Please I’m literally at work and this thought would NOT go away
Roommate!Simon Riley who sits in the bathroom while you’re in the shower.
The first time it happened he’d been so lost in his head he hadn’t even noticed the water was running. It was after work, late at night. When he walked in and heard your shriek, he was quick to cover his eyes, despite the shower curtain, fumbling for the door while a constant stream of apologies fell from his lips.
“Simon! Is that you?” Your voice was shaky, and he realized, just by the simple sound of your tone, that you weren’t screaming because he’d walked in, you simply just hadn’t known he was home.
“Yeah love, ‘m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” His fingers nervously fiddled with the door handle, squeaking hinges reminding him to take his weight off of the old wood.
“No it’s okay, you just scared me is all.” You peeked your head out of the shower, dripping loose droplets of water all over the rug. “You can stay in here ya know. I wouldn’t mind the company.” Didn’t have to tell him twice. He was sat.
He listened to you ramble as he cleaned his bloody knuckles, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo with every breath. He found comfort in it, even found himself longing for the lingering smell of your hair when he was away. That’d never happened to him before, not since you came along.
He liked how the smells weren’t harsh, they were just you.
“Hey Riley! Hand me my towel please?” He turned his gaze from the crimson sink to face you, quirking a smile when he saw the way you clenched your eyes shut, soap suds dripping down your forehead. “Got soap in my eyes.”
An amused huff came from his nose. “I can tell.” Instead of handing it to you, he grabbed your jaw with one hand, bandaged fingers careful as they wiped from the corner of your eyes to the outer part and back again. It wasn’t necessary of course, but you didn’t need to get a perfectly clean towel soaking wet before you needed it. That would be silly.
“Thanks,” You couldn’t help how breathless you sounded, eyelashes fluttering open to see his stern ones focused on making sure the rest of your face was dry.
“Welcome,” It was gruff and short, but he meant it, truly.
After that, it didn’t necessarily become routine, but if you got home from work, and he was there, it was bound to happen. You just had so many things to tell him. Stories of rude coworkers- about how they tried to steal the cookies he’d bought you, but how you were determined to eat every single one of them.
He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, finding solace on the toilet seat when you finally managed to get your ass in the shower. He made fun of you once for how distracted you got, and after seeing the fake pout on your lips he couldn’t stop. Picking on you was his favorite past time after all.
He loves how you sing softly, and he queues away the songs your the loudest to in his head, storing them away to discreetly surprise you with later. The sound of your voice just soothes him, even if it’s not always on key.
Sometimes he’ll even tell you about his day too. It’s not often, but when it happens, you remind yourself to stay dead silent. He was like a baby deer, one wrong move and you’d lose him.
When he inevitably goes quiet mid conversation, you always urge him to continue. “C’mon Riley, I’m listenin’” He melts right then and there every time.
The towel is always in his hands once he hears the shower turn off, ready for you to grab whenever you’re ready. You always insist on doing the rest of your routine behind the safety of the curtain.
“I don’t mind leaving love,”
Another peek of your head and another puddle of water.“Simon Riley, finish telling me your story or I’ll murder you.” It was a pretty convincing argument. He’d obviously listen so he didn’t die. Not because the cute little angry crease between your brows drove him crazy or the way your eyes were stormy with determination made him feel a little horny.
It was always the small things with you.
“Alright you sassy lass, I’ll talk.” And so he’d finish his story, handing you whatever products you asked for every now and then before you reached your hand out for fresh clothes.
As he turned around to get them he’d hear a loud slam, the sound of bottles clattering and your quiet hiss making him alert. Before he could even say anything though, you’d counteract his concern.
“I’m fine. Just slipped on my fucking conditioner.” And oh if he didn’t belly laugh.
Now, sometimes, you’d follow him to the bathroom, and he’d let you. Those these were the moments where he wouldn’t get a second to speak. Because you’d talk, and talk, and talk some more, and he’d eat it all up like it was his last meal.
He’d go to bed thinking about the sound of your voice, bottle it up and take it with him when he had to be away for to long. Because a minute without the sweet sound of your presence was a minute to damn long.
i asked someone to do this for me once and they looked at me like i was crazy and said no :( (is this only cute in my head???????)