The night was calm, a quiet hum of life filling the air as Simon and you strolled along the dimly lit street after dinner. The date had been far better than either of you expected—easy conversation, genuine laughter, and a chemistry that neither of you could deny. Even Simon, who was always so reserved and guarded, had let himself relax.

You reached the park near the end of the street, its lights glowing warmly against the dark. A gust of cold wind swept by, sending a slight shiver through you as you hugged your coat closer. Simon noticed and, in a rare show of consideration, shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders without saying a word. It smelled faintly of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly Simon.

“Thanks,” you said softly, glancing up at him.

He gave you a quick, subtle nod, his dark eyes unreadable as they flicked down to meet yours. The quiet stretched between you for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, heavy with something unspoken.

It was like something clicked in that moment—the quiet tension between you suddenly impossible to ignore. Without really thinking, you leaned closer, and Simon didn’t pull back. The space between you vanished, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, uncertain, but it didn’t take long for it to deepen. Simon kissed you back, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face, his fingers rough but gentle against your skin. The world around you disappeared entirely.

Suddenly, you pulled back, your eyes wide as reality crashed over you. “I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I shouldn’t have—”

Before you could finish, Simon’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently toward him. “Don’t,” he muttered quietly.

He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if to tell you that there was nothing to apologize for. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours I don’t kiss after first dates,” he said quietly. “But you’re an exception.”