𝘒ö𝘯𝘪𝘨 / 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

tastes like strawberries pt 2 {Ghost}

Simon made sure to keep tabs on you. He made a point of being at the infirmary at least once a day, under some contrived excuse he would make.

Always with a cup of coffee in his hand he had for you. Which, strangely enough, he knew exactly how you liked it.

Always striking up a conversation.
Asking you about your day.
Wondering why the hell you weren't already wrapped around his finger.

His eyes always drifted to you, his attention always falling onto you, who were so oblivious.

Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to you and you alone. Only you.

He had become so addicted to you.
Desperate to get any kind of attention from you.
Desperate for your hands on him.

But how would you know?
How much he craved you, loved you.
Simon hid his true feelings so well.
You were just a simple friend, a co worker.

His visits to the infirmary didn't stop there.
Oh no.
Every minute he spent not seeing you tore at his heart.

So what did he do?
What any other man would do that 'loved' you of course.

He followed you home, y/n.
Silly, silly, y/n.
So naive.
So sweet.
So oblivious.

Your home, your safe place.
He could only imagine what went on behind those closed doors of yours.

Perhaps you spent your free time reading or painting.
Maybe you sang to yourself in the shower.
A tune in the background as you danced with a glass of wine in your hand.

So there he stood, hidden away from view as he watched.
As he watched you.
His eyes on your smile.
His eyes glued onto your body.

He could see you through the window of your house, moving around in the kitchen while you prepared your dinner.

He took in your shape, your curves, your hips swaying ever so slightly as you moved from counter to shelf, to the sink, back to the counter.

And a cat.
A cat on the counter as you smiled so sweetly at it.
You had a cat.
How could he have missed that small detail?

Of course you would have a cat.
The tiny feline would sit in the window and look out at the world. It would curl up in a ball and go to sleep near you.

It would purr at your gentle touch.
Its eyes would light up as you spoke to it in a high-pitched voice.

How lucky.

To be the one who lived with you, who shared a bed with you. Watched you every single waking moment of its day.

His jaw clenched, fists tight. He looked again through the window, taking in the way your hips and breasts sat under your baggy T-shirt.

How lucky the cat was to live with you.
This woman that he utterly 'loved'.

He imagined that shirt, the fabric brushing against your skin.
What would it be like to be there, with you?
To feel the softness of your skin against his own?

So he watched.
That was all he could do.
You weren't his yet.
Not yet.

The night went on.
His only focus on you and only you.

He stood there, gazing up at your darkened window as you finally went to bed.
He imagined you curled up with your cat.
He imagined you with your eyes closed, your head on your pillow.

Simon imagined it all; the sound of your breathing; the way you looked as you laid there, unaware of his presence all the while.

He couldn't stand it anymore.
He needed to see you.
So badly.