#simon tag.

It was as if you'd been locked in your room for hours upon end, and, it probably wasn't wrong. You and your friend had got into a heated argument just a few days ago and the aftermath is greatly affecting you.

With red, glazed eyes and an empty heart, you limply toppled back onto your mattress, which you wished would just swallow you up so you wouldn't have to bear this embarrassment. Crimson-faced, you sobbed, muffled, into your pillow as you felt it become damp against your soft skin.

You sniffled when you heard the sound of the downstairs door opening. Alerted, you shot upright and wiped away your tears as fast as you could; unbeknownst you, that certainly wouldn't rid the redness from your eyes.

The door burst open, revealing to you a somewhat concerned Simon. His expression was distorted into one of extreme fear and distress, with eyebrows knitted together and forehead wrinkling, a clear frown embedded on his face, "these walls aren't as thick as you think, y'know."

At that, you began to bawl once more. There was no point in hiding it anymore, after all, he already knew--it must be such a burden to throw your problems at him. Then again, it might help you, to confide in someone, especially somebody as amazing as your boyfriend.

He gave an upset sigh, clambering over to your side and clutching you tightly against his chest. Chin on your head, he allowed you to sob into his shirt which, unsurprisingly, already had a wet patch; though he obviously didn't care. Hand stroking your back, he entangled his fingers through your locks and shushed you therapeutically.

"It's okay babygirl, it's okay," he reassured, while you miserably attempted to stifle your sniffles. He knew what this was all about, even if you didn't have to directly tell him. Over the past couple of days he saw, based on your mannerisms, that your energy had depleted and you just didn't seem the same. Your eyes always seemed to be red and, at first he expected the worst, but then realised you were crying over a friend.

He thought that was pretty fucked up. True friends are meant to be there for one-another through thick and thin; of course friends go through arguments from time to time, but everyone does. After all, he and you did all the time, but you never gave up on each-other, not once. A part of him was all riled up, wanting to approach your friend and give her a stern "talking to", but he knew, inside, it was best to comfort you, for now.

"I'm s--so stupid, Simon," he gasped, as if she'd been holding her breath all this time. His frown only broadened, huffing slightly at the internal resentment he now held for your friend. "You're not, babe," he hushed, promptly pecking your forehead.

Before you could retort, he continued, "if she doesn't respect the way you feel then there's no point in bothering with her. Let her feel angry and guilty, and get on with your life, because one day she's gonna realise she needs you, but you'll understand your worth by then. It's my job to make you feel like a goddess, so whenever you feel sad, please tell me. I'll provide as much as I can."

In response, you gave bewildered, stuttering thank yous, and I love yous. This time, your face was red and flustered for an entirely different reason: your heart swelled as you tightened you grip around him. He simply did the same as you fell back together into the bed, taking in one another's scents, and sound of your breathing, and presence in general.

In the Sidemen house, you were usually the one to prepare food--well, not everything--it was usually just desserts or sweet treats, like brownies or cupcakes, or even flapjacks. You get the idea, right? While you weren’t always around, you normally were, and the boys became quickly adapted to you “living” here. It’s not like you were there just for Simon, your boyfriend, either...actually, JJ, Josh and Vik had become close to you, so you regularly featured in some of their videos, though you weren’t a Youtuber yourself. They certainly lived a lavish lifestyle, from your eyes.

Tying a white, frilly apron around your waist (a graphically designed duck on the front of it, with a purple speech bubble reading “quack, quack”), you hiked your hair into a high ponytail as stray baby hairs came to scoop across your face, tickling your eyebrow. Hands on hips, you turned to Simon who simply flashed a crooked smile--oh, you were so cute.

“You ready?” he asked, though it fell on deaf ears as he didn’t give you enough time to reply, simply pressing the “record” button and commencing with his into. You didn’t mind, though. He introduced you in the video, made lots of adorable hand gestures and expressions before explaining what you were about to do: baking! Nothing complex, or out-of-the-ordinary...just plain, simple baking! Baking what though, you might ask? Cookies!

So you began, throwing the necessary ingredients into a transparent bowl and mixing it all together with a wooden spoon, before squishing the mixture into your hands (freshly washed) and kneading it all-together. Immersed, Simon watched before scattering some flour onto the marble counter. Whispering a barely audible “thank you” to him, you placed the batter onto the flour and folded it into a perfect ball.

Retrieving a rolling pin from the side, off camera, Simon began to roll the mixture out, watching as he disappoingly flattened some chocolate chips, though his mouth certainly began to water. Cheekily, he slyly glanced over at you--seemingly, you were too focussed on turning the oven on and gathering the next ingredients to notice anything he was doing...or, was going to do. Inaudibly chuckling, he scraped up a handful of flour in his hand, and just as you turned around...bam! A face-full of flour!

Unexpectedly, you didn’t reply--not with words, not even with facial expressions. You simply opened your eyes dangerously slowly, watching Simon intently as he stifled hysteric laughter. Sighing, you playfully punched his shoulder, earing a breathy giggle in return. Clutching a towel, you wiped the flour from your face before scrunching it up and placing it back on the counter, silently continuing with your baking.

Simon, suddenly needy and concerned, wrapped his arms around your waist as you began to curl pieces of dough into little, round balls. His breath hot on your neck, you shivered as he nibbled slightly, causing you to nudge your hip against his in retaliation, as a way of saying “stop! not when we’re recording!” though there was definitely a smile plastered on your face.

Despite this, he simply continued to hold you, occasionally addressing the camera, but it seemed like he was totally enveloped in what you were doing. Sometimes, he’d nuzzle his nose into the nape of your neck, triggering a tickled-pink giggle. Flattening out your dough, you made sure to be safe and slipped oven mitts over your small hands before picking up the tray and sliding it into the oven, that had been pre-heated.

During this time of the video is probably when Si would cut out a huge chunk...maybe leave a little bit here and there, or something, so he took this opportunity to latch onto your form like a leech. Scattering your face with kisses, you giggled his name, which tempted him into tickling you, throwing you into hysterics.

After about twenty minutes, the cookies were finally baked. After working as a team and drawing smiley faces onto some of them with frosting, Simon’s outro commenced as he threw a peace sign at the camera. A short, simple video that was a lot of fun, too.

Music blaring, an overwhelming ringing in your head, it was bound to be easy to get caught up in the euphoric atmosphere. Red solo cup in-hand, the vodka skimming across the rim of the cup, your hips swayed to the beat - actually, you didn’t even know what song was playing, the all-encompassing rhythm was too much for you.

Clad in a figure-hugging black dress that acted as a second skin, hiked just above your mid-thigh, you looked phenomenal with matching black 6″ heels that certainly gave you the boost you needed, the straps of the shoes coiled around your ankles. Your hair was curled into tight ringlets that tickled the bottom of your shoulderblades, face beaten to Hell with make-up, but damn did you look good? Of course you did - the proof was in the amount of men who oogled at you, clearly infatuated...yet your attention was only focussed on one of them.

Simon. Simon Minter. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but he looked fresh. Slightly lopsided, spiky hair coupled with a charismatic grin, his form wrapped in a white, button-up shirt with long sleeves, and black skinny jeans with Adidas Superstars that matched: the typical fuckboy, but damn, you wouldn’t mind having a slice of that.

Not like you were only noticing how attractive he was now -- no way, you’d realized this years prior. Anyone could see it, and his fangirls could see it, most definitely. Chiseled jawline, crooked smile, kind eyes and an elongated figure, all neatly wrapped up into one immobilizingly cute present: Si. If you examined him any longer, you feared you’d fall in love with him right then and there.

But of course you wouldn’t--not when he’s staring straight at you with those cerulean eyes, glaring intoxication. But it was alright, everyone was bound to be at least a little bit drunk, since it was New Year’s Eve...apart from Tobi, of course. Your cheeks gratuitously rosy--unsure whether it’s from the alcohol, or pure embarrassment from impure thoughts--, you watched as he turned inwardly, attempting to continue his conversation with Calfreezy, sipping from his own red solo cup, though his eye was still focussing on you from the corner of his eye.

Freya, who was slightly more sober than yourself, bumped hips with you, watching you snap out from your trance. Recoiling back from the abrupt motion, you blinked frantically as you cracked an awkward grin. Shouting over the music, you said, “what’s up?”

“I should be asking you that!” she replied, wearing a significantly more broad grin than you. Wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, she danced at your side, blonde hair whipping about. “You and Simon were eyeing each-other up for, like, ages!” a pause--a mere filler for you to let her speech to sink in, face the colour of beetroot. “...Anything gonna happen between you two tonight?”

Scoffing, you took another sip of your drink, only to become solely disappointed when you realized there was nothing left--how many drinks did you have tonight? “What, you mean, like, we fuck?” you asked, words slurred. “In your dreams, Frey.” This triggered a hearty laugh from your friend.

“More like in your dreams,” she chuckled, playfully nudging your side with her elbow. You remember telling her once, when you were stone-cold sober, filled up on twelve tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and bawling from stupid rom-coms that tugged at your heartstrings, that you had a sort-of, kind-of crush on Simon. Not like you’d ever tell anyone else, especially Simon. Your feelings were 100% unrequited, and you didn’t need some embarrassing, soul-crushing scenario to tell you what you already know!

Announcing that you were gonna get your seventh--eighth drink, you tottered over to the makeshift bar the boys had made, a wide selection of drinks available for anybody to take and abuse. Humming to yourself, cup in-hand, you waggled the fingers of your free hand over the selection of bottles, eventually picking your go-to option: vodka. Tipping some into your cup, not even thinking to dilute it, you took a sip and gagged. Oh, yeah, you were totally going to get completely and utterly shitfaced.

Absent-mindedly staring at nothing in particular, mind focussed purely on drinking alcohol, you were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder. Succumbing to dizziness, as you turned clumsily, you tripped over your feet and ended up falling into the arms of...Simon. Oh, wonderful, With hazy vision, Simon still somehow quite strong despite his own drunken state, you gazed up at him with a shaky smile.

“Hey,” you muttered, only recieving a chuckle in acknowledgement. Tipping you up so you stood somewhat upright, he patted your shoulders to secure your position. He simply responded with a slightly slurred, “hey.”

“Now, what’s somebody like youuu,” you began, gnawing on the skin of your bottom lip for a second before smirking subconsciously. “Doin’ in a place like this?”

“You mean, my house? That I live in?” he muttered, his breath against your ear as he released another second of laughter--it wasn’t until now that you realized how close he was. His body was practically pressed against your own, though his form was bent slightly to reach you: was the height difference really that big? “You look nervous.”

“You smell like vodka,” you stated, attempting to push your body further against his as you avoided the topic of conversation--you? Nervous? Of course you were. Anybody this close to their crush would obviously be nervous, like your heart would explode from your chest at any minute.

“Doesn’t everyone here?” he stated the plain obvious, taking a second to run his fingers through his lopsided locks, before wrapping an arm lazily around your shoulders. Gulping somewhat audibly, you felt a shiver course through your bones, your hip brushing against his. “...It’s probably the alcohol talking right now, but I feel confident. I really have to tell you something.”

Pupils diluted, your eyes widened. A cauldron of anxiety and confusion bubbled behind your eyes, as if a Witch had concocted it right then and there. Using your free hand to press the pads of your fingers against your chest, the feeling of your heart racing against your ribcage was unmissable--could he feel it surging throughout your body, so much that it richochetted against him? You were unsure whether it was anatomically possible or not, but when you’re drunk and confused, who really cared enough to think about logic?

All of a sudden, your hand was snatched away by one that was significantly larger--Simon’s, of course. His fingers intertwined with yours as he gazed into your eyes, affixed like a decoration. Chewing the inside of your mouth, you gave in as he lead you upstairs, and you could swear you heard loud whoops and hollers from someone that sounded a lot like Calfreezy.

One step, two step...a couple more steps after that, but they seemed to take forever and a day. Body heavy--from both alcohol and nerves--you lugged yourself up the neverending stairs, assisted by Simon himself. Whatever he had to tell you, it must’ve been pretty important, or at least private...though, it’s not like going upstairs was any better. In a house full of people, there would of course be some people swarming the bedrooms, whether it be just to enjoy themselves or...enjoy themselves.

As expected, Simon’s bedroom was filled to the very brim with people. Impatient, Simon simply asked them all to leave and go find somewhere else--God knows there’s plenty of other places they could be. The bundle of people filtered out of the room, slowly, and Simon eventually shut the door behind them all, a reassuring click resounding in the room.

Sighing, hands perched on his hips, he stumbled his way over to you and loomed over you. Though you expected him to either have a dominant expression or a suggestive smirk, the only thing adorned on his features was a shy smile. Prodding the tips of his index fingers together, he averted his gaze and made sure to focus on his fingers, avoiding all eye contact with you completely.

Silence. Ironically, it seemed to deafen you, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, like a slice of cake. Gulping, then clearing your throat, you tilted your head to the side before biting your bottom lip, speaking. “What’s wrong?”

Exhale. A long one. Finally, he made eye contact, and you heart skipped a beat once more. Eyebrows knitted together, he cupped your cheek before hiccuping, reminding the two of you that you’d had a lot of alcohol--were his words going to be sincered, whatever he’d say?

“I love you.”

Silence.

“What?” you replied, baffled as your voice became laced with surprise, eyes widened and mouth formed in an ‘o’ shape. At this very moment, your breathing became heavy and continued to fluctuate as you pressed your hand tightly against your chest. “Simon, what?”

“I love you, [y/n], I do,” he breathed out, realizing his hand was still linked with yours, only to grab the cup from your hand and discard it, intertwining your fingers with the other hand. He rested his forehead against yours, exhausted. “I have for, like, a really long time. I know we’ve always just been friends, but seeing you here tonight...in this dress, in those shoes, with your hair like this...it made me realize that, no matter what you looked like, I’m always gonna be head-over-heels for you.”

There was no hesitance in your next action. Cupping his cheeks once you released your hands from his tight grip, you pulled his head towards yours as your lips meshed together perfectly. Finally, your bodies came together as he grabbed a hold of your love handles, tugging you closer towards his body and squeezing you: finally, chasing each-other had paid off, even if you didn’t know you were coming for one-another at all.

It was probably the drunkenness, but his hands subconsciously trailed down to your curvaceous hips, then the infatuating curve of your bum, his hands stretching across it and taking a squeeze of your supple, abundant form--yelping in surprise, you chuckled bashfully into this kiss, separating for a brief moment, “easy there, tiger.”

“Ah, sorry--too soon?” he asked, earing a crooked smile.

“Just a little bit,” you chimed, winking playfully before nestling your head on his chest, linking your arms around his neck. “I never even got to say I love you back.”

“...Well, do you?”