In the three months you've lived in your apartment, you've only seen your neighbor twice.
Once, when you caught him on his way back from the store. Carrying an obscene amount of bags in one arm, all of them looking suspiciously like microwave-dinners. The other time you had caught him in the lobby looking about ready to murder the out-of-service elevator. You chatted with him while you both walked up the stairs, and he introduced himself as "simon"
And, sue you, you feel bad for the guy. Doesn't get visitors, doesn't go anywhere as far as you know.
And those damn tv dinners.
So, you buy all the fancy ingredients you usually reserve for celebrations and cook dinner for two. Your school drama teacher would have been proud of your performance when you sheepishly knocked on his door with a tray of lasagna "uhm, hi. I'm your neighbor, I don't know if you remember me–"
"I do." Simon cuts you off, door barely hedged open. His arm, the one on his cane, shakes with effort. Eyes cutting down to your tray, narrowing, "what's that?"
"Oh– uhm. Lasagna. I made more than I expected, and I'm out of town in a few days and I don't want to waste it–" you rattle off, faster than you'd like but conscious of the way his shoulder must be aching just to stand and talk to you, "I thought– if we shared–"
"Fine." Cutting you off again, door pulling further open "but I don't own dishes. Bring yer own."
Which is how you end up sharing a tense dinner with simon, footie match on the tv in the next room. You try not to stare but...he's handsome under that surgical maks he always wears. Good, strong jaw, pretty lips, nice scars.
When he's done, simon whipes the food that spilled off his chin and grunts "best damn meal I've had in years."
Really, it becomes routine from there.
You bring over a homecooked meal, every week at least. Eventually you and simon start chatting, at first bitching about the elevator and neighbors, then life in general. Ghost starts to accumulate actual plates and cups in his home, some food items other than microwave meals.
You learn a lot about simon. About what he did before the injury, about the mates he calls now and again. Eventually, you bully him into using his wheelchair when you visit instead of forcing himself to use a cane. He also bullies you into getting your shower head fixed.
It's....nice. you never notice, but when you aren't looking simon looks at you like a lovestruck fool.
