Simon’s hand moved, just slightly, across the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I stared at that pale hand, at the faint blue veins beneath his skin.
“Don’t be. You didn’t do it,” I answered.
“No,” Simon murmured, “but I know what it’s like to lose someone. To want to stop caring and not be able to.”
Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat everything else faded. The Guild, the blood, the fear. Just two people sitting in a ruined house, both pretending they weren’t broken.
“Maybe that’s the joke,” I said, forcing a thin smile. “All of us chasing monsters, when we’re the ones who can’t stop bleeding inside.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly over my wrist.
It wasn’t much. Just a touch, a brief spark, but it sent something deep and dizzy through me. My pulse jumped, traitorous.
“Sorry,” Simon said quickly, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine,” I said, though my voice came out rougher than I intended.
The silence that followed was thick with things neither of us said. I reached for my burger mostly just to have something to do with my hands.
Simon watched me eat with a faint, wistful look, like he missed even the act of chewing.
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “You don’t have any obligation to stay. I’ll only bring you trouble.”
“I’m aware,” he said honestly.
“But?”
He hesitated. “Because you keep surprising me. And…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Because it’s been a long time since I wasn’t alone.”
I felt that one like a knife to the gut.
“Yeah,” I said after a beat. “I get that.”
He gave a small, sad smile. “Then maybe we’re both idiots.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
The air between us had changed. Not just warm now, but charged, fragile and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Simon stood first, starting to gather the wrappers, and when he reached for the soda cup near my hand, our fingers brushed again. Neither of us pulled away this time.
He froze, eyes flicking up to mine. The faintest breath parted his lips, and for a second, the world narrowed to that single point of contact.
The cool slide of his skin against mine, the tremor in my chest that had nothing to do with pain. I could’ve leaned in. I thought about it. His eyes searched mine, uncertain, open.
Damn it, I wanted to know what it would feel like. To bridge that last inch of distance, to taste the ghost of something I’d sworn I’d never want again.
But I didn’t. I forced myself to look away, flexing my hand as if shaking off a spell.
“I should get some sleep,” I said hoarsely.
“Of course.” His voice was soft, unreadable.
He moved to clean up the rest of the food, the movements careful, almost reverent.
