#frayed synapses

“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 . .

Despite this, the wind felt fresh on your face as soon as you stepped out onto the balcony and bathed in the rays of the rising sun. You stretched your arms over your head and let out a content sigh. London was full of tall buildings and while it wasn’t all lit up since it was still very early in the morning, the blue tinted scenery was still nice to look at. It was a Saturday today which meant you wouldn’t have work today, thankfully. Now that you remembered, your boss had asked you to take about two weeks off after what happened. 

You should probably re-bandage your arm now that you’re thinking about it. 

Anyway, you retreated inside your home and began your day. The water droplets that fell from the showerhead were more than soothing, despite that, it still stung when the water washed over the wound on your arm. 

It was a stupid mistake to be blindsided by a client in that way, you should’ve known better; should’ve seen the signs. 

With a heavy sigh, you made your way out of the shower and into the kitchen after getting dressed. You were going to make yourself a cup of coffee but decided instead to go to the local cafe down the street. After all, you had way more time on your hands than you knew to do with. With your keys in your pocket and your small box of toothpicks in your coat pocket, you ventured out of the door. As you locked it, your vision drifted to the door next to yours. 

Your neighbor's door. 

It suddenly hit you that you had made quite the impression the day before. “Should i..” you muttered to yourself, wondering if you should treat the man to a cup of coffee as a sort of apology for last night. As soon as the lock on your door clicked, you slowly walked up to his door. It felt rather intimidating but you’d already made your mind up — He’d probably end up declining anyway, you reasoned. Just as you were about to deliver a firm knock on his door, it swung open, making your hand freeze in mid-air. 

   You could see your neighbor’s creased eyebrows and the confused look in his eyes, the surgical mask he wore hid the rest of his face though. He was taller than he seemed last night, you guessed that maybe it was because you’d only seen him from afar that time. You stepped back from the front of the door, realizing that you’d somehow managed to make it awkward yet again. All these years and yet you still had problems with simple social interaction. 

It almost made you feel pathetic. Almost.

“Good morning,” You began after clearing your throat, “-Uhm, I’m _____, I live next door. I know I probably caused you some trouble last night so.. I was wondering if you’d like to have a cup of coffee or tea — whatever you prefer — as an apology for last night?” A sheepish smile graced your lips as a silence settled between the two of you. You offered your hand for a handshake, which he returned after a few seconds. His hand was large ang calloused, definitely not the work of an office job. 

The crease in between his eyebrows was gone, more relaxed from what you could tell — but he had yet to say a word. Finally, after what felt like a grueling pair of seconds, your neighbor spoke. “Simon. As for last night, you don’t need to do tha’.” His accent was thick, his response clipped. 

“Are you sure?” You smiled, satisfied that you were right about him declining your offer. It was probably selfish of you but you weren’t prepared for the anxiety of going out today anyway. On top of that, what if you ended up being awkward as hell — as you usually were — in front of him? He’d probably think you were weird and then you’d never be able to show your face again. 

He seemed to be considering your offer for a moment — which frankly made you a tad nervous because what if he accepted your offer? A sigh came from his lips before he replied, “I’m busy today. Wha’ about this Friday?” 

Your heart stopped. 

If you said ‘no’ it’d make it complicated and you’d probably look like an ass for it, but if you said ‘yes’ you’d have the displeasure of not knowing what to say to him or even how to start a conversation with him. . .  The anxiety was eating you alive in those three mere seconds. “Sure. What time?” The words were rushed, you were surprised you didn’t trip over your own tongue. You tended to do that when your mind ran faster than your mouth could keep up with. 

“Does 2pm work for you?” 

“Yeah.” you answered with a slow nod. “That would be great.” 

With that, Simon gave you a curt nod. You bid him farewell and continued on your way to the local cafe, the memory of the interaction replaying in your mind at least a hundred times until you entered the warm ambience of the cafe. The glossy floorboards and aroma of coffee beans in the air brought you a sense of comfort — which you needed after that awkward interaction. You already had a toothpick in your mouth by the time it was your turn to order. 

“The usual caramel latte, Miss ______?” 

“What?” You looked at the young man confusedly, as if he’d grown two heads. 

The young man at the register, his name-tag read ‘Eliah’, only chuckled and offered a smile to you. “Sorry, it’s just- you always order the same thing. Sorry if that was weird..” he sheepishly apologized. Did you make him feel like that? Oh lord. 

You shook your head, “Oh, it’s not weird at all, don’t worry. I was just lost in thought so it caught me off guard.” 

“So.. A Caramel Latte?” Eliah smirked. Your social nervousness seemed to amuse him, not that you cared all that much. It was just something embarrassing you couldn’t fix about yourself. No amount of trying in your thirty-five years of life would fix that. 

“Yeah, please.” you dug into your pocket and slipped your debit card from your wallet, fidgeting with it before swiping it through the card reader and punching in your pin number. It was only the start of the day and yet you already felt drained. Human interaction shouldn’t be this stressful — or troublesome, as you like to call it. It was almost ironic since your expertise involved reading people and analyzing them through their behavior. 

But you digress. 

As you went to sit at your usual table near the window, you pulled up the calendar app on your phone and made a reminder for this coming Friday. As you sat there waiting for your coffee, the interaction played in your head like a movie. Simon was a tall and built man; he was also dressed in active wear when he had opened the door. You concluded that he liked to stay fit — as most men do. The mask made you come up with the notion that he was either sick or he was hiding his face — the lower part anyway. 

You relentlessly searched for anything that would give you something to talk about when you met him this Friday. If you just sat with him in silence, you swore you were going to feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. The anxiety alone would eat you alive. You had the ability to make it seem like you were calm when you were freaking out underneath the surface — it didn’t make your social anxiety go away but it sure as hell lessened the added stress of making a situation awkward when you acted like you had no anxiety at all. 

Your thoughts drifted from your neighbor to the new bandages around your arm. It would probably take about two to three weeks for it to heal properly, it still had stitches which helped but didn’t keep it from hurting. The injury would probably leave a scar. The only good thing was that it would also serve as a reminder to never underestimate the creativity of a criminal — especially one with an antisocial personality disorder.

“Caramel Latte for .. _____?” 

Your train of thought derailed as soon as your name was called. You retrieved your coffee from the counter and thanked the barista before leaving. 

Work was off the table these next two weeks but you had an inkling that it would still be an eventful couple of days. 

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

Simon’s resigned himself to gluing himself to the railing of his balcony, the one neighboring yours,  as he silently observes you pretending that he isn’t there. Prior to two weeks ago, you would have spared him a kind glance, struck up a lively conversation with him about something mundane, something simple. And now? Now he was subject to the wistful expression etched onto your visage while you stared off into the distance with that familiar toothpick in between your slightly-chapped lips, as if you wanted to take the clouds out of the sky itself and craft it into something else. 

He would have asked you about what prompted the sudden distance if the thought of confronting you about it didn’t make him feel as if his throat would close up the moment he uttered your name. Acknowledging this newfound distance between the two of you would imply that there was a sort of closeness between the two of you, that the pair of you had become more than just mere neighbors; More than just acquaintances by proximity. 

The howling wind bit at his skin, relentless in reminding him how cold he was on the Friday nights that were starved of your presence. Even in the weeks leading up to the suffocating silence, Simon could tell you were slowly withdrawing from him, as if to ease the eventual and dull pain that his absence would undoubtedly cause you. Simon knew you better than you thought he would have because of the simple fact that you mirrored his self-sabotaging behaviors. He knew all too well that you mourned the connection before it had even been cut off by your very hand; That your silent feelings for him were a burden on you, one you couldn’t afford to tend to. 

And it shouldn’t have caused him this much ache in his being to see your expressionless face in the morning when he was coming back up to his flat after a short run around the block; Shouldn’t have felt like his heart was being yanked from his chest cavity when you offered no more than a one-second glance his way. 

But it did. 

In fact, it hurt more because he knew he wouldn’t stop you from withdrawing from him completely. The fear of commitment was a beast that could eat him alive if he let it, which he did; Skin, bones and all- this monster had taken it. Simon had an inkling that you let this same beast mangle you in the same exact way. In this shell of a man, there was nothing he could offer to make you want to stay. There was nothing he would do to make you speak to him, after all, it was only casual conversation. 

It was casual when he listened attentively to you telling him old stories about your childhood. Stories which revealed the turbulent and yet endearing relationship you had with your mother, stories that included the absent father you felt so much for. You were an open book and he was willing to read everything on your pages, carefully turning them with the utmost delicacy as if they’d wrinkle under his grip. 

He was sure that you could read him too. 

You knew that his subtle touches ー the way his fingers seemed to linger on yours whenever he handed a cup of coffee to you, the way he gazed at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky, the way he often tenderly pulled you by your waist to the opposite side of the sidewalk when he noticed you were on the street side — meant something. You wouldn’t have withdrawn from him out of your fear if you hadn’t known that his warm skin-to-skin contact carried whispers of something more than platonic love. 

It ached to be so close to you and yet still so far. 

The calming sounds of soulful jazz that leaked through the thin walls of the apartment were enough for him. They had to be. So, as Simon lay in his uncomfortable and empty mattress, he listened intently to the sounds of you existing. Your small laughs while you watched a show he didn’t yet hear about or your not-so-quiet humming that put his anxieties to rest — they were enough. 

Friday nights for you had returned to their old routine. 

Records playing in your living room while you made yourself some dinner and relaxed after the stressful week you’d had. Things at work were normal; there were no more injuries inflicted on you by clients since the facility you worked for decided to take extra measures to ensure the incident wouldn’t happen again. You had been relentlessly drowning in work, having to catch up on patient files and notes from sessions, but you loved it. 

Sure, you didn’t have much time to catch up on your social life outside of work, but that was for the best. Your social life consisted of trips to the pub with some of your college mates or seeing Simon on those late-night walks and you’d rather not entangle yourself further with him. He wasn’t a bad man by any means, in fact he was respectful of you and kept his distance — only getting close to you after you’d opened up — but he wasn’t the reason you withdrew. 

You left subtly because of you. 

The moment you felt yourself looking forward to those walks, felt your heart leaping at the rare sight of him without the black surgical mask, noticed that you were thinking about him more than usual; That was when you decided to put a stop to it. You couldn’t- no, wouldn’t allow yourself to love him. You got up to wash your plate, the music oozing from the grooves filling the silence in your flat. The wind was stale and the moon hid behind pale clouds in the night sky, it was awfully quiet despite the sounds reverberating softly off of the thin walls — as if the night wanted you to examine the reason for which you denied yourself a potential relationship. 

As the cold water doused your already-freezing hands, you let out a sigh. Butterflies flew rampantly through your stomach as the thought of potentially being with Simon entered your mind. The feeling sank quickly when you were reminded why exactly you’d chosen to stay away. You weren’t at all capable of receiving nor giving love. You’d never been in a serious relationship because of your workaholic tendencies; Preferring work or school over complex relationships with other people was your default mindset. 

It didn’t help that you didn’t exactly grow up with an exemplary father. Being a psychologist, you knew the exact qualities that made a healthy relationship but you were at a total loss when it came to your own personal relationships; Choosing to avoid them instead of taking a risk and going out of your comfort zone. The glass plate clattered against the sink as you placed it in the rack. You were about to go and change the record, noticing that it was about to stop, but muffled screams from the other side of the wall shook your very being. 

You knew that voice. 

It was Simon. 

In a heartbeat, you rushed out of your door, hastily unlocking it before knocking on Simon’s door. You made sure to keep the knocks at a calm pace, not wanting to alarm him or make him panic. After about ten minutes of you knocking relentlessly and listening to his screaming, Simon emerged from his door, his eyes sunken and tired than when you last saw them clearly. You often heard his mumblings —  sometimes it was pleading you would hear — through the unbearably weak walls that surrounded your flat. You guessed that he most likely suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a fairly common mental illness in soldiers. 

He opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “Are you okay? Is everything fine?” you were concerned for him. Simon’s eyes widened a little at the notion, frankly he thought it was a neighbor complaining about the noise again. His nightmares weren’t exactly forgiving. 

“I.. er, yeah. Everything's fine.” he scratched the back of his neck anxiously. The sweat on his brow glistened underneath the dim orange-yellow light of the hallway. 

“Nightmare?” you asked him calmly. You weren’t about to take his word for it, he’d made you too worried to act like it was nothing now. Simon only nodded and avoided your gaze, his eyes were glassy but his jaw was tense. “.. Do you want to spend the night at mine instead?” you offered without hesitation. The only thing you could think about was the way he seemed so shaken — so used to dealing with it alone — and how much you wanted to help him in any way that you could. “Just so, you know, you don’t have to be alone. It’s fine if you don’t want to, I'm just, um- you know.. Offering..” 

He would’ve chuckled deeply at the way you scrambled to justify your words if he wasn’t so shaken up at the moment. He’d dreamt about Tommy- About his family and the last time he saw them. Images flashed behind his eyelids every time he closed them. He thought he was getting better but it seemed that he still had a long way to go. It crushed him, but you were right. 

He didn’t want to spend it in his cold and empty flat by himself. 

He didn’t want to be alone anymore. 

As much as he had made his solitude a staple in his life — an unshakable pillar — he couldn’t bear to go it alone anymore. Just as you tore your walls down for him once upon a time, it was now his turn to reciprocate and despite the short time the two of you spent apart, he received your concern with open arms. Didn’t push you away like he normally would have anyone else. 

Instead, Simon allowed you to look at him with that warm, worried gaze of yours and lead him into your flat. He let you hold his hand (which emitted vastly more warmth than yours) as you opened your door for him for the first time since the two of you had become acquainted. 

For the first time, he let you let him in. 

It was new land to him but he was willing to let you guide him through the valleys of your life and perhaps.. maybe even through the vibrant meadow of your love. 

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

It wasn’t as if he was a stalker of sorts. In fact, he had more in common with you than you knew. See, he also had the habit of observing others. For one, it was common for him to know the language of the body and be able to read people since it was crucial during interrogation. 

But this wasn’t why he did it. 

Mostly, it was because he felt that if he observed enough, obtained enough information about how normal people acted, then maybe he could also learn to act.. Human. Maybe then, he could experience even a sliver of what it was like to live a normal life. 

At first he noticed you. 

The way you stuck to a strict routine; You were out of the door by ten in the morning and came back at five on the dot, from Monday to Thursday. He knew this by the way the metallic clinking of your keys filtered in through the thin walls of the complex every time you came back. The only day you didn’t have work was on Fridays. On Fridays, Simon assumed you had movie nights ..with yourself. He could hear the thrillers play through the walls that offered no privacy — He could also hear your sniffles during a cheesy rom-com. Simon could rarely sleep so listening to the faint conversations between the characters and listening intently to your commentary became quite the entertainment on nights that were particularly difficult. 

Then, he began to see you. 

The black toothpick in your mouth became a frequent sight and he didn’t miss the way you always had at least one earbud off in the morning. You never really said more than a ‘hello’ in passing, not really taking notice of him since he was always coming back from a run whenever you were off to work. But he took much notice of you, more than he initially thought to — I mean, you were his neighbor. A stranger. 

But you were an interesting stranger. 

This was evident the day you got hurt. 

Simon assumed that your job was a normal one; a desk job, maybe a job in sales or business — but it seemed that this was one of the few cases he was wrong. The day you got hurt, you returned from work earlier than usual, at around twelve if he remembered correctly. He was coming back from a grocery run since his fridge was running dry and as he quickly skidded up the stairs to his flat, he saw you standing in front of your door with your keys in hand. 

You didn’t move, he wondered if you were even breathing. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, you had turned into a statue with a way too familiar set of bandages wrapped around your left forearm. He swore he heard you mutter something and as soon as he approached to ask if you were alright — which you clearly weren’t — you swiftly snapped back to reality and unlocked your door, disappearing within the confines of your flat and leaving him in the hall with unspoken words lodged in his throat. 

Simon entered his flat as normal but he felt as if for once he had seen more than you intended to show to the general public. It was strange. Not that you had stood outside your door as if waiting for someone to ask you if you were alright only for you to deny yourself a possible connection at the last second — No, that wasn’t strange at all.

The strange thing was that Simon found himself wanting to know more. 

And then as if fate itself had chosen to take note of him for once. . . 

He met you. 

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

Unfortunately that feeling didn’t last forever.

The meeting will turn out fine and there’s nothing to worry about; It was just coffee with your neighbor — nothing more and nothing less, you tried to convince yourself as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You wondered if your hair looked good, if your clothes were decent; Worries you knew were futile since you were probably overthinking yet another social interaction. You’d always had a tendency to overthink the most miniscule of things. In the sense of your job, it was something good since it allowed you to catch even the smallest of changes in someone’s personality — in the sense of your personal life however? Not so much. 

With a reluctant sigh, your fingers wrapped around the toothpick box in the depths of your coat pocket. You donned a simple beige coat, a silk black dress shirt with the highest button unbuttoned, matching black jeans and your favorite pair of worn ankle high boots. Sure, they looked pretty beat-up, but you never were one to waste money on having racks upon racks of shoes or even clothes for that matter. 

Anyway, once you were sure everything looked decent enough, you stepped out of your apartment, the metal of the keys clinking against one another as you locked the door. You only waited about three minutes for your neighbor, Simon, to come out. However, in those three minutes, you were rehearsing your greeting; Trying to plan out the conversation between the two of you, practicing how you’d respond to questions he may have or things he might ask about you. 

Finally, you heard the doorknob next to you move before the door pulled back to reveal Simon. He was clad in a simple dark gray zip-up hoodie, a pair of faded blue jeans and some worn combat boots — it seemed he was more of a function-over-style kind of person, much like you. You offered a welcoming smile and a handshake, Simon returned both and asked where it was that you two were going. 

“It’s a local cafe, down the street. I go there almost every week.” you mentioned as your boots quietly crunched the leaves that laid on the concrete floor of the sidewalk. He walked a safe distance beside you on the side where the sidewalk met the road. He didn’t answer much and it was then that you felt the awkwardness settle in between the two of you again. It was getting familiar, you hated it. 

Absent-mindedly, you took a toothpick from the box hidden in your coat pocket and slipped it into your mouth. “What’s with the toothpicks?” Simon asked. It was a simple question but it surprised you; Maybe because it was normal to you so you had the tendency to assume it seemed normal to everyone else as well. That, and you didn’t expect him to ask you something.

“It’s a habit,” you told him, “It’s like gum, I guess.” 

You could feel his eyes on you but you pretended not to notice. He didn’t say anything about it either.  “..How was your week?” Small talk was your enemy but you’d rather do that than be at yet another awkward standstill with him. 

“Been busy for the most part. You?” his response was vague, which seemed to be his thing, you noted. He wasn’t much of a talker which meant you’d probably have to do most of the talking.. Or who knows? Maybe he prefers silence. You’d find out sooner or later. 

“The opposite’s true for me, I seem to have too much time to myself these days.” you answered. Your words were a bit exaggerated, but you weren’t at work right? You could be yourself, even if only for a while. It was easier with strangers because you’d never have to see them again and if all went well, Simon would remain a stranger. The two of you approached the cafe shortly afterwards. You reached for the metal handle of the door but your tall neighbor was faster and held the door open for you. 

“Thank you.” Once you were inside, the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee beans greeted your nose along with a sweet aroma that lingered. Simon stood beside you as you walked to the counter to order. He didn’t seem to think much about his order, barely even glancing at the menu before you asked him what he’d like. 

“Just a black coffee’s fine for me.” You nodded and opened your mouth to order the drinks but the familiar young man at the register beat you to it. 

“Caramel Latte?” The young man, Eliah, asked you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before smoothing out in surprise as you remembered who he was. “Oh! Yeah, that and a black coffee, please.” Eliah tapped away at the screen in front of him, inputting your order before looking back at you. “Cash or card?” 

“Card.” you swiped your card and received your receipt before leading Simon to your favorite table near the window. As you sat down, you noticed Simon’s contemplative look — through his eyes of course because the lower half of his visage was covered by the black surgical mask that he wore. “Are you wondering about Eliah?” 

“That’s his name?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled a bit before looking out of the window at the trees adorned with golden and red leaves. A sight to distract you from the slightly intimidating man before you. “Apparently, I've come in here often enough for them to take notice of the fact that I order the same thing every time I come here. It surprised me honestly.” Simon listened to your response attentively before humming in acknowledgement. 

“.. What’s the bandage for?” You turned back and glanced at the man in front of you, realizing that you’d propped your chin on your palm, thus causing your sleeve to roll down and reveal the bandages wrapped around your forearm.  You figured there wasn’t anything to hide but it still felt like a touchy subject since it reminded you of your stupidity. It seemed as if Simon noticed your hesitance to answer the question and followed it up with a, “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine, its..” you thought over the right words to describe it for a second before continuing, “It was a work incident.” 

“Yeah?” He could tell there was a lot more to your answer. “You’ve got a dangerous job, then.” 

“..Not as dangerous as yours, I'm sure.” you responded, excusing yourself to go pick up the drinks on the counter once your name was called. Simon gave you a small thanks before continuing on with the conversation. 

“What gives you that idea?” Simon asked, his tone contemplative — clearly indicative of his interest in your statement. 

“A few things,” you smiled, sipping on your latte as you locked eyes with him. 

“Yeah? Things like what? By the way his eyes seemed to narrow slightly, you could guess he was smirking underneath the surgical mask. Your job required that you be attentive to any and all small changes, whether it be in body language or small details about the client — Simon had already said a lot about himself without having to verbalize any of it to you.

“Well, for starters. . . Your hands are calloused ..and you’ve got bags under your eyes, but you don’t seem to be fatigued or plagued with lapses in memory or judgement, which indicate that you’re probably accustomed to being sleep deprived and functioning well.” You spoke slowly, calmly as if analysis was something that came as naturally as breathing. “Given that calluses form because of repetitive pressure over time, you probably spend long periods of time lifting heavy amounts of weight.” You looked up from your Caramel Latte and into his tired brown eyes. They seemed intrigued by your words, seemingly seizing you up the more you backed up your assumption. Truth is, you loved being able to read people like an open book — it fascinated you, this silent language that few knew to speak. You put your cup down on the table, “You also dress for function, not comfort.” 

Simon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. A half-scoff, half-chuckle escaped his lips, slightly muffled by the mask. “What if that’s a preference? Have you thought of that?” 

You leaned forward, a knowing smile on your lips. “Could be,” You took a long sip of your drink before leaning back comfortably and continuing, “-But the fresh scratch on your brow and your reddened knuckles tells me you must put yourself in quite a lot of danger; You don’t seem to be new to it, and coupled with all the things i just said, it only seems fitting to say that your job requires you to be strong and resilient under harsh conditions. Ergo, your job is dangerous.” 

Simon didn’t say a word, only a calm look on his face. He didn’t seem phased at all by your analysis of him, had you been correct? Would he tell you what his job was if you were? Probably not, you told yourself as he lifted his cup to his lips, pulling down the mask for a brief moment. His scarred bottom lip confirmed your assumption that he was accustomed to the danger. It made you wonder about him. About the kind of life he lived. 

Then he caught your eyes, ensnared them like a hunter to its prey. “You’re observant. You some kind of investigator?” 

“I wanted to be at one point,” you chuckled. Was he curious about you? Maybe he was just asking you meaningless questions to move on from the conversation. Maybe you’d mistaken his interest and made it seem like something big when it wasn’t — you were an expert at that. “But I chose to go into Psychology instead.” 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head a little. “Didn’t know therapists were prone to violence.” You chuckled at his humour, your fingers ghosting over the fresh bandages. His eyes remained on the wound, he seemed to be wondering just what exactly could have caused it. If you were some kind of therapist, the only way you could get hurt would be if a patient of yours caused it. Judging by the size of the wound, he could tell it wasn’t just a scratch. 

You sighed with a weak smile on your face  and drank from the straw, “When you work in a prison, we pretty much are. . . But anyway, what is it that you do? It’s only fair since you already know my profession.” 

He noticed your attempt to shift the conversation towards him, but the way you seemed hesitant to speak about your job meant that it was a touchy subject. Despite that, he gave you what you wanted. You’d already uncovered most of it anyway. “Military.” he said simply, cracking a small smile underneath the mask at the way your lips twitched upwards in satisfaction since your analysis of him turned out to match his answer. 

“How long?” you asked calmly, grateful that the mood was lighter — less focused on you. 

“‘Bout seventeen years now, if i’m not mistaken.” he spoke in a nonchalant tone, still a bit gruff though. 

“That’s a long time,” your eyebrows lifted a little at his answer. “Are you content with it? I know it’s- y’know, a taxing profession but..?” Your eyes shifted to intertwine your gaze with his own. Simon seemed a little less stiff than at the beginning of the conversation, his shoulders forgot their tense state from before and he seemed to be sitting straight — He was less defensive, more engaged. 

“It’s ..” he thought over his next words for a bit, “It's something to do. Don’t mind it too much since it keeps me busy.” He brought his cup to his lips again, his eyes placed on you when he heard your quiet giggle. 

“Guess you and I are matched in that sense.” 

He lifted a brow towards you wondering which part you’d said that about. 

“Work is a sort of escape at times, isn't it?” 

Simon nodded at your statement, “Seems that way.” His responses were still clipped, but now, there was something other than contemplation swirling in his eyes. Something of interest. But before he could let the thought marinate in his mind, his phone began to ring. While he answered it, you listened to Simon’s short replies, saw the way his dirty blond hair kissed his neck when he turned away from you, too focused on the call. Once he was done, you set your cup down and gathered your keys into your pocket. “I’m guessing you’ve got to go?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, the unfamiliar soft gleam in his eyes mostly gone. The both of you got out of your chairs and you bid him a quick farewell, your barely-warm drink in hand. You stood as you watched him leave and while it wasn’t the way you’d planned the ending of it, you found yourself content by how everything had come to pass. You forgot what it was like to have meaningful and engaging conversations outside of your job — you missed it. You came to the realization that despite your aversion to human interaction, your heart yearned for genuine and authentic connection. 

As you threw away your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if Simon could perhaps be more than a mere stranger. 

An acquaintance of sorts.

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