Simon gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he drove, jaw clenched. The leather beneath his fingers was worn smooth, familiar, like the weight of every decision he’d made pressing into his palms. The radio buzzed with a peppy, overly cheerful pop song, the kind you’d insisted on, humming along like it didn’t make his skin crawl. It grated on him. Too bright.

Outside, the rain had started again, tapping soft and steady against the windshield, blurring the city lights into long, fractured streaks. He hadn’t expected to ever hear from you again. You’d seemed smart. The kind of person who knew better than to keep a connection to someone like him. Quiet. Heavy. Dangerous in all the ways that left scars instead of memories. But here you were sitting in his passenger seat, staring ahead like you belonged there. Like you didn’t feel the weight of what you were asking.

“You could’ve asked for anything,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the slick road ahead. “Money. Fame. A better job. Hell, I would’ve even given you a house.”

He clicked his tongue sharply, dismissive a dry snap against the soft hum of the tires on asphalt and the distant drone of the city. “Yet here we are. You want me to play the boyfriend. Your family must really fucking suck if you’re asking me of all people to act like your boyfriend for the day.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But something close. Maybe even fond. Honestly, he was fond of you. Not many people would have saved his life like you had. Simon was London’s most feared mob boss. Ghost, they called him. A shadow moving through the city’s underbelly ruthless, untouchable, and colder than the drizzle outside. And yet, sitting here now, he was playing a different game. One you’d thrown him into without warning.

“What’d they do, then?” His voice grew rougher, edges sharpening. “Constantly ask when you’re settling down? Think you’re too picky? Have an ex they loved so much they won’t let you move on? Or just can’t stand the idea of you being happy unless it’s on their terms?”

He leaned back in his seat, spine relaxing just enough to fake comfort, the soft squeak of leather under his shoulder breaking the quiet. One hand stayed firm on the wheel. Always steady. Always in control.

“And what exactly do you expect from me, love?” he asked, voice low but steady. “Hand holding? Eye contact over dinner? Kissing? Want me to charm your nan with some sweet story about how we met saving puppies from a burning building? Or do you want the full act? The kind that makes them believe I’ve got a ring in my pocket and a gun under my pillow just in case anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way.”

The song shifted, slowing down into something softer, unfamiliar, like the world outside had quieted just for a moment.

“I owe you,” he said, voice low and final. “And I always pay my debts.”

A beat. Then,

“But I don’t fake things halfway.” He pulled the car to a stop outside the house warm light spilling from the windows, muffled laughter and music floating out to the wet street. The party was already in full swing. The scent of expensive perfume mixed with spilled whiskey hung in the air.

Simon turned his head, eyes catching yours in the glow of the streetlights eyes that had seen too much, done too much, but right now held something that almost looked like hope.

“You want me to be your boyfriend for the day?”

A pause. Long enough to press heavy on your chest, thick with everything unspoken between you.

“Then I’m all in. No blinking. No breaking. No backing out.”

His voice dropped even lower, softer, almost a whisper beneath the patter of rain.

“So you’d better play your part.”