Simon hated coming to parties, the loud music and the sea of drunk people acting like idiots. It wasn’t his favorite but he only came because you said you might be coming tonight.

And then he saw you.

His stomach churned when he saw who stood next to you, your ex. His grip on his red solo cup tightened, the plastic crumpling under the pressure.

He shouldn’t care. He wasn’t your boyfriend or lover, so why did he care? He was just the guy you called at 1 AM the night before, crying over the same person you were now standing with. Simon had rushed over to your dorm room and sat with you all night, holding you and wiping your tears; but apparently that wasn’t enough.

Simon felt the bitterness rise through his chest and into his throat, having to rip his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Maybe he read things wrong. Maybe the way your head rested on his chest meant nothing, the soft thank you whispered against his skin, the way you let him stay over; maybe it all meant nothing to you.

He had enough, his gaze catching yours briefly before he turned and started exiting the house. As he reached the sidewalk, he heard footsteps.

“Simon! Wait!” you called out and he froze; turning to face you.

“Don’t—“ he starts.

You shook your head. “I didn’t come here with him, he was just here. I wasn’t planning on doing anything with him it’s just—“

“Complicated.” He finished for you, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Always is, isn’t it?”