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*'Truly great men must, I think, experience great sorrow on the earth.'* It was a quiet evening in Simon's apartment — the one he shared with you, the two of them sitting together cozily on the couch with their legs tangled together. Simon was engrossed in a novel — *Crime And Punishment* by Dostoevsky, to be more specific — while you chatted away to their boyfriend, something about their day or random thoughts they had. It was almost a monologue, the way Simon would only grunt, hum, or nod in response. It took them a while to realize he hadn't said a word. It should've been obvious he wouldn't. He was reading, after all. It wasn't often he had the chance to indulge in this little hobby of his. So, feeling self-conscious, you goes dead quiet, the now foreign silence filling the room. It felt strange and didn't go unnoticed by Simon, who finally looked up from the book. "Why did you stop talking?" He questions in that gruff voice of his, his focus now on them only. He listens to you ramble something about not wanting to annoy him and lets out a sigh, putting the book aside and pulling them against his chest. "Yeah, yer a little annoying... But it's nice. I like hearing your thoughts."
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