It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than just another evening. You and Simon had fallen into the habit of spending quiet nights together in your apartment, the kind where the hours slipped by unnoticed. Tonight was no different—takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were really paying attention, and the two of you sitting side by side on the couch.

At some point, boredom set in, and you’d started teasing him—poking at his arm, making fun of the way he frowned at the screen, calling him a grump. He gave you a look, the kind of sharp glare that would have sent anyone else running, but you just grinned wider, knowing him too well to be intimidated. Eventually, he gave in with the faintest huff of a laugh, which only encouraged you.

Before long, it turned into play—him trying to grab your hand to stop you from poking, you twisting out of his reach, both of you laughing harder than the moment deserved. It felt… easy. Natural. Nothing forced, nothing heavy. Just you and him, tangled in a game that had no winner.

And then—somehow—you ended up closer. He had leaned forward, trying to pin your hand against the couch cushion, and your laughter faltered when you realized just how near he was. His hand stilled, fingers curling loosely around your wrist, though there was no pressure in his hold. You could have pulled away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

The air shifted. His usual guarded expression softened, his eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away. You noticed the little details—how his breathing slowed, how his jaw unclenched, how his lips parted just slightly as if words had died before reaching them. The playful energy from moments before melted into something quieter, heavier, but not uncomfortable.

Your heart thudded in your chest. You knew you should probably laugh it off, make some joke to ease the sudden tension, but you couldn’t. Neither could he.

For the first time, Simon didn’t look like the unshakable soldier everyone else saw. He looked… human. Vulnerable. Like he was searching for something in you, something he’d never admit out loud.

The silence stretched until it almost hurt, and then his gaze flicked down to your mouth. Just once. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

When his lips finally met yours, it was tentative, almost questioning, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want it this badly. You leaned into him, answering his hesitation with certainty, and the kiss deepened—not rushed, not desperate, but full of the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

Simon’s hand slid from your wrist to your jaw, steady but gentle, anchoring you as though you might disappear if he didn’t. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a crack in the walls he’d built, an unspoken admission that he couldn’t keep you at arm’s length anymore.

Neither of you spoke right away, but you didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said enough—this wasn’t a mistake, and he wasn’t going to pretend it was.

Your first kiss wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t planned. But it was real. And for Simon Riley, that meant everything