Simon met you at a mutual friend’s party. You were leaning against the railing, arms crossed, and begging for some sort of attention without saying anything. At least that’s what he thought. You didn’t smile when he introduced himself, that’s what got him wrapped around your unwilling finger.

Simon was used to flirtation - the easy kind. The hair twirling, the planned touches, the giggles at jokes that were half-assed. But you looked at him like he was just another person taking up space in your orbit.

“I don’t date guys like you.” You added after he offered to walk you home. Simon grinned, genuinely entertained. “Guys like me?” You hummed, nodded. “Too slick. Too sure. Too.. bored.”

The rejection didn’t sting, only it made his intriguing for you more prominent. Your indifference was like blood in the water.

After that night, he began to show up. Where you worked - just once, casually. Then twice. Then more. Always with a coffee you didn’t have to ask for. He learned how you liked it anyway. Vanilla, oat milk latte, one pump only. “Don’t make this a habit,” you warned one day after a coworker questioned his presence in your life.

He texted too, sometimes funny, sometimes thoughtful. You responded with lowercase one-liners or no response at all. You had told him you weren’t interested in him more than once. He never pressed, but he never really backed off either.

After a long, awkward night he somehow managed to get you to agree on, the two of you stood outside your apartment. “I’m not yours to chase, Simon.” You muttered, furrowing your brows slightly as your gaze met his. “I’m not chasing,” Simon shrugged. “I’m just… here. Waiting.”