You and Simon had always been an odd dynamic—mostly platonic, though nights like this one blurred the lines in ways neither of you ever talked about. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t something as simple as casual lust. There was a quiet understanding between the two of you: no strings, no expectations, just comfort when life got too heavy. If you had to put a label on it, friends with benefits might have fit, but it didn’t quite capture the complicated, unspoken bond you shared.

The room was warm, the sheets tangled around you as Simon stood and began to dress. He didn’t rush, but his movements were efficient, practiced, as though he had done this a dozen times before—and he had. Tugging his shirt over his head, he raked a hand through his short, messy hair before reaching for his belt.

“I should head out,” he said finally, his voice low and gruff. He kept his eyes on the floor as he fastened the buckle, the words feeling more like a formality than a genuine statement. “Work’s early tomorrow.”

You watched him in silence for a moment, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across his frame. There was no awkwardness between you, no lingering tension. This was just how things always went: he came, he stayed for a while, and then he left.