🧜‍♂️ ✦ Nana

after a few long moments, he knocked louder, grumbling c’mon under his breath. he stepped back as the chain lock jingled, the deadbolt turned, and the door was being swung open. you took in the sight of him, your expression deadpan. you had clearly been woken up— hair messy, eyes puffy and squinting, dressed in only a shirt that was too big. after a moment, you reached out to grab his arm with a roll of your eyes and yank him into the apartment.

“you know it's 2 in the morning?” you scolded in what simon liked to call your mom voice.

“yeah, yeah, i know.” he deadpanned, standing there as you locked up the door again, shoving the jammer under the doorknob.

“you fuckin- ugh, god, i can’t stand you sometimes.” you huffed, leaving him standing there to go fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom. “always showin’ up with your face all fucked up, lookin’ like a sad little puppy– you take those damn shoes off before you walk on my carpet!”

simon stopped before he put his foot down, rolling his eyes and taking a step back onto the linoleum. as he bent down to untie his boots, his face throbbed, groaning quietly as he yanked at the laces. he kicked them aside, following your path to the bathroom. you were crouched down, digging around under the sink. he could faintly hear you grumbling to yourself.

“shit, i guess that does look bad, huh?” he chuckled tiredly, turning his head at different angles to look at himself in the mirror.

his lip was split, nose bloody, bruises already forming under his eyes. he had a mark on his left cheek, a small gash on his right eyebrow, and another on his hairline. you stood up with the plastic first aid box, shooting him a glare as you yanked the shower curtain back, gesturing at the edge of the tub.

“sit.” you ordered, and simon silently obeyed.

you set the box on the toilet lid, opening it and digging around for the antiseptic.

“-fuckin’ getting on my nerves. its 2 am, and here you are, beat up again-” you bitched under your breath, making simon chuckle.

your head snapped towards him as you heard it, glaring at him. “not funny.” you soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic, stepping between his spread legs and grabbing his chin.

he hissed in pain as you manhandled his head to the right angle before pressing the sopping wet cotton ball against the cut on his hairline. he managed to squint his eye closed as the liquid dripped down his face, narrowly avoiding getting any in his eye.

“don’t be a pussy,” you glared, but didn’t move away as he grabbed your hip and squeezed.

“don’t be so fuckin’ harsh, woman.” he huffed, trying to pull away but you tightened your grip on his chin, pressing the cotton ball harder.

“if you stopped getting your ass handed to you every week, i wouldn't have to be harsh.” you shot back, wiping away the bits of dried blood surrounding the cut. “you really think losing every fight you get into is punk?”

“c’mon, don’t say that shit.” he rasped, scowling.

“too late,” you tossed the soiled cotton ball away, soaking another one to press against his eyebrow as he hissed in pain again. “gonna have to start charging you for nurse duties. you owe me dinner and dessert and a fucking bath.”

“i’m not runnin’ you a fuckin' bath, you're a grown woman.” he argued, face pinched in pain and annoyance.

“then a fuckin’ night of peace or something, i don’t know!” you tossed the cotton ball away again, repeating the process for his lip. “just help me out here, si! this is the fourth time this month you've shown up at my door like this.”

he looked away, jaw working silently as you continued to fuss over his face. once all the blood was cleaned up, you placed a butterfly bandage on his eyebrow before stepping back, crossing your arms. “shirt off.”

he raised his eyebrow at you, pain sparking through his forehead. “thought you were mad at me?”

“i am, this isn’t for my own gratification. i know you’re bruised up under there and i wanna see how bad.” you told him, “shirt off.”

he stared at you for a moment before sighing, rolling his eyes as he stripped his shirt off. you threw your hands up in annoyance as you saw the bruises forming on his ribs, turning to grab the tube of bruise cream.

“i’m going to bed.” you told him, tossing the tube at his chest before turning to leave the bathroom.

“hey– wait, don’t- don’t do that, sweetheart, c’mon,” he sighed, grabbing your arm and pulling you back between his legs before you could escape. “i know you’re mad, and i fucked up, and i’m sorry, alright?”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one foot as you looked down at him. “sorry doesn’t mean anything if it isn’t followed by changing.” you told him, “i prefer my boyfriend not fucked up and in pain from dumb fucking fights.”

he sighed, pulling you closer and leaning his forehead against your stomach, arms wrapping around your legs. “i know, i know. i fucked up, i know.” he murmured, closing his eyes. “i am sorry, really.”

you were quiet for a few long moments before sighing as well, one hand settling in his hair while the other rubbed his back. “you’re an asshole, you know?”

he couldn’t help but chuckle. “yeah, i know.”

“and you need a haircut.”

“i thought you hated that shaved mohawk look.”

“i do, i’m never letting you do that again.”

“then what do you suggest?” he drawled, lifting his head to look up at you.

you cupped his face, gently thumbing over the split on the left side of his lip. he tried not to flinch.

“i suggest getting your shit together.” you told him softly, grabbing the bruise cream and popping open the lid.

simon’s nose wrinkled. “that smells fuckin’ awful.”

“sucks to be you then, huh?” you hummed, squeezing some onto your fingers before gently spreading it over the bruise on his cheek.

he couldn’t help but laugh a little, shaking his head in amusement. you helped him spread the bruise cream over his ribs before washing your hands. he didn’t move as you left the bathroom, coming back a few moments later with one of his shirts. you tossed it at him, and he caught it before it hit his face.

“wear that to bed, i don’t want ointment all over my new sheets.” you told him, pulling open your medicine cabinet with a squeak.

he obeyed, slipping the shirt on. the fabric clung uncomfortably to the ointment on his skin, making him scowl. you shook a few excedrin into your palm before handing them to him.

“take these.” you instructed, handing him a glass of water.

he obeyed once more, tossing the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with the water. you packed up the first aid kit, setting it back under the sink. with that, you left the bathroom, disappearing down the hall to your bedroom. simon let his head hang for a moment, letting out a sigh before standing. he brushed his teeth, cleaning up the used cotton balls before shutting off the light and feeling his way down the hall to your bedroom. you were already in bed, laying on your side with your back facing the door like you always did when you were mad at him. he tugged off his jeans, picking up an old pair of his sweatpants from your folded laundry basket and sliding them on. climbing under the covers behind you, he was surprised when you didn’t inch away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest. he buried his face against the back of your shoulder, pressing a kiss to it a few times.

“if it makes you feel any better, i wasn’t fightin’ over something stupid.” he murmured into the dark, his thumb caressing your arm gently.

you were silent for a while before responding. “what were you fighting about then?”

“you.” he confessed, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “some guys at the show were bein’ gross. had to show ‘em i don’t fuck with people talkin’ about my girl like that.”

“but you lost the fight?” you twisted a little to look at him.

“never said that.” he smirked, brushing some hair out of your face.

“you didn’t lose?” you sat up on your elbows, looking down at him in the dark, barely able to make out his face.

“no.” he chuckled, “i don’t know how you got it into your head that i’ve been losin’ every time.”

“because you come home with a busted up face!” you defended, “has it been a you should see the other guy situation every time?”

he laughed, nodding. “pretty much, yeah.”

you scoffed, smacking his chest. he wheezed, laughing more as he grabbed your hand to keep you from smacking him again.

“what is wrong with you?” you found herself laughing as well. “why didn’t you correct me?”

he shrugged, his thumb habitually massaging your palm. “you’re hot when you’re mad.”

you pulled your hand back like you were going to smack him again but he tightened his grip, laughing as he pulled you closer. “not my fault you never asked, you know. quit your bitchin’ and go back to sleep, i’ll get you breakfast in the morning to make up for it.”

you settled back into bed beside him, throwing a leg over his hips and sighing quietly. he grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg a little higher, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“waffle house?”

“yeah, i’ll get you waffle house.” he murmured, trailing the tips of his fingers up and down your arm. “whatever you want, sweetheart.”