Cabin Fever (BXB)

i bother simon a little more (4 months ago)

"I didn't mean to wake you up, did I?" I asked, tugging my jacket a little closer to me. "Shoot, you were probably asleep, and here I am, waking you up at 4 AM like some crazy person – "

"Micah." I loved how he said my name. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I just..." I take in a breath. "I missed you."

"...I missed you, too."

"Is this what normal people are supposed to feel? We spent all freaking day together." God, what I wouldn't have given to relive it. "Like, I feel like I'm going a little crazy, and please tell me if I'm going crazy, because I don't want to wreck things between us, but I just like you so much that – "

The door opened, and Simon was staring at me from behind the screen door. He smirked and hung up the phone. "How did I know?" he asked, stepping out onto the apartment stoop with me. "Hi."

"...hi," I giggled.

"Are you stalking me now?"

"Not stalking if you've invited me over, like, 20 times already."

Simon raised a brow at that.

"To my credit, I didn't ask to come in." I glanced down the empty street. "Doesn't really help, either, that I live 2 blocks away from you."

"I should've closed the door and gone back to bed."

"You wouldn't," I shouted. "I wouldn't do that to you!"

"You wouldn't," he said, and his voice felt so light. He leaned back against the iron railing of the stoop. "So? What do I owe the pleasure tonight?"

My heart did somersaults. It was too early to say something cheesy like "Being away from you feels like a part of me is missing", or "I can't sleep without you near me" and I didn't think Simon would appreciate it, either. Slowly, I leaned over to put my head on his shoulder. He smelled like Simon – kind of musky and plain from the Dove soap he used, cucumber melon from his shampoo – and I didn't know the words to describe how amazing it was. His skin was cool against my face, and I pressed him against the iron railing. I took in a breath and held him a little closer.

He held me back.

My heart ached. I was with him again. I wished someone could see this perfect, wonderful moment, just so they could understand it.

"What?" he whispered.

"I'm so sorry if I woke you, Simon."

He held me a little tighter. "I was already awake. Couldn't sleep."

I was breathless. Floating. If I died now, I would've been so happy but so extremely angry that I died before I could grow old with him.

I pulled back. "Can I come in?"

"Do Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds know you're here?"

I nodded. I wasn't going to wake them at 4 AM because I wanted to see him.

I still messaged them that I was going to Simon's place.

"They don't really care. They like you."

Simon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against mine. "Want to come in?"

"Okay."

His comfy studio called to me like a freaking siren's song. I knew the art prints official names and artists' names – Simon told me about them one afternoon. I memorized the grooves of his kitchen table, where the scratches were, how the mattress moved when we slump down on it, every groan of the building as the neighbors moved around. A dusty candle rediscovered from one of his boxes – rose and sea salt – sat lit on the kitchen table. It was Simon's little eclectic mess, his little curated world.