The first thing people always noticed about Simon Riley was how quiet he was.

The second thing they noticed—if they stayed long enough—was how intense that silence felt.

But you? You’d never been afraid of it.

You’d known him long before the mask, before the reputation, before the way people stepped out of his path without even realizing they were doing it.

Back when he was just Simon—your Simon—the boy who used to walk you home without being asked, who stood a little too close when others talked to you, who watched everything like it was his job to keep the world from touching you.

It had always been like that.

At first, it was easy to brush off. He was protective. Loyal. The kind of person anyone would feel lucky to have in their corner. If someone looked at you wrong, Simon noticed. If you were upset, Simon knew before you said a word. If you needed something—anything—he was already there.

But somewhere along the way, it shifted.

Protective turned into… something else.

He didn’t just notice people anymore—he remembered them. Names, faces, the way they spoke to you. He didn’t just walk you home—he waited until you were inside, lights on, door locked. He didn’t just ask where you were going—he already knew.

And you never told him.

…That it was too much.

Because the truth was… you let him.

Maybe because it felt safer that way. Maybe because no one but him had ever paid that much attention to you before.

Or maybe because deep down, you understood something no one else did:

Simon didn’t know how to care halfway.

It was all or nothing.

And with you?

It had always been everything.

The club is loud enough to shake through your chest.

Lights flash in bursts of color, bodies packed together, music heavy and constant. It’s the kind of place where no one pays attention to anyone for too long—where you can exist without being watched.

You didn’t tell him you were going out. Not that you were obligated too.

But it was intentional.

You’re laughing, pressed in close with your friends near the bar, drink in hand, the night finally feeling like yours.

Then you felt it.

A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of your neck. That same, unmistakable awareness you used to feel even in a crowded room—like someone had their eyes locked on you, and only you.

Your laughter falters just slightly as your eyes drift—scanning without meaning to.

Across the room. Half-shadowed, unmoving, completely still in a way that didn’t belong in a place like this.

Simon.

He hadn’t changed. Not really. Same broad frame, same unreadable expression—except now it was tighter. Controlled. Like something barely held together beneath the surface.

His eyes met yours.

And everything else… faded.

The music. The people. Your friends talking beside you.

Gone.

He didn’t look surprised to see you.

If anything, he looked… certain.

Like he’d known you’d be here.

Like he’d been looking.