something about you like this, loose-limbed and laughing as his team charms you with old stories of the 141’s glory days, has divorced dad!simon’s heart doing an odd, unfamiliar little dance in his chest. you’ve somehow worked your way into the most intimate part of his life, and he can’t even find the nerve to be upset about it. the team adores you— more importantly, lottie adores you. and, maybe, he does too, if he dares to admit it.
it’s his daughter’s seventh birthday, something simon’s having some trouble coming to terms with, his backyard is full of squealing, gleeful children and exasperated parents, and the centre of it all, is you, right there beside him, baking in the summer sun and helping him clean all the shredded balloons and abandoned party favors before they could truly pile up. an angel in disguise, really. he couldn’t have done it if he hadn’t had your help.
lottie’s mother, bridgette, was originally supposed to host, after she’d insisted that it was her right, only to cancel at the last minute, saying that she shouldn’t have to bear the burden every year. simon had less than a week to throw this together, with some help. you were the one calling the bounce house company, and ordering the cake, and telling him which decorations to buy, how to build a balloon arch. it was you who showed up at the crack of dawn this morning to help him set up, to make sure that everything was perfect. hell, you even called out of work for the occasion, though simon’s never seen you take a personal day once.
he doesn’t have any words to express how grateful he is for you. he’ll find some way to thank you, somehow, even if you claim it isn’t at all necessary. you did it because you care for him, and his daughter. that was all the motivation you needed.
lottie comes barreling towards the group they’ve formed—simon, the 141, and you, tucked neatly under his arm despite the heat, like you’re more than just his friendly neighbor. he picks her up with one arm, an amused twinkle in his eye as you reach out to adjust the crooked tiara on her head. he pretends not to notice bridgette glaring holes into his head, and so do you, though he’s positive you’ve caught onto the evil looks she’s been sending you.
“daddy, i wanna open presents! please?”
you all chortle at that, and johnny reaches out to poke her in the ribs, making her screech. “impatient, s’what you are,”
“fuck off, johnny,” simon retorts, forgetting to watch his mouth while his parrot of a daughter is near. “it’s her birthday. she’ll get whatever she wants, ain’t that right, baby?”
“yeah!” lottie cheers, sticking her tongue out at her uncle. he doesn’t bother scolding her for it. it’s her birthday, after all.
“c’mon, lil’ bit, let’s go wash your hands while dad wrangles everyone up, huh?” she transfers easily into john’s arms, only after making you promise you’ll watch her open her gifts, to which you readily agree. it wasn’t any great inconvenience to you, not at all. in fact, you seem to be rather touched that she’s so concerned with your presence. sweet thing.
he rounds up the masses as if he’s leading recruits back in hereford, a sharp whistle and a barked order sending them all scrambling into his house, trailing mud all throughout his kitchen.
“what did you get her?” you ask idly, sticking to his side as you watch the rest file in. he hesitates. he’s been avoiding the topic for weeks, as he knows exactly what you’ll say.
“a dirt-bike,”
“simon,”
“and a helmet!”
“oh, god,”
he snickers, wrapping an arm around you once more. luckily for lottie, her bestest friend — her words — happens to be a nurse, who lives in the house right next door, and cares for her very much. she’ll be okay, no matter how many times she wipes out. the two of you would make sure of it.
“thank you, for all this,” he says, not for the first time, cheek pressed to your head. “it means the world to her. and to me.”
“i told you, si, you don’t have to thank me.” you tilt your chin to gaze up at him, soft and significant, and his heart does that thing again. it seems to be doing a lot of that lately. “if anything, i should be the one thanking you for letting me be part of it.”
it’s silly of you to say so, really. can’t you see that he wants you to be part of all of it? that he wants you here, with him, and lottie, not just today, but everyday? he does not know how much clearer he can be, unless he screams it from the rooftops. which he very well could do.
instead, he lowers his chin and presses his lips squarely to yours. it is without prologue or flair, without dramatics, but the little squeak you let out is plenty rewarding. you melt like the frosting dripping off that obnoxious yellow cake on the table, clinging to his shirt as he cradles the back of your head in one hand. this’s been a long time coming, he muses. he cannot fathom why he waited so long.
he doesn’t pull away until lottie shouts for him from the house, utterly oblivious to what’s happening behind her bouncy castle. but when he does find the strength to peel himself away, that twinkle in your eye’s almost enough to have him coming back for more.
“took your sweet time with it, didn’t you, old man?”
“settle down, brat. c’mon, before the princess sends a search party.”
