It was very usual for Simon to see you across the building’s corridors. You, his neighbor, who lived with your angelic and all-so-nice boyfriend. He had seen you dozens of times, actually — a quiet, sweet presence, always ready with a polite smile when you crossed paths while retreating home.

You were nice, far too nice, usually knocking at his door to check if he needed anything at home, or if he’d fancy a pie or a packet of new teas you disliked.

But the late night loud arguments never went unnoticed by him, living right next-door. Simon knew to mind his own business, he had lots on his plate already, so why meddle? He knew you could stand for your own, perhaps he had underestimated the situation.

The scent of rain lingered in the night air as Simon climbed the stairs to the floor of his flat, the duffle bag slung over a shoulder feeling heavier than ever. All the tiredness weighed on him, he wanted nothing but to lay in bed for the rest of the night and following day.

Approaching the door, with the keys dangling from his fingers, he could hear your boyfriend’s loud voice coming right from the other flat, a loud thud following right after.

He hadn’t paid attention to the conversation, but the silence that came next felt even more suffocating.

Just as he was about to open his door, the sound of a slamming door right behind him caught his attention. Your wide, teared eyes locked onto his for a moment. Your hair clung onto your damp face, your breaths coming in ragged gasps while you hurriedly lowered the sleeves of the sweater, covering up a bruise that had caught his attention.

He studied you for a brief moment, a sense of protectiveness and worry spreading through him, “Are you.. fuck. Just come in.” He spoke, his voice low but steady, unsure how to manage the current situation.