He shouldn’t care as much as he did.

But it stung – threatened to crumble his defences he so carefully built up.

Simon had met your mother just hours prior, the woman you spoke quite highly of. Your relationship had grown more serious, and so, this step forward was one you both were willing to make now, despite his slight hesitance. For he wasn’t the perfect man parents’ would want for their child.

However, it didn’t go as well as you thought it would. How you both hoped.

Maybe it was his large build, his stone cold mask he couldn’t seem to shake or the frown that lined his scarred face. Maybe it was his inability to hold a proper conversation, and his quiet nature or the dark jokes that slipped from his lips at the worst of times in his well-hidden nervousness. But she didn’t like him.

Your mother hadn’t faked neutrality, instead making her disfavour for his presence known. It ebbed his appetite, and left a sour taste on his tongue as the dinning room of your childhood home turned awkward, thick with tension.

During the drive back to his apartment, he didn’t speak a word, staring straight ahead with fingers tightly clenched around the wheel. Only in the comfort of the four walls he made his was he able to force anything out through the lump in his throat.

A feeling of dread caused Simon to stop in his tracks, his head hanging low as he let out a long exhale. He hoped you couldn’t sense the despair that flowed off him in waves, he could deal with this on his own. He kept his back facing you so you wouldn’t see his expression, the emotion in his gaze.

“You’re mum was…” He paused, his voice trailing off as he thought of something to say in the current predicament. He tried to play it off with a low chuckle, and a smile that didn’t meet his eyes when he looked your way briefly – as if it didn’t hurt as much as it actually did. “Something.”