Chapter Text
Simon could feel how the warm water made him feel like it was a blanket over a cold body. It was nice.
The soap made him feel better because it was all bubbly on his skin, it wasn’t too entertaining but it left him with fewer thoughts in his muddied confused mind.
“Come on Simon, bath time is done.” Two pairs of hands were hooking under his arms, lifting him from the warmth of the water.
He just wanted to stay in the water a little longer, but that smooth voice was telling him otherwise.
So Simon was taken out and gently patted dry, the fabric felt rough against his skin, but it was over quickly and he was placed on the floor.
It was cool and he curled his toes into the tiles. Simon was being dressed, something about his pajamas being wet. So he was out in a sweater and pull-up. The fabric was softer than the towel.
He liked it, and he tried to smile at the one with the reddish hair, but she didn’t see it.
She took his hand and brought him through their cozy home.
“Just sit here for a little while. I made us Macaroni, your favorite kind too.”
That sweet voice was gone. Leaving Simon to fiddle with his wet glasses. Watching as droplets still sat on the glaring surface from bath time.
He leaned against the couch, feeling a little tired. The TV stared blankly at him. He doesn’t think he feels so good anymore.
“Look what I have.”
That voice, the one who said the pretty things, was back. And there was a colorful bowl in his lap. It was and fit perfectly into his hands.
She was saying things again. Words that were supposed to be important, he could tell by the way her mouth moved and her eyes were wide. But they didn't matter to him.
Not like the bowl.
Because this was interesting.
Simon liked to hold it, it gave him a different feeling. It made his hands all warm because the bowl was warm.
He didn’t hear her sigh. He didn’t.
“Simon, here’s your spoon dear.” It was placed in his hand, their palms brushing against each other as his wife smiled down at him.
Auburn strains fell over her shoulders and some over her eyes, because she wore a tank that he could easily count all her freckles that dotted and scattered across her shoulders and chest like a Milky Way.
His cheeks were a little ruddy, she was beautiful. Betty offers him a small smile when she realizes he is ogling at her. Simon hums in appreciation for the food, stirring it with his spoon, not eating.
But the bowl is warm.
It makes his insides feel like the water from before, it was all warm and comforting. It reminded him of a time long forgotten, one with someone else.
He misses them, and he tells her as much.
The bowl is gone, and he wants it back. But her face is close to his.
“I’m just going to help you out.” The macaroni was shoveled onto the spoon, scraping the sides of the bowl before it was lifted to his lips.
The spoon was cold in his mouth, but it didn't taste so bad. It was like a little noodle cloud.
But his attention was stolen by his wife.
She was feeding him, the woman that he married. She was feeding him like he was a baby.
Simon wasn’t a baby.
Yes, he liked many things.
He liked the way her nose crinkled when she frowned, or how her teeth were wonky if you looked close enough. He liked the way her hair fell on her face, or how her eyes would crinkle when she was happy.
But not this.
Why was this happening?
A warm bowl was placed in his mouth, muttering of a sorry in his ear before he scooped his food into his mouth.
She could tell he was stressing over her assistance.
Whatever thoughts he had were dissolved like water on a blithering summer evening. Leaving him feeling discouraged.
His wife was sitting on the couch, her hair slightly messy from the day.
Her arms were folded against her chest, and she had her head bowed low. As if thinking to herself.
It made him feel worse.
Simon was sitting next to her, he knew that, and the bowl was in his hands. And he felt icky. That’s how he would describe it.
His mouth felt sticky from the Macaroni and cheese.
It was a good dish, but now it left a sour taste on his tongue.
Simon was never a big eater, he could eat one serving and he would be stuffed. Perhaps he wasn’t hungry. Not anymore at least.