21

As boring as it was there, though, you still found yourself enjoying it somewhat. It was fun to be in a different apartment with a slightly different layout to your own. It was like you had moved out to a slightly more boring version of your own home. A nice change of scenery. And it was even better that it was his home. Everything smelled like him. Especially his pillows. So, yeah, after weeks of being stuck inside with nothing to do, being surrounded by everything Simon, maybe you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time every morning and night getting yourself off in his bed.

You weren't to blame! What else could you have done? You were so bored! With free reign to his apartment you learned a lot about him. Like the way he had two knifes in every room of his house. Even the bathroom. And one morning while you were digging your face into his pillow to inhale his scent and simultaneously cover the sound of your moans while abusing your clit, you noticed a piece of soft pink fabric poking out from under his pillow.

Underwear. Your underwear that had gone missing months ago. You never thought anything about it. Underwear goes missing. Especially when the whole building uses the same washers and driers.

The soft material had turned hard from load after load of dried cum having soaked into it. Simon was jerking off into your panties probably every night seeing how absolutely destroyed in cum they were.

The thought had you coming yourself in seconds.

You didn't know what to do. Should you take them back? They were yours after all. Or should you stuff them back under the pillow and pretend you never saw them? Would you confront him when he gets back? God, imagine that conversation. "Hi neighbor I found my underwear covered in your cum. Any idea what that's about?" Yeah, no.

You put them back under the pillow. That's an issue for when Simon comes home.

You were healed enough now that you didn't need your crutches for short distances. Thank god. You were getting so sick of scrambling for your crutches before you could get up to take a piss in the morning. You did still need the brace, though, which you wrapped around your ankle and stood up from the bed so you could go to the bathroom.

You were going out for dinner with your parents tonight. An invitation you originally declined. It was embarrassing to go into public with your crutches. You held up people who were unfortunate enough to get stuck walking behind you on a busy street with how they slowed you down, hobbling along on two pieces of metal. It was even difficult to just sit down, having no where to store the crutches. They would tip and fall over if you put them leaning against something and people would trip on them if you left them on the floor. But, despite your protests, your mum absolutely insisted on you leaving your apartment. She was tired of hearing you complain about how little you had to eat because you couldn't go grocery shopping and wouldn't let her bring you groceries. You didn't tell her that the reason for that was because you weren't in your apartment and you didn't want her to know that. You already lied to her about how you got injured and didn't want to lie anymore. It's not a lie if you just never tell her!

There's something more boring about sitting around while waiting to go out than sitting around while waiting for absolutely nothing. You had been ready for hours. Literally since 2pm, just sitting around, waiting, stewing in your hunger because you refused to eat when you were only a few hours away from a free meal and best believe you were getting a starter, main course, sides, and dessert.

It was the really quiet moments like that when you were just sat around, no background noise from the tv or music from your phone, that made you really fucking miss Simon.

When there was nothing to distract you, your thoughts would always drift back to him. Even when he was here, you would be thinking about him, but at least you knew he was safe. Maybe you were wondering if he was at home, or on a run, or at the shop, but you knew he was safe. Now you didn't even know what country he was in. He could be dead. Shot or blown up or taken hostage or anything. The thoughts induced you to a level of anxiety that almost brought tears to your eyes because it made you realize just how attached you had become to your neighbor. The man who had first laughed at your soaked state while helping carry your groceries up the stairs, who went to driving you to the hospital and letting you stay in his apartment while kissing you goodbye.

It had been three weeks since he left. You didn't know if that was a long time for a deployment or not. It felt like it. You missed him so much.

You don't dwell on the thoughts because you might break down if you do.

When 5pm slowly rolled around, you found your mood brightening a little. Yeah, 5 was early for dinner but your parents insisted that they had to be home by 8pm because they were old and went to sleep at 9pm. You were wearing a dark blue dress that you struggled to zip by yourself but you felt pretty in it and it was the perfect mix of fancy yet casual (because your parents always dressed up a little fancy for dinner).

When you got the text from your mum that her and your dad were waiting outside, you limped into the bedroom and grabbed your crutches for the first time that day. You swung your purse over your shoulder and made sure to lock all both locks on Simons door.

The stairs were difficult. They always are. It was just another moment when you wished that the elevator worked and the owner of the building wasn't so cheap to not fix it. You got down eventually and made it to your parents new fancy car. Retirement was treating them well, apparently.

You opened the back door and threw the crutches in first which had your mum grumbling something about watching the widows that you ignored.

"Hi mum, hi dad." You said when you sat down, closing the door behind you and smoothing out your dress.

"Hi baby." Your dad replied from the drivers seat. Nice, normal greeting.

"What's wrong with you? Are you upset about something? You have a vibe." Your mother, never one to beat around the bush.

You sighed and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You hated how she could see through you no matter what.

"Of course I'm upset, mum. My ankles fucked and I'm stuck with these crutches for another two weeks at least." You grumbled before adding, "I'm also starving."

She just stared at you through the mirror, eyes narrowed like she was searching your soul.

"I don't think so... but okay." She sighed and you were beyond happy that she gave up. How would you explain that your neighbor/friend/boyfriend/situationship/whatever he was that she had never met before was somewhere in the world right now fighting. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he was fine. Maybe he was being tortured. All you knew was that he wasn't with you where he was supposed to be.

"And don't curse." She added which made you laugh a little at least.

This was good. You could eat with your parents and joke with them while catching up on life. You could pretend for a while that the thoughts of Simon plaguing your mind weren't there. You could escape for a little while...

Except your mum would not shut up about this mood you were in and was absolutely convinced that it had something to do with a boy.

"Mum-" You tried but she was having absolutely none of it.

"No. You may not live in my house anymore but I still know my baby. You're upset about a man. I know you are."

You were literally just trying to eat your lasagna. And your poor dad looked like he wanted to dig a hole and throw himself into it at the thought of his daughter having boy troubles.

"No, it's not like that. There's no one. It's nothing. He's just a friend-"

"So there is someone! I knew it!" She practically shrieked. She was always worried about you love life, convinced that if you didn't find someone soon you never would. Great for your self esteem.

A few people from other tables in the restaurant shot her dirty looks but she didn't care.

"So, what happened? You met a man, you love him... then what? He doesn't love you? You had a fight? His parents don't like you? He has a girlfriend?" God, she was onto you and absolutely relentless. She was not shutting up without some sort of an answer.

You groaned and put your head in your hands. You thought you could get away from your obsessive, anxious thoughts about Simon but your mum served as a constant reminder, never letting the topic of your love life slip for more than a few minutes. What choice did you have? You would just tell her enough to stop her from asking any more questions for the time being.

"Okay, mum, yes, I met someone."

She squealed so loud you were surprised it didn't shatter her wine glass. It made several more people and a few waiters glance over to your table with scowls. Meanwhile your dad just looked at her excited expression with a smile like it was the first time he had seen it despite having seen it thousands of times after over thirty years of marriage.

"He lives in my building. He's tall and handsome and really strong.." You sighed with this blissed out look on your face from finally being able to speak about him to someone. Then your face dropped and a more solemn expression took over.

"But he's in the military. He's away. Drafted somewhere, and I don't know for how long for or if he's okay or when he'll be back." Your gaze lowered to your fork as you pushed your food around, your appetite suddenly gone.

Your mum reached over to table and grabbed your hand, grip tight but comforting in that way inly your mum could ever manage.

"He'll be okay, sweetheart. You know, your grandfather was in the military and he lived a long, happy life with your grandmother.

Her words, though pure in meaning, did nothing to soothe your worries.

The conversation drifted, your mum understanding that it wasn't the time nor place to talk about it. Over the next hour the three of you talked about anything other than your current love life, but your mind just kept drifting back to him, filling you with a sense of longing that made you feel sick.

The drive back to your apartment was silent and uncomfortably hot because your mum thought it was freezing, somehow.

Your dad pulled into a free parking spot close to the door so you wouldn't have to hobble as far with your crutches. It didn't make it any easier but you appreciated the effort. It was still so difficult to make it up the stairs, especially now that you were tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and feel sorry for yourself.

You somehow didn't even notice that the door was unlocked. You just opened it and hobbled in, throwing your crutches onto the couch and making your way into the bedroom.

You literally screamed when you saw a huge masked figure standing beside the bed wearing all black. Your- Simons apartment was being robbed, somehow, and not yours despite the broken door.

You grabbed the closest knife. You never removed a single one of those knifes, no matter how much they creeped you out. You were thankful for them now.

The burglar turned around and to your utmost horror there was a real human skull sewed onto the balaclava. You wished you could say it wasn't real but there was something about that just made you certain that it was real.

You gripped the knife tight and tried to ignore the tears of fear starting to drip down your face. What would Simon think if he came home and found you dead in his bedroom, or worse - completely gone with no trace.

"Get the hell out of here!" You screamed again, pointing the knife at him even though really if he started to attack you you would probably just run away as quick as you could with your injured ankle.

"Hey, hey hey hey! It's okay! It's alrigh', love, s'just me.. just me." The man pulled the mask off his face and there he was.

Simon.

Really him. Not a dream. It was him.

His eyes looked a bit more sunken and tired. The way he held himself screamed pain. His hair was a bit longer than when he left. He looked like he had been through hell.

The knife fell from your hand and clattered to the floor. If you were in any sane mindset you would have been nervous about it landing on your toes or something. But all you cared was that he was here. Right in front of you.

"Simon..?"

"Yes, sweethear', it's me."

You limped to him as fast as you could and collapsed into his arms, noticing the small wince sound he let out but not really having the willpower to pull away.

"You're home.." You cried into his shirt like you were trying to convince yourself of the fact.

"Had to leave on medical grounds. Got shot."

That had you pulling away from him immediately.

"You got shot!?" The panic in your voice was clear. You hated that all your worrying had actually been valid.

Simons hands landed on either side of your face. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

One hand left your face just for a moment to lift the hem of his shirt and reveal a slightly bloodied bandage on his abdomen. "It's not the first time. Won't be the last."

You smacked his arm when he said that. Gentle to not hurt him, but hard enough to get the point across. "Don't say that!" You scolded to which he laughed and let his shirt fall back into place, his hand returning to your face.

"I missed you." He sighed softly, a moment of rare vulnerability. "I thought about you every minute of every day."

Tears returned to your eyes at the sudden gentleness in the tone of his voice.

"I missed you too-" You basically cut yourself off by desperately pulling his face down to yours and catching his lips in a sweet, long overdue kiss.

You didn't really know what you and Simon were. You hadn't discussed any titles yet. But you also didn't care because he was home. That was all that mattered. He was back with you. Back in bed where you could kiss until your lips turned blue and swap stories of you time apart.

You couldn't just not do anything about it. Not only could you not sleep but the beeping was keeping other people awake, too.

So, you got out of bed.

You could have gotten a sturdier chair from the kitchen. But it was late. You didn't care. You just wanted that contant beeping to shut the hell up. You're desk chair would do. The one that swivels, rolls, and can lean back completely flat.

Simon was passing the door to your apartment, on his way to the stairwell to leave the apartment building for the next few months. He hadn't told you. He didn't know if you would care. Maybe he would send you a text or something just before he got on the plane or helicopter or whatever mode of transportation Price and Laswell had chosen.

Thats when he heard a loud crash. Not a small crash like you dropped something or fell out of bed, but one of those sounds that makes your stomach drop because you just know someone got hurt.

Inside the apartment you were laying on the floor, ankle already starting to go purple and swell. You made the mistake of standing on your tip-toes for added height because you just couldn't reach. You lost your balance and put your hand on the back of the chair to try stabilize yourself. Of course that triggered the little mechanism to make the back lay down flat, completely knocking you off balance again. You tipped backwards, the wheels on the bottom of the chair did the rest. The chair rolled out from underneath you and tipped over with the force of the fall. The automatic reaction to try fall on your feet was your unltimate demise. You landed wrong on your left foot, twisted it or broke it or something like that, you weren't sure. You just knew that it hurt like hell.

Simon knocked on the door. No, he didn't. Actually, he banged on the door so hard you were surprised the thing didn't come off its hinges.

"Love?! You alrigh'?!"

You sat on your bedroom floor, biting you knuckles to stop yourself from crying or screaming, eyes shut tight. Your ankle felt hot and stiff, like your brain wouldn't let you move it even if you tried.

Simon called for you again, his voice heavy with worry. "Answer me! Are you okay?!" His banging on the door was so loud now that you're sure the whole building could hear it.

You obviously needed help. You were insanely lucky that Simon was passing by right as you fell but you still needed to unlock the door and let him in lest he break your door down.

So, gritting your teeth, you braced your hands on your bed and pulled yourself up, standing only on your right foot, your left slightly elevated off the ground. You couldn't bring yourself to call out for him. It was like your brain could only focus on the pain. You were sure no sound would come out if you tried to talk.

That's when you heard the much louder bangs on the door. Not knocks. Kicks. The door was weak enough as is. All it took was two kicks to have it fly open, hitting the wall, damaging the hinges and sending a huge split down the wood by the handle.

He was by your side in just a few seconds, calming down once he realized that your injuries were in fact not very serious or life threatening. Maybe he even felt a bit guilty about kicking down your door when it wasn't necessary at all. In his defense, you weren't responding to him. It was his military training that kicked in. No response equals get there quick.

A quick glance around the room told him enough. Chair on the floor, bed unmade, you in your pajamas, and a very timely beep from the fire alarm that he noticed you rolled your eyes at in annoyance despite your current predicament. He looked back at you, a scowl of pain on your face, foot completely elevated off the floor, skin rosy pink with embarrassment. With a gentle but firm grip on your arm he guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.

"I'm gonna take a look, alrigh'?" He got down on his knees and gently took your calf in his hand to extend your leg forwards. Your ankle was swollen and red in a way that you could just tell it would be purple in an hour.

Simon, with his free hand, squeezed your ankle with his thumb and forefinger with the utmost tenderness like he was holding a newborn. Then, a sigh, like he knew something you didn't, because he did.

"It's definitely sprained. Probably not broken but I can't really tell. We need to get you to a hospital, this won't heal on it's own." He stood up and looked down at you. You still hadn't said a word. He understood that it was from shock, most likely. "How bad does it hurt?"

Then, finally, your mouth opened and your voice sounded strained and forced but he knew that was normal. He had seen people recovering from shock not be able to speak for hours.

"I can't afford to go to the hospital."

"well that's no' what' I asked, is it?" A beat of silence. "How's your pain?"

You looked at him then. Military attire, combat boots, camo jacket with a name tag with 'SGT. Riley' plastered on it. He was leaving?

"Its okay. Hurts, but it could be worse. It feels hot." You chose not to mention his attire or the fact that if he hadn't come in here to check on you he would have just left without saying anything.

"yeah, that's jus' your blood rushing to your ankle. You got ice? Gotta bring down the swelling."

"There might be a bag of frozen peas or something in the freezer." Those frozen peas had probably been bought during a health kick where you swore you were going to lose weight but then promptly gave up after about a day.

He left then. You heard the sound of the freezer door opening and the drawers being pulled out, frozen pizzas pushed away in favour of vegetables for the first time ever no doubt.

He returned with that bag of peas wrapped up in a little cloth so the cold wouldn't feel so extreme on your skin and knelt down in front of you once more.

He took your ankle, just as gentle as before if not more so, and pressed the frozen peas to your skin. You winced a little at the sudden pressure and temperature chance. He noticed and mumbled out a little "sorry" just barely loud enough to be heard.

"We need to go to the hospital, love." He sounded guilty almost. Maybe he was just upset about the door or maybe it was the silent internal spiral of what might have happened to you had he left his apartment five minutes earlier instead of when he did. You would be here but alone and in pain with no way of getting to the hospital. Anyway, there was no use dwelling on that. He was here. That was all that mattered.

Once he was satisfied with the work the peas had done on your ankle he placed them on the floor and stood up just to sit down on your bed next to you.

"You can't walk, as much as you might want to. You alrigh' with me carrying you?"

A nod from you was really all he needed to stand up and put his arm under your knees and his other behind your back for support. Simon lifted you like you weighed the same as a pile of blankets or a stuffed animal. You would have been a blushing mess only the pain pulsating from your ankle was drawing your attention more than Simons strength.

You noticed your door as he carried you out of your apartment. It was destroyed enough that it wouldn't close. Not properly anyway. Still, you grabbed the broken doorknob as you passed it and tried to close it as best you could so it would maybe look closed enough that burglars wouldn't notice and rob you blind.

"Sorry 'bout that. I'll pay for it, love."

He carried you down the stairwell and out the front door of the building. It was cold outside. Much colder than your apartment. You were only wearing old shorts and a t-shirt as pajamas so the early morning breeze reached your bones almost immediately.

Simons truck blended in to the dark so well that you couldn't tell where it was until you were right beside it. He set you down on your feet gently, being careful to not let go until you had your balance on your non injured foot. He pulled off his jacket, his military jacket that you were almost certain he wasn't supposed to be giving to other people, and wrapped it around your shoulders before you could protest. When he turned he kept a protective hand on your arm and used his other to open the passenger side door of his truck.

You hobbled in, using both Simon and his truck for balance as you sat in the passenger seat then swung your legs inside. The door shut gently once you were inside and Simon went around the truck to hop in the driver seat.

The drive to the hospital was quiet. The type of quiet where you both knew there was something you had to address but neither of you were quite ready to talk about it yet. Until the silence became deafening and the tension was so thick it could be cut by a knife.

And you chose to break the silence.

"Were you really going to leave without saying anything?"

He didn't respond straight away. He didn't do anything actually. No sign that he had even heard you other than the way his grip subtly tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white, eyes glued to the road illuminated by his headlights.

Then, "Yeah. Thought it was just easier tha' way."

"Easier?" You almost scoffed, turning your body towards him. "Easier for who? Because it sure wouldn't have been easier for me, Simon. I would have woken up in the morning and texted you to no reply, then knocked on your door with no reply. I wouldn't have seen you in the hallways or stairwell, or the laundry room. You were perfectly fine with just leaving me confused and wondering what I had done to make you not want to say goodbye?"

He sighed and glanced towards you, silent for a while like he was thinking about what to say. His face showed no emotion. No guilt. But his eyes betrayed the sea of thoughts in his head.

"I- I don't know. I didn't think about it like that. I guess I thought you wouldn't care if I left. Most people don't."

Your heart softened at that. You had been upset with him for not thinking about you but he just figured that you wouldn't care if he was there or not...

"Maybe you should have asked me first instead of just assuming? I care, Simon." You reached over, softly putting your hand over his that was resting on the gear stick.

He looked over at you now, daring to tear his eyes away from the road just so he could see you.

"I'm sorry."

Simple words. Quiet and easy but they weighed heavily. You could both feel it.

"Well, I'm sorry for falling off a chair in the middle of the night and putting us in this situation in the first place." You laughed and he smiled. The tension was gone, replaced by something much sweeter that happily crowded the air between you for the rest of the drive to the hospital.

You were utterly grateful for Simons jacket when he helped you out of the car once he parked. It was even colder there, somehow. You also didn't want to be seen in your old t-shirt by anyone at the hospital.

The hospital was quiet as expected. Simon walked in, you in his arms. You were seen by a doctor almost immediately, unusually quick even with how quiet the waiting room was. You were even given a wheelchair so you didn't need to be carried everywhere. Maybe that had something to do with his military uniform, you assumed. It was odd how you felt sort of sad about not relying on him so much, even if he was pushing you in the wheelchair because it didn't have those big wheels with the handles on them.

After a brief examination from an older nurse who looked as though she had seen this exact injury many, many times before, she concluded that you had a partially torn ligament. She gave you an ankle brace, crutches, and a weeks worth of strong pain killers. It would take about six weeks to heal, and you would be on crutches for four of those weeks. At least you hadn't broken any bones.

You were in and out of the hospital in about 45 minutes. whether that was good luck, good timing, military privilege, or all three you couldn't tell. Either way you were grateful for it. You wanted to get back to bed.

You slept the entire car ride home. Your sleep was already interrupted earlier by the loud shrieking from your fire alarm, now this? you were exhausted.

When you woke up, it took you a minute to recognize where you were. Simons apartment. You must have been in his bedroom. Well, obviously, considering the bed you were in that you had no idea how you get there.

Simon was beside you, sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking you awake.

"Sorry, love, it's just... I have to go. I've stayed here as long as I can. I'm gonna be late."

You suddenly shot up in the bed, eyes wide and much more awake than you had been all night. Your heart sank in your chest. You had completely forgotten about that. He was leaving.

"I think you should stay here. In my apartment. It's obviously not safe in yours without a door."

You didn't have time to think about the fact that he had just offered you to basically live in his home for the next however many weeks or months. Because he was leaving.

"You're leaving? Now? Right now?" Your voice was tired but panicked in a way he had never heard before.

"Yeah, pretty, I'm leaving now. I have to." His hand, rough but gentle and safe in a way that felt almost cruel because he was about take that feeling with him, landed on top of hours with a reassuring grip.

"When will you be back?" Your other hand landed on top of his, gripping much tighter, much more desperate, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. Not from the pain from your ankle but the fear of not knowing what would happen to him.

"I don't know. A few months at least. Probably four or five." He shrugged and looked down like he couldn't bare to say the words himself.

One tear slipped from your eye and down your cheek. You didn't even notice it was there until you tasted the salt on your lips when it reached them.

Your mind was overrun with thoughts. You wouldn't see him for months. that was if he didn't get himself killed over there wherever he was going. You might never see him again.

You didn't really think about it. It was like moving on instinct when you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, desperate and salty from tears and entirely unexpected from both of you.

His hand that wasn't currently trapped between yours reached up to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss, his thumb stroking the skin of your cheekbone, wiping away tears.

Neither of you said anything when you pulled away from each other. There were no words to describe these feelings anyway. No, speaking would ruin the moment. So you both stayed quiet. Even when he stood up and walked away. Even when the front door shut quietly. Even when you heard his truck engine start up. Even when he stayed there for a few minutes, sitting in his truck, not yet driving away like he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.

And for the first time in his entire life, when Simon left, he was leaving something important behind.

For the first time in his life, he had someone who was desperate for him to return home.

"No, it should go away on its own. Think of it like a bruise." Good thing you didn't over react or anything. "Along with the headaches have you been experiencing any drowsiness that you would consider more than usual? Have you had any sudden weakness in your limbs or numbness anywhere?"

"Well I've been tired, but there's just been a lot happening and I haven't a bunch of great sleep. My leg was numb when it was wrapped up but other than that it hasn't been an issue."

"That's not surprising," the doctor says, "your body's been recovering from a lot and sleep plays a big role in that. Alright, one last thing I want to touch base on before we get you in the x-ray." She wheels over in front of you. "Your heart rate was pretty elevated but your blood pressure was a bit low. Do you mind if I check your pulse again?"

"No, go ahead." She turns your arm so the inside of it faces upwards and gently lays her two pointer fingers on the side of your wrist and holds it there for a few moments. She looks up at you.

"You don't notice that, do you?" Considering you don't know what she's talking about you shake your head. She takes her hands back. "There's definite tachycardia. And with your low blood pressure it could be that your heart's beating faster to try and make up for it but the signals just aren't getting where they need to be."

"I haven't really been moving around by myself all that much. I've been pretty stationary."

"Low activity can be a factor in low blood pressure. But some things I'm going to recommend that you try out are electrolyte supplements to put in your water. Try and aim to drink at least a full 32 ounce water bottle a day. Eat salty foods, you know, eat regularly. Smaller meals throughout the day rather than three big ones can help prevent having that blood pressure crash that can happen after eating big meals."

You blink at her, trying to absorb the barrage of information she spews at you. You wish you were taking notes.

"Try that out and when you're able to get around better start working on being more active. See if that helps in keeping your blood where it's supposed to go, but if it gets worse or isn't changing then definitely make an appointment with your GP to start looking at different options."

"Okay," is all you can say, feeling a bit like you just came out of a wind tunnel.

"Okay," she smiles at you. "Let's get that knee looked at."

By the time you hobble back out with a new brace on your knee to the waiting room, you're exhausted and overstimulated. The lights and sounds and smell of the hospital feel like one big cage just a size too small to comfortably sit in.

Simon sits like a dark cloud in the waiting room. The balaclava swapped out for a medical mask, a black ball cap under the hood of his sweatshirt. He's in the exact same spot he was when you were taken back to the examination room.

He stands when you come into view, closing the distance between you in his long, quick strides.

"Solid?" he asks.

"Almost," you say, looking down and fiddling with the stapled papers in one of your hands. He takes them from you to free you up so you don't struggle anymore with the crutches. "They don't think I'll need surgery at least. But they've given me some telehealth physical therapy sessions for my leg."

"Better than the alternative."

"Yep." A phone ringing at the front desk is one noise too many. "Can we get out of here?"

"Readin' my mind."

Falling asleep halfway on the trip back, the sky has darkened and Simon has just pulled into the last driveway by the time you're awake again.

Leaving the hospital, Simon got you some food and told you to write a list of things to get from the store on his phone. You put down some things like tooth and hair brushes and the electrolytes the doctor talked about. Simon let you stay in the car to eat and rest and must've sped through the store with how quickly it took him. He finished before you even finished with your food and came out with several bags full of more than you had written down. A couple of them were bulging with clothes and the others clacked around with various other toiletries well beyond a tooth brush. One bag was stuffed with a shoe box with a pair of not-inexpensive running shoes next to a pair of plush, warm slippers.

Your eyes nearly bugged from your head when you saw all that he bought, but he immediately waved off your protests and ended the conversation with a concise, "'s not a big deal, yeah? Just focus on feelin' better."

The bags rattle around in the backseat as Simon pulls up to the house. Because of the height of the car, Simon has to help you in and out of it. You snatch the crutches from the back as he gets out and comes around to your door. When you're stable on the ground, he goes to get the bags.

"I can carry some," you say as he hangs all of them off one crowded arm. He just shoots you a look from under the brim of his cap that tells you exactly what he thinks about that. You shrug and turn to the house, leaving him to carry all of it if that's what he wants so bad.

Soap is in the kitchen demolishing an entire package of lunch meat and a huge bag of shredded cheese. He nods at you and mumbles a, "Hey," through a mouthful.

Kyle's head pops up from the couch, looking up from the laptop on his lap as you walk in. "Are you all in one piece?" he asks.

"Almost," you say. Simon puts the papers the doctor gave you on the counter.

"I'm going to put these in your room," he rumbles, referring to the bags. He's gone down the hallway before you even realize he called it your room.

Instead, you grab the papers and clomp into the living room. "They don't want to do surgery, at least. But they've got me some sort of online PT that I can start doing it at home."

"Well that's something," Kyle says. He scoots forward in his seat. "Here, let me take a look. We can see what it takes to get that set up." He pats the couch next to him. You hand him the papers and climb onto the seat.

You watch as he scans the papers until he gets to the physical therapy prescription. He types in the link on the paper and goes through the various pages to get where you're supposed to be.

"They've always got some portal bullshit with these things." You snort at the obvious disdain in his voice. "There we go." He tilts the laptop to you and the both of you scroll through all there is the doctor is having you do. They're mainly videos of exercises focused on your leg and even some for your back. It's a lot less overwhelming than you thought it would be, and Kyle's willingness to let you borrow his computer when you need to do them is incredibly helpful.

You're busy snooping around the various segments and features when Simon comes back out the hallway.

He walks directly towards you, with his phone in his hand. He holds it out to you.

"Call for you."

He fucked you frantically for what felt like hours, dragging your body around the house, fucking you in every surface, sometimes not even in a flat position, holding you in crazy poses as he fucked your sore hole. You didn't ask him to stop. You didn't want him to. It was exhilarating and exciting and he was thrusting into you in such crazy state... Knowing that you could drive him that level of horny drove you to new highs.

By the time he was done, all your holes were overflowing with his warm seed. Your neck and legs filled with tiny bites as he feed off you, and you... You were passed out because of oversensitivity and the insane amount of orgasms he gave you.

You were glad vampires had a heat.