle escaped your lips as you sat back down, your back leaning against the foot of the couch. “I didn’t notice, I thought you’d been asleep since you were so quiet.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle, “If I could sleep that easy, I don’t think I’d be here on your couch, love.”
“True,” you shrugged and sipped on your glass of juice. An attempt to distract yourself from the notion that he’d probably been watching you work this entire time. “But to answer your question, I’m writing notes about a client’s session from yesterday.”
He took a moment to answer, but you didn’t mind — you never did. You were always patient with him, he wondered if it would stay that way if you ever had an argument with him. Was it a screwed up thought? Probably, but it’s not like he was policing his thoughts anyway. It came and went without much of a fuss from Simon’s consciousness. “..How is it? Working at a prison, I mean.”
A smile graced your lips, “It’s not too bad, save for the incident with the shank.” You raised your arm, the scar on full display as you did so. Your insecurity around it seemed to have dissipated by now. “And you? How is it being a Lieutenant?” It was as if you were moving in slow motion with the way you were gazing up at him from your place on the floor. In this moment, the entirety of the outside world disappeared leaving only the two of you as proof of its existence. Simon couldn’t describe the feeling simmering in his chest and pulling taut at his heart just by having your full attention.
“..Simon?”
And then the cars outside were suddenly audible once more and the dim light surrounded the two of you again; Reality set in and he was sure that the physical injuries inflicted on him in his past were nothing compared to the silent agony of being by your side and yet, still not beside you. He blinked and settled back into the couch, “It’s loads of yellin’, that’s for sure.” His auburn eyes left your form; A silent withdrawal from the drug that you were to him.
Despite living as a footnote on an extravagant poem, being seen was addicting; Both he and you knew this all too well. At this point, it was only a matter of time until one of you broke under the weight of these soul-crushing admirations.
“I’m sure it is. The paperwork for that must suck.” The skin of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you withdrew your own gaze from him. Subconsciously, your hand rummaged inside your right pocket in your sweatpants, finding the box of familiar plastic black sticks within. A toothpick was inserted in between your teeth; It was a substitute for your cheek, a self-soothing habit you wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon. You tried not to think about your buried affection for him as you bit on the stick like it offended you.
Simon hummed in acknowledgement, looking up at the ceiling. “You get used to it after a couple years.”
“You can say that again,” you chuckled dryly.
“Do you usually stay up this late?”
“On weekends.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep.” You purse your lips and focus your eyes on the screen in front of you, wondering if he can tell that you’re upset.
He does, but refrains from mentioning it. Simon knows why and refuses to acknowledge it. He knows you feel for him, he knows you’re conflicted about it as much as he is — Unfortunately, the two of you are much too cautious to say a word about it.
So the conversation dies there.
There was no consolation of flowery language or heartfelt stories about a childhood that seemed eons away, just bone-crushing stillness. The record kept spinning but the jazz didn’t feel calming anymore. The atmosphere, tainted by unspoken words and drenched in the stifling fear of commitment, wrapped around the pair of you and kept you two prisoners.
And as a prisoner of your own fear, there were three things you knew well.
One: that this steel cell was man-made, built by your desperation to survive without any attachments that could threaten your emotional and mental state. Two: you threw yourself into this prison willingly. The door of your cell has been wide open for years, there was nothing keeping you here except.. yourself. And finally, three: to love someone, you would need to exit the cell you’ve confined yourself to all these years.. Of your own accord.
As you laid in your comfortable bed for the night — you’d left Simon to his own devices in the living room — you realized that you could either let your feelings lie dormant, like you’d done so many times before..
Or take a risk you’ve been scared to act on for far too long.
.
.
.
Biting cold from the open balcony door nipped at your skin, lathering your leg which had jutted out from under the covers in bitter frost. Snowy winds bit at your exposed nose and cheeks enough to wake you from your dreamless slumber. The sun hadn’t bared its face yet but you could tell it was morning, just early.
Even in stress, your early morning habits never left you. A heavy sigh sprang from your lips before choosing to swing your legs over the mattress and start your day. The thick robe you slipped on before emerging from your room offered more warmth in the cold of the early morning hours. Did Simon sleep well? The cold couldn’t get to him, at least you hoped.
Wait- was he still even here?
Your quiet footsteps made themselves down the short hall to the open area, where Simon was still evidently on the couch sleeping away. You crossed your arms as you leaned against the marbled kitchen island, a contemplative look washing over you.
Simon was a rugged man.
He kept his walls impenetrable and high enough that no one could cross over them no matter how much they wished to. He was determined to make himself seem as unapproachable as possible despite the fact that his eyes told stories of tragedy and gave his otherwise hidden passions away like an open book. You knew he could read you — you hated it — but you were sure that he knew you could see through him as well. And it didn’t take a genius for you to know for a fact that someone as closed off as him would severely abhor that fact.
Not because it was you, but because being left defenseless against you was a huge frear. One you shared with him, unbeknownst to him.There was always an unspoken tension between the two of you, since that day at the coffee shop. And when you made yourself scarce to protect your heart of glass, you could feel his resignation. He accepted that you withdrew yourself from him — you inferred that it was probably because he’s been in your position before.
Simon was like your own personal mirror.
And you never liked mirrors.
His blonde lashes fluttered every so often; Built body relaxed and draped over your red leather couch like it was the most comfortable surface he’s had the pleasure of sleeping on. The familiar crease in between his brows was smoothed out and his breathing was regular.
Simon was a rugged man, but here on your couch, he was anything but rugged.
You could think of hundreds of excuses to not be with him, but you couldn’t think of a single lie that would cover up the fact that you loved the man in front of you. Simon made your nights more bearable, even if it was just an hour of walking and unloading about the week's events. Simon comforted you about the scar on your arm, you remember.
In fact, he was always adamant on proving that you were enough despite your insecurities.
You wondered then, if he’d still think you were enough if he saw even the darkest parts of yourself; The parts that you kept under lock and key. The parts of you that you long ago deemed ‘too much’ for any man. The parts of you that were so fragile that they couldn’t be trusted with just anyone.
Your heart could break a million times and you’d still be able to glue it together — but your soul was something else entirely.
You weren’t sure you could repair it as easily if it were to break.
taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . . @alex1011sdzfgh . .
© 2025 comesatimecomesashadow