#ghost cod x reader fluff

[comesatimecomesashadow]

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

[comesatimecomesashadow]

frayed synapses *ೃ༄

ׂ╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part i.

pairing *ೃ༄ simon "ghost" riley / fem therapist reader

fic type *ೃ༄ fluff, a little bit of mystery

cw *ೃ༄ implied violence, reader is depicted to have an oral fixation, implied injury, thats about 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 *ೃ༄ i'm still deciding whether or not i want to make this into a series... so if you'd like another part pls comment TwT + if you'd like to be tagged, pls comment ^^

masterlist *ೃ༄ | series masterlist *ೃ༄ | next chapter *ೃ༄

This was a bad idea. 

Twangy guitar strings could be heard from the band on the small stage at the pub. It was a Friday night and frankly, you weren’t in any mood to socialize. To your advantage, you didn’t really stand out so there wasn’t much mingling going on except for the interactions between you and the barkeeper. The golden liquid in your cup swirled around, almost entrancing you in its spiral of movement. It had taken about two and a half cups of bourbon for you to get any semblance of a buzz. 

Your vision was focused on the colors of the glass bottles perched up on the shelf behind the bar counter and it was clear that you were bored to anyone who cared to look at you. You weren’t exactly sure why you were here, you rarely ever went to bars. The only reasoning you could come up with for being here was due to the unbearable weight of the stress from this week and your overpowering desire to forget it. 

Being a therapist had its moments. 

The dream that you chased all throughout college until now had become a reality and yet.. You didn’t know what to do now. It wasn’t like you’d fallen out of love with your job — in fact, you knew the risks and pursued it anyway — but the recent weeks had felt more hellish than anything. Your eyes drifted from the group of burly men a few feet away at the bar counter to the bourbon in your glass. The honey-colored liquid burned and yet you still swallowed every drop in your pursuit to forget the burn-out you were plagued with. 

Helping people wasn’t the issue — it was the fact that some of them sought out the help, without being willing to help themselves. It wasn’t rare, people were complex beings and it only made sense that talking about traumas and complicated, deep rooted feelings were hard to do. But it was this particular client that was driving you up the wall. You weren’t frustrated to the point of anger, but it was certainly troubling. Cooperation between clients was one of the pillars of your entire practice and if there was a lack of it, there was a high chance that they’d choose to end therapy before they could get better or worse, they’d take out their frustration on you.

Which is exactly what had happened today, hence the bandages around your arm.

Your eyes once again drifted to the group at the end of the counter. There were about three men, now joined by a woman that hadn’t been there the last time you’d glanced at them. There was a serious look on her face, one of the men donned a black balaclava with a skull plastered onto it. You didn’t exactly know why you placed such attention on a group of strangers, it was just something to do. Observing people was something you did often, a habit from your youth. Judging from their stiff body language, you surmised that they were clearly speaking about something important. 

With a reluctant sigh, you slipped a bill under the glass and dug your hands into your pockets as you walked out of the pub in search of fresh air. The pub was getting stuffy and the sounds of interaction between people wasn’t helping with the stress you already felt. Bourbon had lessened it but it was still there. You slipped into the alley of the pub and leaned your back against the wall for a moment, closing your eyes and allowing the soft, fresh wind to kiss the skin of your cheeks and nose. A content sigh escaped your mouth, allowing you to see the puff of white in the air. 

Rummaging around in your pockets, your fingers took hold of a familiar box within it. A pack of toothpicks, almost half empty by now if you remembered correctly. You fished out one of the black sticks within the pack and placed it in your mouth. You’d come to know some time during high school that gnawing on things was your specialty — a result of the stress you suppressed. 

Heavy footsteps crunched the leaves on the sidewalk, growing closer to you. The sound of them pulled you out of your own head. All it took was a glance at your side to identify the man as one of the men from the group — the one with the skull balaclava. You closed your eyes to not make it obvious that you’d recognized him; Acknowledging him only when he muttered a greeting, which you returned. He walked into the alleyway a small distance from you and stood there fidgeting with something you couldn’t see. You knew what it was that he was doing when you heard the familiar sounds of a lighter being turned on and inhaled the smoke of his cigarette secondhand. 

You bit on the toothpick in your mouth and all but glanced at the man before leaving the alleyway. You were curious to see what he was trying to hide with the mask but you didn’t care enough to stick around and find out. 

A few moments later and you found yourself walking down the street underneath the pale moon. The cold of the air turned its kisses on the exposed skin of your face into a biting chill. It made you dig your hands into the depths of your pockets, taking as much warmth in as you could. You stopped focusing on the way the wind now felt frigid when you heard a familiar set of heavy footsteps a few feet behind you. 

When you turned the corner you were able to sneak a glance at who it was and lo’ and behold, it was the same man with the skull balaclava. Did he live around here or was he just following you? Was he a stalker of some sort? You shook your head and bit down harder on the toothpick, surely leaving teeth marks on the plastic black stick. It was probably the effects of the bourbon in your system playing tricks on you. Despite this, your breaths were short and  quick now and you began to pick up the pace until you reached the front door of your apartment complex. 

The building wasn’t lavish but it wasn’t shabby either, more rustic and aged than anything. A sigh of relief escaped you when you reached the lobby. After collecting yourself for a moment, you walked up to your mailbox and unlocked it, paying no mind to the sound of the front door of the lobby opening. The sound of your mailbox closing shut echoed throughout the staircase. You walked up to your floor and made your way to your flat, the carpet floor muting your footsteps. Your brisk walk came to a halt immediately when you noticed the familiar tall and built silhouette of the masked man from earlier. He seemed to be unlocking the door right next to your flat. 

“You again?” It was probably the alcohol in your system that caused you to blurt it out. You regretted it not even a second later because the tall man turned to look at you with a confused look in his eyes. 

“Wha’?” His accent was thick and his voice gruff. 

“From the pub-” you blurted, “-in the alleyway?” You walked up beside him once your words seemed to have clicked in his brain. He muttered an ‘oh’ but said nothing else which left you in quite the awkward situation. “Sorry, that was rude of me- I just didn’t expect to see you here. I..uh, wasn’t aware you lived here.” You were in a rush to explain yourself but instead of clearing the awkward air, it only further fueled your embarrassment. 

When he didn’t say anything else, you just offered an awkward smile. “Nevermind, forget I said anything, have a good night, sir.” Without wasting another second, you unlocked your door hastily and speed-walked into your flat. A chuckle escaped your lips while you slid down your door and sat propped up against the door. Suddenly the ordeal was funny to you. 

How did an observant person like you never notice the tall man that lived next door? It was hard for you to miss even the smallest of details considering the fact that your job relied on your ability to perceive the most minute bits of information, so how was he able to escape your sharp eyes? “Inattentional blindness..” you muttered to yourself, another laugh escaping your mouth at the realization that you had missed his being there simply because your mind deemed that an unimportant detail which in turn caused you to miss the fact that he lived right next door.

But once you really started to think about it, you wondered if the fact that you never noticed him was due to your negligence or the fact that he made himself a ghost. Now that you thought about it, was there ever a moment when you crossed paths with him in the morning? You never saw him coming from work, nor did he ever greet you if he did see you.  Slowly but surely, your mind was filling up with questions about him. 

Like a moth to a flame, you were suddenly drawn to him. 

Just who exactly was he? 

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething 

© 2025 comesatimecomesashadow

[comesatimecomesashadow]

frayed synapses *ೃ༄

ׂ╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part iv.

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of injuries/scars + insecurity about them, descriptions of poor mental health/social anxiety

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 *ೃ༄ sorry for the late update, i was fighting demons (crippling depression), enjoy !

masterlist | series masterlist | prev . . next

“I didn’t think i’d being seein’ you after..” 

“I know.” your eyes were trained on the client’s face in front of you, a calm look washed over your visage as you faced the same person that gave you the scar on your forearm. “Did you hope you wouldn’t see me again? I understand our last conversation was distressing for you.” You spoke with a welcoming tone. It made you anxious to even be in the room with them, but they were someone in need. A person with anger issues was still a person underneath. 

“I.. yeah. I guess you could say that I just.. What you said made me feel like..” She mulled it over in her mind as if she was trying to find the right words to say to you. It was clear she felt remorse for her actions which was a good thing. “-like.. I don’t know, it just hurt, it made me angry that you pointed shit like that out, like it's supposed to be obvious.” 

You heard her words and gazed into her guilt-ridden blue eyes. What came next made them wide, as if she’d just witnessed something completely other-worldly. “I’m sorry.” you said. With the most sincere voice you possessed, you apologized to her. 

“Why are you apologizing? ..I’m the one who did that to you..!” She gestured to your forearm and a glossy layer of water covered her eyes. All you did was hand her a tissue as if her crying didn’t bother you at all — because it didn’t. It was normal, in fact, it was healthy. “I should be apologizing to you…” she muttered as she wiped her tears. 

“I’m apologizing to you because I hurt you,” you said simply, “You deserve to be treated like a person, with respect and without judgement.” 

“It was wrong, what I did.” She was sure of her statement but used it as more of a weapon to refute your statement than an acknowledgement. 

“It was and I'm proud of you for admitting that. It's a hard thing to apologize when you’ve done something wrong- It requires a type of vulnerability that you’ve mentioned you’re not used to.” you explained her feelings to her with a soothing tone, encouraging her to keep going on in her journey. “My only job is to help you get better and I understand that confronting these types of feelings is never easy, but I want you to keep trying, alright?” 

She only nodded, a few more tears slipping out. 

“You’ve come a long way from where you were at a year ago. Healing is never linear and you may go back to old patterns every now and then, but it will never erase the amount of progress you’ve achieved as long as you keep trying.” She nodded again at your reassuring words but with a smile on her face this time. 

“Yeah, I.. Thank you.” She clutched the used tissue and tucked it into her pocket. 

You looked at the time on your watch and offered a small smile. “Our time’s up unfortunately, but I'll see you again this time next week. Alright?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She got up and smiled at you before leaving the room. Once the door closed you were left standing in the cold room. With a heavy sigh, you collected your things and headed out of the old building. The prison you worked at wasn’t new, it had been around for decades but the atmosphere was anything but dreary, in fact it was quite lively. Most of the inmates knew who you were and didn’t really bother to pay much mind to you, which was perfect given how much of a recluse you were outside of your job. They never said much more than a greeting or a farewell and it was rare that they started conversations with you. You interacted more with the staff since you worked alongside them in a sense but the interactions weren’t anything special. 

Needless to say, your work life was pretty mundane. 

Much like your personal life — but it wasn't as if you were actively searching for something to change. You’d spent your life looking for stability and now that you had it, you were satisfied, at least that’s what you wanted to convince yourself of. Sure it got a little lonely every now and then but that was normal. You didn’t need anything else — or anyone else for that matter. 

Yet when you climbed up those familiar crimson carpet stairs and were greeted by the sight of a very familiar man standing in front of the door to the flat next to yours, it made an unknown warm feeling settle in your chest. You debated on whether or not to say something to your neighbor — To Simon — but you decided against it. What if he didn’t want to speak to you? He was probably tired from work anyway. You walked up to your door and juggled the keys in your hands looking for the right one. Just as you found your house key, a gruff voice — belonging to Simon —  grabbed your attention. 

“Afternoon.” he greeted awkwardly. 

You turned your head towards him slowly, not expecting a man — who was evidently closed off —  to start a conversation with you. Sure you got to know more about him and vice versa during the time the two of you spent at the coffee shop, but nothing had changed — he was still only your neighbor, just as you were to him. Even if your heart yearned for human connection, your brain kept denying you of it. A defense mechanism at its finest, as if it was infused within you like the blood in your veins. “Afternoon.” you hastily took off your earphones to give him your full attention. Gazing upon him for a moment, you noticed the way his dark-blonde hair relentlessly shined in the dim light of the hallway. Simon’s visage carried remnants of the eyeblack he presumably used for his job, it made him look dirty and tired — but you still smiled. “Did you just get back?” 

“Yeah, work n’ that.” he vaguely explained, “Sorry for leavin’ so abruptly.” 

You gingerly shook your head, “S’fine, wasn’t anything too important to be apologizing about anyway.” Your eyes remained locked on his as the two of you stood in the hallway. The both of you taking in the fact that you were in front of one another once again as if it was an other-worldly experience. 

“Guess so,” Simon said simply as he turned to you fully. “How’s the arm?” His eyes broke away from yours momentarily to glance at your still bandaged arm. Was he concerned about it? About you?

“Better than the last time we met,” you chuckled, “Finally got the stitches out, hurt a bit though.” Your comment made him chuckle. As a soldier, he was used to the feeling of removing stitches all too well. It took you a while to register that this was the first time you’ve seen him without his black surgical mask on. Simon’s face wasn’t littered with scars, but many of them were present — not uncommon for someone in his line of work. 

“When are you gettin’ the bandages off?” he asked you, an interested lilt to his voice as he did. 

“Friday this week at three. Why do you ask?” Your fingers ghosted over the bandages absentmindedly. The injury didn’t hurt much anymore but you did wonder if it would leave a scar. Simon’s eyes drifted from yours as if he was considering something but words failed to leave him. 

“No reason, just askin’.” 

“Alright then,” there was something off about his answer but you didn’t push. Clutching your folder closer to your chest as you inserted your key into the door and pushed it open you bid him a quiet, “Have a good afternoon, Simon.” The tall blond only nodded without a word as he watched you disappear into the comfort of your flat once more. He could burn holes into your door with the way he was intently staring at your close door with regret. Regret that despite his years, he still couldn’t form normal human connection outside of work. 

The key felt cold in his hand as he pushed it into the lock, his flat felt foreign — empty. There was barely any furnishings in it except for what was absolutely necessary: a couch in the living room, a widescreen television on the wall in front of it, his bed which sat lonely in his bedroom next to a nightstand that rarely held anything in it, stools that sat bare in front of the kitchen island. . .  He didn’t feel the need to decorate since he was always gone, but the bare walls and the popcorn ceiling of his apartment made him wonder about yours. 

What did yours look like? 

Did you have pictures on the walls? Were you the type to take care of plants? You did smell of lavender sometimes.. Was your living room lively? Was your room a silent reflection of you and your interests? There were so many questions that swirled in his mind as he left his keys hanging on the backside of the door and got settled. Questions that he hoped he’d get the answers to. 

If only he had the guts to try and get to know you. 

.

.

.

Work once again began to consume your life and you couldn’t be happier. 

It wasn’t too hard to fall back into the rhythm of things after the incident. Offering tissues to clients, helping them work through their deep-seated issues, talking about their daily lives, what their lives were like before imprisonment; It was all good work. The week passed by like a flash thankfully and soon enough came the time when the bandages would come off. When your doctor had first tended to your wound she notified you that it was likely to leave a scar — Shanks made from scratch in a jail cell weren’t exactly the best thing to be cut with. At the time, you could care less as long as you were alive. Now that the familiar white strips of bandage were gone, the lighter patch of skin shone through. 

You didn’t know what to think of it, to say the least. 

Your eyes spent a great deal of time just gazing upon the scar on your arm after your appointment. Though the TV was on in front of you playing a random sitcom, your mind was elsewhere. The lifted patch of skin on your arm bothered you. It was like a living reminder of your stupidity — it almost taunted you with the way it stood out. A frustrated sigh made its way from your throat as you got up from the couch and threw on a comfortable hoodie. 

Maybe a walk would clear your head. 

You grabbed your box of toothpicks and slipped the black stick in between your lips, stuffing the box in the back pocket of your jeans as you made your way out of your flat. When you pulled the warm key from the lock and turned to walk out, you almost jumped out of your skin upon seeing your neighbor next to you. He was lucky you didn’t shriek from the surprise of it. 

“Simon!” you whisper-yelled. Your hand flew over your chest as you leaned against your door to regain your composure. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Goin’ for a run.” he said simply as if he didn’t almost cause you a heart attack. “Didn’t mean t’scare you. Sorry.” A sliver of a smile made its way onto his face. Simon was used to being intimidating because of his height and the fact that he was a high-ranking soldier. Usually, he wasn’t fazed by shocked reactions but seeing you genuinely startled by him was a little funny — considering you’d proved yourself to be extremely observant. 

A deep breath settled into your lungs while you straightened up. “Is that a habit of yours?? You almost gave me a heart attack..!” Granted, you were still a little shaken but at least it took your mind off things, specifically the scar that seemed to itch endlessly. 

Simon only peered down at you, a calmer look upon his face. “You ok?” his voice was as gruff as always. 

“Yeah, I’m fine- you said you were going out for a run? At this hour?” Somehow, you knew how to make a conversation feel as natural as breathing which made it easier for Simon to ease into your presence. It was something he could do mindlessly with you, he noticed. 

“Yeah. What are you doin’ out this late? S’pretty dangerous to be out.” The dingy light in the hallway flickered and the air was stale but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Being here, with him — talking to him — felt like a much needed release. It was astonishing how a simple exchange of words with him was akin to a taste of the finest water. You wondered how long you could preserve the stream this time. 

“Guess so,” you shrugged, biting on the toothpick mindlessly with your molars, “I just needed a distraction I guess.” You adjusted yourself to lean against the wall, your vision torn away from Simon’s visage. He guessed it was something you didn’t feel like talking about. 

So he didn’t ask; He only leaned up against the wall beside you. “. . .D’you wanna go on a walk?” His dusty auburn irises could see the ghost of a smile on your lips, a genuine one. 

“Are you asking me to join you?” 

He looked around, then back at you. "Well you don't see anyone else round here, do you?” 

You chuckled, “You’ve got jokes.” 

“I’ll tell you some more if it’ll get that frown off you.” Simon snickered when he said it but you felt his words to be genuine, just masked under a joking tone. Maybe Simon had the capacity to worry for you after all, no matter how much sense it didn’t make to you. After all, you were just his neighbor. 

Nothing more. 

You pushed yourself off the wall and Simon followed after you. “Wasn’t frowning.” 

“Was too.” 

You wondered then, as you walked down the carpeted stairs beside him, if you could preserve this endless flow of natural, unfiltered, dialogue. In the comfortable silence that settled between the pair of you, the thought of keeping this night close to your heart seemed more enticing by the minute. 

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