Simon didn’t know when he’d started seeing you differently, when the butterflies in his stomach had started to slowly die out, when your touch had stopped leaving electric tingles along his skin. When had he fallen out of love with you?

When the two of you met, it was love at first sight, or that’s what Simon liked to tell himself. He’d met you at his lowest, and you’d given him a hand to hold onto, a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean during a storm. Saving him had made you feel like a sort of saviour in his life, his attachment bringing a twisted sense of satisfaction.

You’d helped Simon through possibly one of the roughest patches in his life, and for that he would’ve been forever grateful, but now that he was doing better, now that he’d healed, there was an urge within him to burn everything that reminded him of that time. That included you, too.

Falling asleep and waking up next to you didn’t stir the same excitement anymore, your kisses didn’t leave him wishing for more, and he wasn’t as eager to come back home at the end of the day. He’d never felt so bad in his life, because he could see the glimmer in your eyes, still present after all this time. He simply couldn’t bring himself to walk away, but having to pretend felt like a deeper stab in your back.

It was a quiet night, your head on his chest as you both watched a movie on the couch of your living room. You’d taken hold of Simon’s hand, tenderly playing with his fingers, committing every wrinkle and callus on his skin to your memory, like you always did.

“It’s moments like this that make me realise something, Simon.” You spoke up quietly, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze, lips curled in a soft smile. He hummed, his eyes meeting yours. “Realise what?” He asked.

“How much I love you.” You murmured, your voice filled with so much love that he could feel his heart physically clench in pain. The taste of his lie burned like acid on his tongue.

“I love you too.”