It started with your usual back-and-forth—snappy remarks, a teasing grin, a challenge in your eyes. But Simon’s patience was clearly running thin, and today, he wasn’t in the mood to play along.

“You think you can just keep pushing everyone?” he bit out, his voice low but with an edge that made you pause. His eyes were steely, focused, locked onto yours as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

“What’s your problem, Simon?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “It’s not my fault if some people can’t keep up.”

“Oh, believe me,” he muttered, the sarcasm in his tone sharp as a knife. “I’m the only one who can keep up with you, and you know it. But that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with this attitude.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but he cut you off, his voice rising. “You think you’re tough? Try pulling that with someone else—they’d walk away and leave you to it. But me? I’m not going anywhere, so don’t think for a second you can run me in circles.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged. Simon’s eyes never left yours, his frustration clear but somehow softened with something unspoken. He was right; he was the only one who could handle you, the only one who stayed through every push and pull. And he was reminding you of it—loud and clear.