#simon fic

“I’m Negan,” the man smiled with a shit-eating grin. “I’m the boss of things around here…Welcome to The Sanctuary.” He lifted the bat and whirled his arm around in a presenting manner. “What’s your name darling?” Negan questioned, but you remained quiet. “What’s wrong? Cat gotcher’ tongue?” He inched closer to your face, feeling your stomach churn in a result of untrustworthiness.

“Y/N…” you spoke, voice sounding weary and dry from lack of fluids.

“Ah, so your throat box does work!” he laughed.

In response you glanced up at him, then the ground. There wasn’t too much more to stare at considering the extremely small room the two of you occupied. Dull walls which replicated the same color of the concrete flooring; it all seemed to be a shade of filthy dish water gray. Only light source being a dimmed bulb hanging from the ceiling, looming above Negan’s head.

“Alright. Time to get your ass up.” His right hand reached out to you—unsure of what was going on or what this stranger may do to you. You hesitantly grasped it, feeling the glove graze your skin as he pulled you from the ground.

“H-how did I get here?” you stutter while finding your balance.

“I’ll explain later. At the moment you need to eat, then make a big decision that’ll change your future.”

You gulped in fear at his words; not knowing what he meant by ’change your future’. You were starting to gather thoughts of: How did I actually end up here? How long have I been out cold? What is this place? How many people dwell here? Is Negan to be trusted? Where was he taking me? What will change my future? Most importantly, why can’t I remember anything before I woke up?

Those endless questions boggled in your brain, leaving you wondering in such a deep trance that you didn’t even hear what Negan said prior, as he snapped his fingers in your face, asking if you’d hurry up. Immediately doing as you’re told, you follow close behind the leader, obviously understanding a fight would be no match for you lacked strength nor inherited a weapon. Both of you stepped out into the corridor, complementing the room with its familiar, dull, colorless atmosphere.

Along the journey to who-knows-where, Negan managed to explain more information about this place called, ’The Sanctuary’, and how his people go by the ’Saviors’. Also not to mention the baseball bat indeed has a name: Lucille. You listened carefully to what he had to say, plus taking cautious notes of your surroundings and studying the features of passing Saviors, who seemed to always shoot you a menacing glare.

***

“Here we are!” Negan proclaimed.

The two of you entered a kitchen where numerous fruits and vegetables awaited. Eyes widening, you longed to just snag an apple and scarf it down as quickly as you could. Instead, you patiently stood beside the boss-man, watching what his next intentions would be.

“I want you to take it easy for a second darling—Breathe—I notice how tense you are right now. No one is gonna hurt-cha.” He smirked placing an arm around your shoulder, still perceiving the nourishment’s laying beneath you. “Eat for now…My right-hand-man, Simon, will be here shortly to escort you to your new living chamber and also stop by Dr. Carson’s office since you’re up and walking.” Negan moved forward to face you. “Meet me in my room later today so we can discuss things.” You nod your head. “Good, I’ve gotta go. I’m a busy busy man. I’ll see ya’ in a bit, darlin’.” he asserted; a whistle melody spewing from his mouth when exiting the canteen.

Soon Negan had left you be. Inhaling sharply, you grabbed a piece of fruit from a semi-torn basket, and started to graze. It felt so nice to have your belly being filled after such a long time. You then hoped  to clear your head from this odd awakening of not remembering a thing or your encounter with the leader of the Saviors. You remained to rummage through different baskets and drink sips of water; acting like you belonged there. Everything felt at peace while you were alone and as workers busily kept to themselves in the background, until a voice called your name that wasn’t Negan’s.

“I’m not sure I have the space for all of this,” you say as you begin to follow behind him and as usual Simon seems to have the perfect solution.

“You and the baby can have my room,” he insists, not missing a beat and leaving you to wonder if he’s already thought about the arrangement.

For several paces you chew your lip, feeling weird about kicking him out of his own room while simultaneously imaging yourself lounging on his sofa, sleeping in his bed. “I don’t know…”

“It makes sense,” Simon shrugs, once again defying gravity and proving that his biceps aren’t just for staring at even if that’s exactly what you've been doing since he started carrying the box.

When you eventually arrive at his room, or your room, Simon kicks open the door and sits the box next to the bed while you flop onto the sofa with an unladylike grunt.

“Make yourself at home,” he winks, leaving you blushing as he quickly stashes some dirty clothes into his hamper and moves coffee cups from various surfaces to the kitchenette.

“I didn’t take you for a slob,” you tease, battering down some of the tension that’s being borne from nothing but your own mind, and Simon pauses his hasty tidying, laughing softly.

“I’ve been preoccupied… turns out trying to make you happy is a full time job.”

“You’re good at it,” you say without really thinking, and you don’t regret your words,even if they leave you feeling more vulnerable than you would like.

Simon glances at his boots, his face unreadable, “you stay here, relax, I’ll uh... get Fat Joey to help me bring everything in.”

You don’t even have chance to say ‘okay’ before he’s hurrying from the room, leaving you to slump even further into the sofa with a frustrated sigh. You’re not sure what you wanted Simon to say, just that you wanted more. It might be selfish but for the last time you need him to make the moves you’re too afraid to do on your own.  

When you hear the telltale sound of Simon and Joey returning you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to snooze to avoid the prospect of saying something completely insane like ‘I love you’. You just don’t count on how good it feels to have your eyes closed and it isn’t long before you’re curling up on your side and actually falling asleep.

When you wake up you’re covered in his quilt and the room is stacked with baby supplies, Simon sitting in the middle of it all with a screwdriver and a look of determination.

“I hope you don’t mind me getting started on this?” he says, gesturing to the half built crib when you start to sit up.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair to flatten it back down. “She's your daughter too.”

Simon’s smiles, nodding towards your feet, “can you hand my that long bit?”

“This?” you question, your hand resting on the most likely piece of wood.

Simon nods, reaching out for you to pass it to him before his concentration returns to the crib. You watch him for a while, noting that he isn’t bothering to read the instructions and thinking that he’d get it finished a lot quicker if he did but you don’t mind. This is nice. So nice that you don’t want it to end.

“Are you hungry?” you say, realising that he’s almost finished and that when he has there will be no reason for him to stay.

“Starving,” Simon replies, carefully holding a screw between his teeth.

“I have some food in my room. I could bring it here…”

His gaze flicks to you, his puppy dog eyes making your head swim. “If that’s what you want...”

You smile brightly, too brightly. All teeth and no words. You can’t remember the last time you felt this nervous. You know you’re not acting like you usually would but you can’t help it. You’ve forgotten what it felt like before you knew you loved him and now you feel like you might burst. But not enough to actually say the words, saying them would be far too real and you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

When you return with food you decide to knock on the door, creating boundaries when all you want to do is shed them.

“Hey,” Simon says when he answers and it's just one word but you have butterflies and that cheesy grin is back on your face.

“Hey,” you say, noting that he’s changed his shirt and wondering if you should have changed yours, not that you have many options.

“Let me get that,” he insists, taking the box of food from your arms and standing aside so you can enter.

While you’ve been gone he’s stacked the baby stuff a little neater, there’s soft music playing in the background and the faint smell of cologne as you brush past him.

“So what'cha cooking good looking?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows as he drops the box onto the kitchenette.

You laugh nervously, “just don’t get your hopes up.”

“Too late,” Simon replies, making your heart beat in time with the butterflies whizzing around your stomach.

You wonder if this dinner was really a good idea, then you wonder if telling him how you feel will be a good idea and yet again your throat is dry.

You pour a glass of water, draining it down and focusing your mind on dinner. You hadn’t made any plans on what to cook and truthfully you were never great in the kitchen, making this idea just one bad idea in a long line of bad ideas.

“Simon?” you say, contemplating blurting it out rather than forcing you both to endure what you feel like is going to be an awkward dinner.

“What?” he says, looking directly at you.

“Nothing.” What were you thinking? Literally nothing could be more awkward than talking about your feelings.

But this time he doesn’t ignore the weird way you’re acting. “Are you okay?” he says and you know you can’t get away without answering.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I think the hormones are making me a little crazy.” Sure, blaming the baby is an excellent idea.

Simon smirks, “I’m pretty sure you were crazy before.”

“Hey,” you scold, backhanding him across the chest, your heart dancing to the way he starts to laugh and somehow you feel more relaxed.

“You know I read the baby is about the size of a sweet potato,” he says, grabbing one from your box.

“Really? Then why do I look like I’m hiding an entire sack of them under here?” you joke, pointing to your belly.

“I think you look beautiful.”

You freeze, your reply taking too long to form, leaving tension to fill every inch of the room before you finally blurt, “you know I’m not paying you to say these things?”

Simon doesn’t laugh, he shifts from foot to foot, an agitated hand running through his hair. “I should probably go,” he mumbles.

“But...” your stomach plummets while you try to think of what to say, “we haven’t even started dinner.”

“I don’t think I can,” he says, barely looking at you as he starts to grab some clothes from his dresser, “maybe some other time.”

“But this is your room,” you plead, hating the shrillness in your voice.

“It’s yours now. I’ll come by tomorrow to get the rest of my clothes.”

“I don’t want you to come by tomorrow!” You practically shout, stopping him in his tracks, his hand slipping from the door handle.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, turning t0 face you. “Because I’m trying my goddamn best to give you what you want but in moments like these I just don’t understand why...  why we can’t be together!”

You’d wanted him to make a move but somehow this comes as a surprise and you’re unprepared. You could say nothing or you could say everything. Regardless, you differ on your decision for so long that he starts to leave again.

“You don’t understand,” you say quickly, tugging his bundle of clothes from his hand and letting them fall to the floor. “I don’t want you to come by and collect your clothes tomorrow. I want you to stay here and… I want to stay here too.”

It feels like eternity before Simon speaks, his eyes boring into you, “what exactly are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

Simon scoffs, looking you up and down, “do I? Maybe I need you to say something a little bit more concrete.”

You look away, you heart thudding in your ears, one part of you desperate to tell him more the other part of your cringing at the prospect of it. “Like what?”

“That’s cute,” he says sarcastically. “But if you can’t say more then I can’t stay.”

You glance back at him, words almost on the tip of your tongue before you swallow them back down. “I really don’t like ultimatums.”

“Well I don’t like having no damn idea what’s going on inside your head so here we are…”

You pause, collecting your thoughts. “I think that maybe, I might... have some feelings for you…”

Simon contains his reaction but you can almost see the twitch of a smile as he asks, “what feelings?”

“Are you hell bent on torturing me?” you snap, your temper flaring and forgetting this might have been a nice moment.

Simon laughs, “maybe I am. Maybe it's nice to see you enduring some of what I’ve had to endure every second I’ve spent with you since the first day I met you.”

Your temper simmers down, you don’t want to fight him even if part of you enjoys it.

“I love you,” he says without any hesitation, “and I think what you’re trying to say is you love me too.”

You snort, feeling equal parts elated and terrified, “that’s a pretty bold statement.”

Simon cups your cheek, his hand rough and warm, “so tell me I’m wrong.”

You lick your lips, wanting him to kiss you, “you’re not...”

Then without another word he does it. He presses his lips to yours and it's exactly what you’ve been wanting since the last time he kissed you. You kiss him back eagerly, rolling onto your tiptoes, your hands sliding around his neck to pull him closer. He tastes faintly of rootbeer and entirely of Simon. Home and masculinity, so moreish you could live inside the kiss for eternity if you didn’t have to take a breath.

When you fall on the bed together it’s careful, this giant man trying his best not to squish you while you urge him closer. “You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

“I do,” he says, caressing your swollen bump before pulling off your shirt and kissing your belly button.

With a contented sigh you resign yourself to the gentleness, relaxing while he explores your new curves. Even if this isn’t the hard and fast rhythm you’ve been craving you can’t deny how good the glide of his tongue and the bristle of his moustache feel against your skin as he finds all the right places.

When he removes your bra your nipples are already tightened and the flick of his tongue has heat throbbing all the way to your clit making sure you're now feeling anything but relaxed.

You grasp at the buttons of his shirt, pulling them open excitedly until your fingers are stroking across the hard tanned lines of his body and tangling in the soft hair on his chest. “I need you,” you whisper and Simon smiles, kissing your cheek before he kneels between your thighs.

“I don’t wanna rush this, I wanna enjoy having you in my bed,” he says, slowly unfastening your jeans and carefully sliding them down yours legs, peppering you with kisses as he does it. Usually you’d curse yourself for wearing granny panties but Simon doesn’t seem to mind, the way he looks at you remains unwavering, loving.

After one more kiss of your bump his lips brush along the inside of your thighs and you moan, goosebumps prickling along your skin, your anticipation heightened as you feel his hot breath soaking through your panties.

“Simon,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair before he tugs your panties off with one hard pull.  The heat of his breath on your naked pussy makes you even more wild and you don’t have to wait very long before his tongue teases along your slit.

You moan his name again, your legs quivering and he licks you harder, holding your hips as you grind into every stroke. His tongue feels better than you remember and Simon knows exactly what to do with it. It’s not long before you’re on the brink of an orgasm and making no attempt to stop it shaking across your body in one long shudder of bliss.

“Oh god,” you cry, your toes curling, your hands grasping the sheets as you feel your body begin to soar.

You’re barely conscious when Simon kisses you, the taste of sex on his lips enough to bring you back to life. With your help he kicks off his remaining clothes before his hands balance either side of your head, supporting his weight as he presses his thick cock against your pussy.

You thrust your hips towards him, your hands sliding over his butt to pull him closer so you can finally feel the fullness only he can provide.

“Look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before he finally allows his cock to slowly sink inside your pussy, joining you together. For a moment neither of you move, both of you adjusting to the feeling but more than anything both of you enjoying the closeness.

“I love you,” he says, kissing you gently before his cock begins drawing in and out in long, slow strokes that seem to hit every spot. All you can feel is him, all you can think about is him and the way your bodies are moving together.

Both of you hold off release for as long as possible, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin and exhaustion settling in your limbs in the best way but it can’t last forever. You cling to him, your climax more powerful than the last and as it washes over you Simon’s body tenses, his cock pumping harder to fill you with his release.

This time you don’t feel any worry or regret, only satisfaction and comfort. You’re eyes are heavy, your body well spent and when he pulls you into the safety of his arms all you can think is, this is right.

Thank you for reading! I know this has been a long time in the making but I was super busy with house stuff then I hit some writers block. I’m thinking about doing a time jump for the next chapter but what do you guys think? Do you wanna jump ahead to the birth? Or do you wanna see something else? Let me know :) 

Tagging my Knock tag list:

@doyouhaveavacancy​ //  @pathetically-inlove​ // @lucifers-trash-stash // @ladylorelitany // @vizhi0n // @kijilinn // @starshinesupergirl // @megan-monroe​ // @myheart4ever47​ // @kellyn1604​ // @genevievedarcygranger​ // @xokamisama​ // @mwesterfeld1985​ // @jemstonewrites​ // @collette04​ // @heal-the-broken-hearts​ // @cltex84 // @nanpereirab // @gothica123​ // @thatgingefromtheinternet​ // @notice-me-senpai-sama​ // @daintyunicorn​ // @devilishcreature​ // @fullyoriginalruins​ // @b-asiacoquum​ // @probably-inside​ // @alyisdead // @hellogracebarnes​ // @maliadestiny // @certifiedtwdtrash​ // @papinegan​ // @vatal // @badsongwinchester // @ladylokid​ // @crims0nr0ses​ // @hotdamn-negan​ // @kinkygamertrash

Simon was a peculiar person.

I could honestly say his personality would have intimidated me back in the day. His wide grin could sometimes appear false and an exaggeration of what he was really feeling. Simon was the kind of guy who could be overbearingly friendly, to the point of scaring any potential conversation away. I had no doubt he knew his smile could invoke feelings of fear and discomfort, and I had no doubt that prompted him to grin wider every time.

There were other quirks about him, namely his moustache. I wasn’t particularly a lover of feature pieces on faces, but I couldn’t imagine Simon without the handle bar moustache he’d had on display since the moment I’d met him all those years ago. It wasn’t wild or untamed, it was actually neat and fairly maintained. He never said anything about it, but I had a feeling he took pride in the ‘stache.

To top it all off, he was tall. Sometimes, in moments where his authority took place from his friendly nature, he towered over most- if not all- people. Even when the anger wasn’t aimed my way, he made me feel like a measly mouse looking up at an aggravated giraffe on the edge of violence.

Oh, and let’s not forget about the fact that even though he looked lanky and thin due to his long limbs and tall body, he was actually ripped. I’d been graced with the opportunity to see him shirtless during a rather hot and humid run we’d been sent on months ago. We’d all been given a moment to relax and cool down by a lake we’d come across. But, let’s just say, I did not get to cool down much after the sight of his toned form flexing before my eyes.

Like I said, he’s peculiar. Definitely an interesting character.

But despite my interest in his personality- and my admiration of his glorious body- nothing had happened between. Why? Good question. The years separating us played a part, I suppose.

Ages weren’t really something most people bothered with these days. Time was a measurement that had generally been forgotten and left behind by the majority- but not all- of the population. But I could still tell Simon was older than me. Where I was in my late twenties he was somewhere either close to or in his fifties.

His receding hairline and the shadow of grey hair was a giveaway of his age. The wrinkles that formed when his large and overly friendly smile came into place were another hint. The callouses on his hands told stories of hard work over many years that stretched over a time that lapsed into the years from the days of the world and lives we once knew.

Another reason for the lack of action between us was the fact that Simon had never made a move. He was a friend and had always acted that way.

When I’d been brought in by some Saviours and had been offered the opportunity to join their cause, he’d volunteered to take me under his wings. I’d thought he would have tried something, maybe flirted a little, but all I ever got was nice.

For example, he always let me ride shotgun, instead of making me sit in the back with everyone else. He always made sure there was a seat for me at his table in the dining hall. He always made sure I had plenty of emergency supplies and ammo when we went out on runs. He always made sure everything was working perfectly in my room.

I appreciated this, of course, but I was also aware of the fact that all this meant he was undoubtedly not interested.

“Hey, Earth to Fai.” Simon waved his hand in front of my face, pulling my attention back to him and away from my thoughts.

“Oh, uh… huh?” I asked, forgetting his question.

A smile tugged on his lips, his eyes back on the road. “I asked if you were okay.” He reminded me.

Sighing, I leaned back so I was partially leaning against the back of my chair and the door beside me. “What do you think it’ll take to convince Negan to do something for Christmas?”

His smile faltered for a moment as he contemplated my question. “Christmas? You wanna do something for Christmas?”

“Yeah.” I nodded casually, trying not to seem so eager about the fact he hadn’t shut the question down with a laugh. “Like, maybe we could get a tree and put it down in the factory for everyone. And we could scavenge for some things people could buy to give as presents. And we could have a Christmas dinner made in the main kitchen.” I shrugged. “Something like that.”

“I don’t know…” His smile was nowhere in sight as he said his next words. “The favour won’t be easy.”

That meant two things. One, the favour would be sexual. Or two, the favour would be deadly.

Negan had expressed interest in me before, but I wasn’t the kind of girl that wanted to get mixed up with a guy who has the amount of power he has. Plus, to be honest… he scared the crap out of me.

So, that left option two. Negan had a list of jobs waiting to be done. If someone wanted something special that would cost more points or use valuable resources, they could do one of the jobs for him. But, most of the time, you didn’t come back from wherever he’d sent you.

Letting my head drop back against the window, I sighed once more. “Seriously, all I want is a little bit of Christmas. It’s not like I’m asking for fireworks on New Years of something. Just a tree would be fine.” I mumbled, turning my head so it was still against the glass but so I could also look out at the snow.

The roads were covered. With the lack of movement these days the snow fell freely to the ground, covering everything in its wake. The only bare patches were where the truck in front of us had disturbed the white covered road, but that would all be covered before night falls.

“Why do you want it so much?”

Lifting my head, I looked to Simon again. “Huh?”

“Christmas. Why do you want it so much?” He repeated himself, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“I don’t know. Just ‘cause.” I tried to shrug it off, not wanting to tell him the truth. I was supposed to be a big bad Saviour, not a softie.

But he wasn’t buying it. “Come on, seriously. Tell me. I promise I won’t laugh or judge or whatever your worried about.”

Watching him, seeing him focussing on the road ahead, the elbow of his left arm resting on the door as his other arm sat on his knee, his hand stretched out so it could rest on the gear stick, I gathered he was only asking to keep the conversation flowing. He didn’t exactly look interested. He just wanted something to talk about.

“Christmas was a big deal with my family.” I explained. “We were all scattered across the country but we all managed to come together every year. We’d all meet up at the family cabin for a couple of weeks. The cabin was only ever used for holidays and special occasions, but Christmas was when it really came to life.”

“Big family?”

“Yeah.” I laughed lightly, remembering the multitude of cousins I’d had. “Huge family.” The smile stayed on my lips as I reminisced the past holidays. “We did it all. A group of us would go out, chop down a tree and lug it inside. The kids would cover it in decorations… which the adults would fix up later so it didn’t look like an explosion of tinsel.” He chuckled at that.

“But the best part was the family gift we got.” I continued. “Every year my Gran would wrap up these little wooden nativity statues that had been passed down for generations. She’d stick one piece in the tree every day, and whoever found it got to set it on the mantel piece. On Christmas morning the last piece was added to the collection.”

Simon glanced over at me, a little surprised. “Never pictured you as the religious type.”

“Oh, I’m not.” I insisted. “But I am a sucker for family traditions, and that set was gorgeous. Especially the Jesus piece. That was always the last one, and my Gran knew how much I loved it, so she always told me where she’d put it in the tree.” I looked down at my lap, smiling to myself.

The whole set had been beautiful. Each piece sat nicely in the palm of my grown adult hand. They’d been hand crafted and painted. They’d almost looked like they’d been made from clay, they were so detailed.

My smile turned sad. “The last Christmas we’d had my uncle had gotten a little too drunk. It wasn’t odd, really… but it had been the first Christmas after my Gran had passed.” My smile fell completely. “He threw the set into the fire during an emotional breakdown, I left the day after… on Christmas eve.”

The conversation had dropped pretty quickly after I’d told Simon the fate of the nativity figurines. I hadn’t been in much of a talkative mood after that, and I guess my story had taken a depressing enough turn that left him speechless- not that I blamed him, I had well and truly soiled the ride.

A few days had passed since then, and I hadn’t seen much of Simon during that time. We mainly saw each other in passing. He rarely stayed in the dining hall for diner. He was always off doing some kind of work I wasn’t aware of. He didn’t even come down to the common room the Saviours spent their free time in, and he was usually there most nights.

I guess I’d spoiled more than just the car ride…

Asking Negan about Christmas was a no-go. I didn’t even bother.

Simon was right. I’d have to do something I wouldn’t want to do. As much as I wanted to celebrate the season, to bring back a little bit of the joy that had once been in my life, I didn’t want to risk doing something I’d regret or doing something that would get me killed.

Busy working now, I was on guard duty on the factory floor. The roster rotated frequently, so I didn’t spend a lot of my time around the workers like this, which I usually preferred. Sometimes I couldn’t curb my guilt. But today I was grateful. Being in here meant I wasn’t out in the snow.

“Fai.” Laura, a fellow Saviour and- kind of- friend, came over to me. “Boss number two wants to see you.”

“Simon wants to see me?” I gave her a hesitant look. “You sure you got the right person?”

After days of minimal contact and conversation, I highly doubted he wanted to see me.

“You know any other short blonde chick named Faith?” She asked impatiently. “Look, I was just given the order, I don’t ask questions. Simon said he wants you to go see him in his quarters. I’m supposed to stay here and take over your watch. That’s all I know.”

Understanding that my lack of movement was getting on her nerves, I simply gave a simple nod and walked off.

On the way to Simon’s quarters I felt my nerves bubble. I’d only ever been to his place a handful of times, and that had mainly been when I’d had to grab him for an emergency, or when he’d needed help bringing supplies up to his room. Other than that, the place was foreign.

Tugging on the sleeves of my jacket, I looked down at myself to make sure I was presentable. If I had to go to his room then whatever he needed me for was important, and there was no way in hell I was going to show up looking like a slob.

My dark denim jeans were a little dusty but I just brushed that off as I walked down the winding halls. My light grey shirt had a few creases in it, but there was nothing I could do about that except zip my thick and heavy jacket up. I’d thrown on a navy beanie, a pair of dark grey fingerless gloves, and my usual black work boots, which was all fine. Luckily, I’d washed my hair last night, and had decided to leave the waves falling down my back

It was as good as I was gonna get.

Reaching Simon’s door, I took a deep breath and braced myself before lifting my hand to knock lightly on the wood in front of me. A few seconds passed before the door opened just enough so Simon could stand between the door and the frame as he looked down at me.

“Fai!” He beamed, wide smile spread on his face. “Just in time, I was about to start making the cookie dough.”

I raised a confused eyebrow as I looked up at him, my nerves dying down at his absurd words. I had no idea what he was going on about, and I was seriously beginning to wonder if he’d hit his head or something.

“Cookie dough?”

Smile still firmly in place, I pushed the door open the rest of the way, letting to swing to the other side until it hit the wall. Now I could see into his apartment, and what I saw left my speechless.

Jaw hanging open, eyes taking in everything, I stepped through the doorway as Simon took a step to the side.

The whole apartment had been decked out in Christmas decorations. Tinsel, Christmas lights, stockings, it all hang around the open apartment. A tree sat in the corner, decorated from top to bottom in shiny gold and bronze ornaments. Carols played in the background, light enough not to disturb any conversation, but loud enough to add to the ambience. The smell of hot chocolate and candy canes wafted from the small kitchen to my left. Blankets and pillows were set close to the few presents that sat under the tree.

Slowly, after taking a few minutes to absorb the scene, I turned to Simon as he stood beside me, hands on hips and smile still in place, his own eyes looking at the room proudly.

“You did all of this… for me?”

Looking down at me, he gave a short nod. “You said you wanted Christmas, so here it is.” He gestured to the room. “I brewed some homemade hot chocolate, even managed to find some candy canes that hadn’t gone to shit, and I chopped the tree myself.”

My heart swelled and my eyes blurred as happy tears threatened to spill.

This man… this scary, overbearing, loud mouthed and intimidating man who helped lead and maintain our people and home, a man who could equally be threatening and welcoming… he’d done all of this, for me.

Oblivious to my emotions, Simon hurried forward, moving over to the tree to grab one of the presents, before coming over to me. “Before you do anything else, you have to open this.” He told me, trying to hide his excitement.

I grabbed the present from him, noticing how nicely it had been wrapped. “Okay, now you might have done everything else, but you had to have help wrapping this.” I teased.

“Shut up and open it already.”

Chuckling lightly, still trying not to cry, I ripped into the paper of the gift. As I tore into the paper I found that the gift had been wrapped in tissue paper. Ripping into that, I eventually got to the centre. I sucked in a breath as my fingers pried the gift out from the wrapping.

A baby Jesus figurine.

It was small, sitting nicely in the palm of my hand. It was wooden, handcrafted. The details weren’t as perfect as the original, and it hadn’t been painted, but it was just as beautiful, if not more.

“I saw the look on your face in the truck. I could tell how much Christmas means to you. And I knew you missed your family traditions.” Simon started, looking down at me, his smile not as wide as intimidating. It was sweet and gentle now. “I know what we have here isn’t perfect, and I know life can be a real bitch these days, but I thought you deserved a little something special.”

Slow tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked up at him, clutching the gift to my chest. “Thank you.”