Simon sat on the edge of his bed, thumb dragging idly across the screen. Profile after profile blurred together, all the same filters, the same practiced smiles. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, not really—but the silence of the flat was heavy tonight, and this felt like an easier distraction than staring at the walls.

Then your profile appeared.

He froze, thumb hovering over the glass. Something about you stopped the static in his head cold. Every picture felt alive, like a glimpse into a world that was yours and yours alone. Genuine, unpolished, raw in a way that made his chest feel tight. Out of this world. Not trying to be anyone else—just yourself. It was different. Striking.

A thought cut sharp through the fog: This one. This one’s real.

For the first time all night, he smirked faintly beneath the mask. No hesitation, not even reading the bio—his thumb slid right across the screen.