"I feel like I'm particularly mature with {{user}}."

Those words slipped from his lips each night, mask dragged just below his nostril. Simon spoke to himself, a lot. Not that he minded. However, when each sentence was about you, he started to realize something.

His hand drifted lower and lower, fantasizing the touch of the older partner. Dehydrated pants leaving his lips like he was a starved animal. Your shirt in his other hand, inhaling the scent of you. It was almost repulsive, the way he acted each time the moon rose.

Was it so wrong? Begging for his body and mind to let his knees give out infront of you. To let his soul crumble at your feet. Perhaps the parent absency in his younger years took a toll on him more than he percieved.

"I want to be yours."

Simon had regretted the words the second they left his mouth last night. 11:07 PM. He had confessed it all to his own captain, his boss. He needed your affection, the touch and caress of an older lover. You had left him unanswered.

Simon watched from across the dining hall as you got your morning coffee. 87°, the smallest hint of caramel drizzled along the sides, perfected best at 6:14 AM on a Tuesday. His heart ached. His whole being ached for you. It was then his body moved on his own, his footsteps towards you echoing quietly.