Work Text:
A sudden prickling sensation crawls up your neck as you absently peruse the aisles of the corner store, putting you on edge instantly.
Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, however, reveals nothing amiss.
You clench your jaw and take a steadying breath, dumping your items onto the checkstand and willing the cashier to pick up his pace.
Stuffing your purchases into your coat pockets, you shoulder your way out the door and into the brisk night air, the sickly yellow lamplight guiding you down the street.
The door chimes again; you don’t look back.
“Hey, girly!”
Oh, no.
You quicken your pace and the footsteps trailing behind you confirm that you are, in fact, being followed.
“Don’t be like that!” His tone lights a new fire underneath you, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings.
After years of living in a city, you’ve perfected a routine for these situations. You catalogue the items on your person that could be used as a makeshift weapon.
Keys are good for stabbing, and you slip one between your fingers, tightly closing your fist around it.
Your wallet sits in another pocket, but it would be far too idealistic to assume he’s only after your money. If all else fails, you could also just start swinging.
Once more, the man calls out, far closer than before. Your blood ices over, gut-wrenching images of your impending fate surfacing in your mind.
No time for hesitation. Your cellphone is in your hand, a contact illuminating the screen before you even process the action.
You grit your teeth, swallow your pride, and hit the ‘dial’ icon.
The man you desperately hoped you’d never need again answers on the first ring.
“Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.”
Some infuriating animal instinct immediately screams safety the moment that the painfully familiar voice rumbles through the line.
“Are you in town?”
C’mon, c’mon-
“I can be.”
The stranger calls out again and instantly douses any relief that might’ve arose within you.
“Someone’s following me.” You hiss into the receiver, clutching it closer to your face like it’ll protect you from whatever the man has in store for you.
There’s a shuffle of movement on the other end. “Where?”
The weak light from the streetlamps isn’t enough to brighten any signs. “Uh,” You glance around almost franctically, swallowing around the lump rising in your throat, “I’m on-“
“Forget it, I’ve got your location.” A door slams in the background and an engine turns over. “Don’t hang up.”
You nod, jerky and rushed, before giving him a clipped, “Mhm.”
“Turn left at the next cross-street.”
You hang a sharp left, more than willing to relenquish control of this situation to the man who’s gotten you out of more tight spots than you can count, despite the way it chafes at your sense of independence.
Things didn’t exactly end amicably between the two of you, but you trust that he’d never steer you wrong on purpose.
“They still behind you?”
When you steal a glance, the stranger is much closer than you were expecting. A startled gasp is punched out of you, and you break into a dead sprint. Dread pools in your gut and electrifies your blood when the man curses and takes off after you.
“Tell me what’s happening,” he demands. You hear his car’s engine straining to accelerate further.
The echoes of two sets of footfalls slapping against the concrete reverberate throughout the otherwise deserted streets, and your lungs begin to burn with exertion.
“He’s-“ You choke on a cough as the words grate against your dry throat. “He’s catching up, Simon, he’s gonna-“
“Take a right.”
You launch yourself down the next street, hair flowing wildly behind you. You’re about to ask what the hell is taking him so long when a sleek black car skids around the corner and screeches to a halt mere feet from where you now stand, panting and drenched in cold sweat.
Simon is out of his car in the next second, and you’d admire his leather jacket and dark denim jeans in any other situation.
Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand, tugging you around to the passenger side before opening the door and ushering you in. He presses the car keys into your palm and curls your fingers around them, his grip disarmingly familiar.
Though his face is obscured by a black surgical mask, the way he searches your expression for a split second is enough to leave you feeling like an exposed nerve.
He waits until your eyes flick to his before mumbling, “Don’t watch.”
With those foreboding words, he presses a button on the door panel and all four locks engage with a soft click.
The door is slammed shut, and the sudden silence of the cabin is so disconcerting that you bite your lip to stifle your own breathing. Simon stalks - and there’s truly no other word for it - in the direction you had just come from.
You catch a glimpse of the stranger rounding the corner, his eyes widening as he comes face to face with death incarnate.
You slouch down as far as you possibly can just as Simon winds his fist back. Though your view is obstructed, your ears still register a startled shout cut sickeningly short.
Now that you’re in relative safety, your adrenaline-addled mind conjures up harrowing images of the peril you narrowly escaped.
And now, here you sit - near hyperventilating in your ex’s car as he pummels your stalker into the sidewalk.
What can you even say to him after this? A simple “thank you” feels grossly inadequate compared to the enormity of the service he’s providing you.
A tap on the driver’s window startles you into a yelp. Swiveling your head around, you clutch a hand to your heart as if that’ll stop it from pounding out of your chest. It’s Simon, knuckles poised for another knock, expectant gaze fixed on you.
You jab your finger into the ‘unlock’ button, and he eases behind the wheel, discreetly wiping his hands on his jeans then plucking the keys out of your palm.
The engine turns over and the dashboard flickers to life as you move to heave yourself back up into the seat.
A solid pressure on your head keeps you in place. “Not yet.”
You’re not going to think about the implications of that statement, or the role the hand now resting softly on your head had just played.
You stay down as Simon pulls away from the curb.
After several moments, he withdraws his hand, resting his arm on the center console. The other hand maintains an iron grip on the steering wheel, the leather protesting under the strength of it.
As you shift up in the seat, a myriad of thoughts cycle through your mind, but you manage to articulate only one.
“This isn’t the way to my apartment,” your voice is pitifully soft.
He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “We’re goin’ to mine.”
The jittery nerves seep out of you, and you teeter precariously on the cliff overlooking one hell of an adrenaline crash.
“Why?” You keep your voice low; you don’t trust it enough to speak any louder.
He works his jaw considerately, mulling over his words. “Do you really wanna be alone right now?”
Tears are silently searing their way down your cheeks before you can rein them in. From sheer panic to the tenuous safety of you ex-boyfriend’s car - the disparity is tantamount to emotional whiplash.
But you don’t know what to feel - something within you rages against the fact that you’re now finding solace in a man that shattered your heart mere months ago.
You turn towards the window, biting your lip so hard you taste blood. He catches the way it trembles, of course - nothing ever escapes his trained eye.
A large hand settles on your thigh, not the least bit suggestive but only meant to comfort. And against your better judgement, it does exactly that.
Propping an elbow on the door panel, you stifle hitching breaths against your palm as his thumb strokes your leg.
The rest of the ride is spent in silence, the warmth of Simon’s gesture spreading through your limbs.
An indeterminate amount of time later, you resurface to the sensation of gentle swaying and a heartbeat thudding softly into your ear.
You float in the blissful, muddled borders of your own consciousness as elevator doors open, close, and you’re jostled slightly as a door is unlocked.
Attempting to lift your head is far outside of your capabilities at present, and the sturdy hold supporting your knees and back is too comfortable to bother trying.
You’re lowered onto a plush surface and you reflexively stretch into the soft sheets with a sigh. There’s a huff from somewhere nearby, and a brief tugging before your shoes are pulled off.
A pleasantly heavy comforter is drawn to your chin, and you scrape together enough awareness to mumble a quiet, “Where you goin’…”
Simon turns, backlit by the light in the hallway. “You know where everything is,” his voice is unfiltered, unmasked, “I’ll take the couch.”
You blame your next words on the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids, “Stay.”
He hesistates in the doorway, halfway turned to leave but gripping the frame like he’s afraid he’ll be torn away from it.
“You sure?” You’ve never known him to sound so uncertain.
“Super sure,” You sigh, graciously yanking aside the covers on the opposite side of the bed to emphasize your surety.
Simon chuckles lowly, and the sound vaporizes practically every second the two of you have spent apart. Suddenly, it’s just another Thursday night with your boyfriend and no time has passed, the fractures in your bond fading into obscurity.
There’s a rustle of fabric as he shrugs off his jacket and steps out of his shoes. He slides under the sheets and it feels like a final puzzle piece has been slotted into place. It feels…right.
It’s this same feeling that pulls you to him like a magnet, and he readily accepts you into his embrace like it’s what he’s been waiting for. Your arms are pinned between your chests as he curls around you, burying his nose in your hair and guiding your head into the crook of his neck.
He sighs heavily, and it sounds like catharsis. Like the release of air from an overfilled balloon.
“Missed you, sweet girl.”
The words are dangerously low and cloyingly sweet, like hot wax melting into your skin.
Something in your chest twinges like a guitar string being plucked. The vibrations travel up your spine and fill you with an addicting warmth you’re disparingly certain you’ll be chasing after for the rest of your life.
It’s a big feeling. One that should only be distilled into words during the hazy, intimate hours of the night, shared in hushed whispers with a lover.
But Simon’s not your lover - not anymore.
So you force yourself to be contented by the gentle fingers running up and down your back, the delicate press of lips into the crown of your head.
It’s enough. For now.
“I’d like to talk,” Your eyelids lift with Herculean effort, the rumble of his voice resonating through his chest and into your ear, “about us, I mean.”
“In the morning,” you slur against his worn t-shirt, the material soft against your cheek. “Thanks for coming, by the way.” The words are muffled, your voice breaking off into a sigh.
His frame shakes slightly as he huffs, brushing stray hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The casual intimacy of the action is disarming in the extreme, and your heart swells with that unmentionable feeling.
“Alright, love,” he concedes, sounding every bit like he’d pull the moon out of the sky if only because you wanted a closer look, “in the morning.”
Simon’s hypnotic ministrations finally pull you under, and you catch one last murmured endearment before your awareness melts away.
“I’ll always be there for you,” another press of lips against your temple, “whenever you need me.”