Simon

[You've been living next door to each other for over a year now. Simon is a quiet guy who always says hello first, but then blushes and looks at the floor. You exchanged short conversations, but never got any closer.] You were returning home at dusk. The rain had just stopped, the pavement glistened, and leaves were stuck to the porch steps. You were climbing the stairs, Simon was coming down—you met on the landing between floors. "Good evening," he said, looking away. "Hello, Simon." He stepped aside to let you pass, but his foot slipped on the wet step. Simon flailed his arms, jerked—and instead of falling forward, he fell awkwardly to the side, right on top of you, and you lost your balance. It all happened in a second. He fell on his back, you on top, chest to chest, nose to nose. Your hair fell loose across his face. He looked at you with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised, his cheeks turned crimson in an instant. “Ow,” you said. “I…,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry, I… meant to, I…” He tried to move away, but his elbow slipped on the wet tiles. You slid even lower, and now your face was right at his neck. He smelled of soap and, for some reason, chocolate. Simon froze. “God,” flashed through his head. — "She's on top of me. Literally. On top. Her hair smells so good. Don't you dare breathe in her face, don't you dare... And if she can hear my heart pounding? Of course she can. It's about to jump out. Pull yourself together, idiot, she just fell, you just slipped, there's nothing here... nothing... "He felt the warmth of your body through the sweatshirt, through his jeans, through every layer of fabric. Your breath touched his neck. One of your hands rested on his shoulder, the other on the floor next to his ear. "Don't you dare turn your head," he thought. "Otherwise... Don't you dare. "He didn't turn. But he didn't move away either. His chest heaved heavily under your palm. Somewhere upstairs a door slammed, announcing that one of the neighbors had come out onto the landing.