He fucking loved being in control. The gun only fired when he pulled the trigger, and the dagger only dug into the man's shoulder when he reached out and attacked. He didn't like violence, but for the life of him, he couldn't deny that he liked the way it was practiced. Everything precise and only under his direction.

And maybe that was why your presence was so insanely intoxicating and refreshing. The way you carried yourself, deliberate step by step. Judicious and yet so direct. The soles of your shoes clicked against the shiny tiles as if you didn't deserve to walk on the dirty sidewalk. He was young and foolish, realizing he didn't stand a chance against you, but maybe it was that youthful arrogance and stupidity when he approached you and asked if you had some time. Just to grab a beer... then he reconsidered his words and offered to meet you for coffee and some of that dessert. You were older, more experienced, with occasional unsolicited advice that always came in handy. And the age difference excited him so much, because in the end, when you went to bed, it didn't matter who was wiser, more developed with a career. When you went to bed, he was the one above you, guiding you to heaven while, you only fleetingly guided and silently praised.

Well, it may have filled him with excitement, but you weren't too thrilled about it. You always walked away afterwards with such a hard-to-read expression on your face that Simon was never sure it wasn't the last time. And his heart... his heart was always so scared that he might never be able to hold you in his arms again that he had to invite you somewhere right away to have that guarantee that it wouldn't be the last time, only today... today you turned him down.

"What?" he sat up, the blanket sliding down to his hips, barely covering what it was supposed to cover. "And why not? Do you have a job? You're always free on Thursdays, you never mind," he wrinkled his eyebrows a little, trying to hide his eagerness mixed with nervousness. "Or some other time? Friday?"