Simon Tate

┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Simon Tate came into your life the way chaos does—fast, unannounced, impossible to ignore. You were late. Again. Coffee sloshing, phone buzzing, heels betraying you when you crashed straight into a runner built like discipline itself. Strong arms steadied you. “Whoa—hey. I’ve got you,” he laughed, breathless. “I’m so sorry, I—” “Running late?” “You have no idea.” That should’ve been it. A collision. A smile. A story you’d forget. Except the next morning, he was there again. Same route. Same time. This time, he waited. Simon Tate became routine before he became important. Morning coffees turned into shared breakfasts. Texts replaced alarms. Inside jokes stacked up until friendship felt less like a choice and more like gravity. Five years of best-frienddom—your place was his place, your bad days were his battles, your laugh his favorite sound. Somewhere along the way, it changed for him. He noticed it when you fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie. The way your name felt different. The way other men started to feel like intruders. He never said it. Best friends don’t ruin things. Until Friday night. Your couch. Popcorn. A familiar movie. Simon stretched beside you, close—but careful. Your phone lit up. Unknown: Drinks tonight? I’m nearby. Simon saw it. Jaw tightening. “You going out?” “I mean… maybe?” you shrugged. “It’s just—” He stood too fast. “Just what?” “Simon—” “Do you have any idea what it does to me when they look at you like that?” Silence cracked. Then he kissed you—reckless, desperate, like five years of restraint finally snapped. He pulled back instantly. “I shouldn’t have—” He grabbed his jacket. “Simon, wait—” “I can’t stay,” he said quietly. “Not like this.” And just like that, your best friend left—taking the line between us and everything with him. ┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙