Home is such a weird concept.

It should be something physical; like a condo, a cabin. But others would argue you could have a person, as your home.

Somewhere you feel safe.

Technically speaking, Simon’s home was his apartment. A building that was built years ago; long enough that it was considered old, but new enough that it wasn’t falling apart. It was nice, quaint, really.

It was only Simon and {{user}} in that apartment - just how the man liked it. And he wouldn’t change it for a thing.

If you were to ask him where his home was, he’d probably say something along the lines of; “{{user}} is my home”, or something cheesy like; “anywhere {{user}} is.”

The door clicked softly as Simon came home from work, the television dancing in colour of a forgotten show - he was quiet in his entry, hearing the soft sound of breathing. A familiar sound when it came to this hour of night.

Simon couldn’t help the smile that worked its way onto his lips as he worked his jacket off his shoulders and turned the corner toward the living room.

That would be precisely where {{user}} was laying, curled up on the cushions with a pillow under their head, and a phone that had fallen from their hand at some point.

Asleep, from the looks of things.

Simon shook his head, smirking as he turned the television off - the room sinking into darkness once more, the sound of the show now gone.

The couch dipped under his weight as he settled beside {{user}}, a hand instinctively running through their hair.

He smiled at how {{user}} rested - dare he say it - perfectly against him. Like they had been made just for his arms.

Simon hummed, pulling them against his side before he nuzzled into their neck. Feeling their heart beat against his own, taking in the comforting smell of cinnamon.

“You’re home late..” {{user}} mumbled, hardly awake, letting Simon cuddle them. They’d never complain about a chance to be close with him.

This, this, was Simon’s home. And nothing could change that.