You had bugged him for weeks.

“Why don’t you want to go out with me?”

“Is it my hair?”

“You were talking to Katie but you can’t talk to me?”

All these questions made Simon grow a little irritated—sure, he was fond of you, he felt protective of you, but it was purely platonic for him. But you just didn’t know why. It wasn’t fair, you wanted answers.

So, you walk into his office, glancing at him doing some paperwork.

You keep tapping his arm, saying nothing as he ignores you. He knows why you’re here, to ask the same damned questions he’s been hearing on repeat.

Eventually, he sighs. “You aren’t my type.” He says. You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off, “You’re soft. You literally look like a cartoon lamb, your eyes are so naturally wide, it feels like I’m looking into the eyes of a Bambi or some bullshit. I like rough girls, love. It ain’t personal.” He explains gently—gruffly, but gently.