Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day began like so many before it, your phone alarm blaring that all-too-familiar tune the one you’d heard so often it no longer registered as music, just another part of your repetitive morning routine right before the sun itself decided to show itself but right after it let its presence be known but the heat that it heaped. The apartment was still and empty, filled only with the low hum of the air conditioner alongside the gentle whirring of a household fan doing its best to fight the heat. Outside, the sun had already begun its assault; the roads and pavements violently rippled under the weight of the heat, the air itself seeming thick and polluted. It was the kind of day where you wouldn’t be surprised to see a tumbleweed roll past or hear a harmonica riff out a scale in the distance, and no one would think twice.

Summers here were unforgiving, oppressive, unrelenting and yet it wasn’t always clear whether the sweat you woke up in came from the heat or from the gnawing loneliness that tore a space inside you, perhaps it was both.

The thought faded quickly when the alarm blared once again singing that grating tune just as sharp as before, demanding you rise. The sheets clung to your skin like they didn’t want you to go, as if even the bed knew what kind of day lay ahead. But you stood anyway, ignoring the resistance, like the sign of struggle wasn’t there. That office job that drained your energy and barely paid a livable wage. It offered no joy, no real reward but it was familiar. Predictable. And that, in its own strange way, made it bearable. In a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control, you seemed to cling onto any sort of normalcy that came along in your life even if it left you feeling hollow.

In truth, you had a choice, you always did. You could’ve stayed home, and Simon probably wouldn’t have said a word about it. He rarely did. Simon yes, your partner, though even now the word hardly felt accurate, more of a placeholder than a truth. He was a man cloaked in ambiguity, a man defined more by absence than anything present. You’d chosen to live with him, hell who wouldn’t take the opportunity to be cared for? though sometimes you wondered if "live with" was even the right phrase. He wasn’t around much and when he was he moved through the apartment like a passing shadow arriving without warning, disappearing just as suddenly. He never stayed long, and even when he did, he never truly arrived. He was there, but he wasn’t, he was a Ghost.
And yet, despite the distance, despite the silence and the unanswered questions, you found yourself clinging to the idea of him. Because there was nothing ordinary about Simon, and maybe that was what made him feel worth holding onto. In a life that felt increasingly gray, Simon was the one thing that didn’t fit. And for some reason, that alone made him feel important.

Before you even realized it, you were showered, skin still damp from the water, the faint scent of soap clinging to you, dressed in a worn button-down, and already behind the wheel of your car, headed to work. The motions came without thought, each task performed on autopilot, the body moving while the mind drifted. You’d done it so many times, it barely required awareness anymore though, admittedly, zoning out behind the wheel was probably less than ideal.

The day passed much like the rest. You arrived, sat at your desk, exchanged words with coworkers, polite, professional, the kind of dialogue that filled silence but never really meant anything. You ate an instant ramen lunch at your desk, watching some random YouTube video, the sound audible due to the earbuds you never felt home without. You worked. You walked a document across the building. You returned. Eventually, you packed your things, because your shift was over and the sun, in its routine obedience, had begun its descent, disappearing just as quickly as it had risen and got replaced by the moon.
The moon was full tonight, pale and luminous, hanging low in a sky where the stars had all but vanished. Light pollution smothered them, an unspoken truth the government refused to acknowledge, and thus, in their eyes, didn’t exist. You gathered your things and packed up, long after most of your coworkers had already gone. Not because you were stuck working late, but because there was no real reason to leave. No warm dinner waiting, no lights left on for you. Most of them had something to go home to families, spouses, children, maybe even a dog wagging its tail behind the door.
But you? You had nothing. And, truthfully, that didn’t bother you. There was a strange comfort in that emptiness, a kind of freedom in not being needed. No one relied on you. No lives were tied to your presence. No expectations. No responsibility.

Your thoughts drifted, slow and soft, and once again your body moved without you slipping back into autopilot. You drove home, eyes unfocused but steady, the city’s glow bleeding into your windshield. And before you knew it, you were parking in front of your apartment.You found yourself getting out of your car then locking it with a gentle click followed by a beep. No out of the ordinary car was in the parking garage, just the normal couple that were always there, the other cars that belonged to the other tenants whom you rarely saw. Walking to the inside of the complex you’re met with the familiar smell of leftover cleaning solution in the designed carpeted floors a smell that brought an odd sense of comfort all the way to the silver elevator greeted you with its usual soft ding, and the warm glow of the number two lit up as you pressed it. A short ride. Second floor. Then the quiet walk to your door. This place was nice. A little higher-end than you probably needed, but well-kept, peaceful, quiet. You couldn’t ask for much more, except maybe a backyard. But in this heat, the outside world felt more like punishment than pleasure.

You went inside of your apartment with the gentle jingle of your keys followed by the creak that never seemed to go away no matter how much olive oil you crammed in its hinges, your apartment was rather clean, a loose blanket on the couch, a pair of shoes at the door, a fork in the sink just enough to suggest life, but not so much that it felt full. You closed the door behind you, locking it promptly then checked the time on the clock—11 PM. A little late for a full dinner, so you settled on a light snack, enough to quiet the hunger but not enough to upset your stomach followed by a warm shower and a long look in the foggy mirror.
You saw your own eyes, still the same from a time before and yet so different, that was one thing that didn’t really change when you went on T, everything else changed, your face, your body, your voice but your eyes remained, just a little more sunken now though that was probably age more than anything else. You brushed your teeth then laid down in your empty bed, staring at the ceiling, dreading falling asleep and dreading the thought of waking up and doing it all over again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, just that you had. Perhaps you were more tired than you had initially thought you were. But you were woken up by a familiar jingle of keys at the door, shaken, you sit up from bed, debating what the hell you should do if some intruder were to break in, this was probably some mistake, some other tenant was probably at the wrong door thinking that this was theirs. Heavy boots thudded against the floor, deliberate and familiar., you knew those boots you were relived and you knew the sound that followed, the sound of a duffle bag hitting the floor, a heavy sigh, the metallic flick of a lighter, the opening of the balcony door, followed but the careful closing of it.

Simon was home, after about four months, he was back, unannounced like always. No heads up. No message. Just the sound of boots and breath and routine.. You sat there in your bed, thinking about what exactly you should do next, should you go out there and greet the man? Should you wait until he came to the bedroom, of course, there was always the chance he wouldn’t. Sometimes he just crashed on the couch, like a roommate passing through.. Still, despite your better judgment, despite everything, you made a decision. Get up and go outside, greet the man who takes care of you, the man who always came and went like smoke through a screen door.

Chapter Text

Four years, that’s how long this arrangement has been going on. Simon would vanish for months at a time then return, like clockwork, only to disappear again on another mission. No matter how hard you tried, how patient, how kind, how open, you could never get him to do the same. He never unraveled. Never let you see beneath the surface. And after a while, you stopped thinking of it as a relationship. It felt more like a quiet agreement. A contract built on habit, not intimacy. But the more you thought about it the more you sat back and realized this man doesn’t know how to love properly and that fact alone kept you around and undoubtedly loyal for so long, never seeking affection, never seeking comfort elsewhere it made you feel naive and even immature. You stood, slowly, and walked toward the balcony door. Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers hesitating, trembling ever so slightly. On the other side, Simon leaned against the railing, shoulders relaxed like he’d never left. The soft orange glow of his cigarette flared in the dark like a dying star, flickering and distant. Why were you so nervous? This wasn’t new, this wasn’t something that you’d never done before. You swallowed the feeling, wrapped your hand around the handle, twisted, and stepped out. The balcony was small, barely enough space for two people to stand without brushing shoulders. But it had always been enough, Simon however didn’t so much as turn around to acknowledge you, his eyes stayed forward, his gaze fixated on the skyline and his mouth remained still on the wrapped paper of the cigarette. You looked at him, unable to see the majority of his face, only the lower half was visible, even at his presumed home he kept his balaclava on.

You stood there for a moment longer, gaze dropping to the balcony floor beneath your feet. You weren’t sure if Simon was going to say something first, or if it would have to be you. And if it was you… what exactly were you supposed to say? Another moment passed and there was more silence. You glanced over at him at the dull ember of his cigarette and wondered, just for a second, if you should do the thing you’d been thinking about ever since you stepped out here..Then you did. You reached out, snatched the cigarette from his fingers, and brought it to your own lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke hit harsh bitter and biting on the way down. Simon always smoked the rough kind, the kind that left your throat raw and your chest tight., another pause, You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Simon looked over to you slowly, this head movement more sluggish like moving itself was exhausting, “If you wanted a cigarette,” he muttered, that low, gravel-thick British accent barely above a whisper, “you could’ve just asked.” he sounded beat, worn to the bone. You felt something tighten in your chest, guilt, maybe or something akin to it.Without a word he pulled his mask the rest of the way down concealing his face watching with his dark brown eyes as you smoked the rest of his cigarette, he watched as you took another drag, analyzing you the way he always did, quiet, unreadable, distant. The cigarette was bitter to the taste Simon always seemed to smoke the stronger kind, more intensity, harsher after effect. He was analyzing you, your features, “tired?” he asked finally, voice softer now. and you followed with a scoff that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh but held too much weight, “tired of this” you said, the words slipping out before you had time to stop them. Honest and immediate pulling your gaze to meet Simon’s, was now really the time to talk about this? Maybe. Maybe there would never be a better time than right now standing outside, smoke between you, the city silent and half-asleep.. Simon gave you a look. Not surprise, not annoyance. Just... go on. and you promptly did so, “Why do you come back?” you asked, voice low but sharp. “What is there to come back to? Because I know it’s not me…” you started spilling the words, your feelings all spilling from your lips “I don’t understand you, Simon. I don’t get why you keep doing this, why you show up after months of silence just to act like I’m not even here. Why come back at all if you’re barely going to acknowledge my existence?” in this quieter part of town you realize your voice had slightly risen sometime past 12AM on a weekday night, outside, on the balcony, but in this moment you really couldn’t give a shit who was hearing this. Not tonight

Simon stood there on the balcony, his gaze locked onto you with those muddy, unreadable eyes of his. Even with that ridiculous skull balaclava on, it wasn’t hard to tell he was focused now. Fully present. Watching. Listening.. You kept going, unable to stop the words once they started, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray that had long since collected more dirt than ash. “I don’t understand myself,” you muttered, voice starting to falter. “I don’t get why I wait around like some sick dog for someone who could be doing the same thing to ten other people..” Your voice cracked, just a little. Sadness dripped in quietly, like water leaking through a crack. Your throat ached from holding back too much for too long. And still the weight in your chest kept growing. Why had you spent so much time here? Why had you stayed? Why were you so shamefully, stubbornly in love with a man who never gave you the time of day who seemed incapable of even seeing you? still, Simon said nothing. He just stood there, his silence louder than any outburst could’ve been. You waited. Hoped. But the moment passed, and he gave you nothing. Not a word. Not even a flinch. The silence wasn’t patient, it was a stalemate and it hurt like hell. You exhaled hard, a mix of anger and grief, then dragged your hands through your hair before rubbing your face roughly with the kind of pressure that might erase something..“Forget it,” you said bitterly. “You don’t care. I don’t even think you can care, even if you wanted to.” Your voice had grown hoarse, small. “I feel like I’ve given so much of myself... and all I’ve gotten back is material. Stability. A roof and I’m not ungrateful for that but I’m a man, Simon. I have needs emotional ones, physical ones.” A beat. You looked at him again, almost pleading now.“I’m not complaining about what you’ve given me but I need more. I don’t just want stability, I want you.” You needed to be loved or at the very least, acknowledged. More silence, more hurt in the silence ”I’m sick of this I’ll have my things packed by morning,” you finished, quieter now. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

You turned to leave, your hand reaching for the balcony door handle, just about ready to leave this place from him, from all of it but you were stopped. “Don’t.” The word landed heavy behind you. Low, firm just loud enough for you to hear. And you paused “What?” turning back around with a confused expression on your face, tightening your brow. Simon hadn’t moved from where he stood, but something in his posture had shifted. His shoulders weren’t relaxed they never really were, they were stuck between the set settings of tense, less tense and the most tense. He looked like he was bracing for recoil the most tense, like bad taxidermy. “Don’t go,” he repeated. His voice was steady now, but quieter. Intentional. Like every word cost him something. The silence stretched again, but this time, it was full of weight. A tension neither of you could pretend wasn’t there anymore. “I know I’m not easy,” he said, eyes scanning the dark horizon instead of your face. “I’ve spent more time in combat zones than in kitchens. The way I live… the way I am, it doesn’t leave room for softness, never has.” You give him a skeptical look, something sullen rising in your throat, “sounds like you’re making an excuse..” you shot. Simon finally looked at you, the city light catching in his eyes. “But I mean it, when I brought you here, when I let you in, I didn't do that lightly.” He hesitated, then spoke again more slowly this time, the words didn’t come easily. “I didn’t grow up learning how to show people what they meant to me. And when I tried, when I did let someone close I was met with..hurt” he said and you said nothing, you just listened as he bled out.. “I’ve built so much of my life around control, order, and discipline as a means of protecting myself, then you showed up and everything I’d put in place started to crumble.” an apologetic look in those eyes, deep and yearning, “I kept you here without thinking. Without really thinking about you or what you might need from me. The thought of you leaving, the thought of you not being here when I come back--” Simon cut himself off and looked down at the ground, his brows in a deep furrow like he couldn't fathom the mere idea, he took a breath, his jaw tense. His voice dropped even lower his conclusion. “I don’t want you to pack your things. I don’t want you to leave. I just don’t know how to give you what you need… not yet but I’m going to learn.” He looked at you fully, the mask still there but not in the way. Simon’s tired, dark eyes were enough for now, just the broken man in his wrongness in his sorriness. His words weren’t a grand apology, hell he didn’t even formally say the word ‘sorry’. His vent wasn't romantic. it was simple, deep, honest and from a man like Simon? it was necessary.