the assistant | damon ✓

20. Perfect

Cowell
Dedicated to MadGravity7_

"No, I cannot speak louder!" I hissed into the phone, glancing nervously over at David as he slept peacefully in the large king sized bed, the red velvet blanket tangled in his legs.

I had a plan, something I'd been planning for over a month now. I'd arranged dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower for David and I, privately booked, all to ourselves. I was ecstatic.

"Alright, keep your hair on. Well, what's left of it." He laughed, causing me to roll my eyes.

Why did I need to speak with Jimmy Carr?

"Remind me why I called you, again?"

"Because I'm David's best friend." He boasted.

"Yeah, and I'm his fuck buddy, what ya gonna do about it?" I retorted.

Jimmy burst out laughing, before saying,
"You'll be fine. Just follow the plan and everything will run smoothly. And don't forget your lines!" The dialling tone sounded, signalling that he'd hung up.

David groaned, clearly arising from sleep, so I slipped back quietly into the bed so he wouldn't suspect anything. He looked so adorable when he slept, especially in what he wore. Since that night in New York, he'd always worn boxers and one of my oversized hoodies or t-shirts, depending on the weather. His floppy brunette hair often stuck to his forehead from where he buries his face in my neck each night. I was so in love, and there was no simpler way to put it.

"Simon?" He whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm awake." I replied quietly, rolling over onto my side so our bodies were pressed together, and our faces were mere centimetres apart.

"Happy anniversary, babe." David mumbled, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close, his face now resting on my shoulder. He kissed the crook of my neck softly, nipping a little and blowing softly, making me squirm under his touch. He was never like this.

"David." I murmured in protest as gripped at my shirt, somehow making the distance between us even less.

"Look's like I'm top." He smirked, biting his lip.

•

The cobbled streets clicked against our shoes as we walked through the streets of Paris that evening, the sky close to pitch black. We'd been sightseeing all day, and it had taken a lot of effort to keep David away from our dinner destination for all that time.

"Where are we going?" David whined childishly for the fourth time as we neared the attraction.

The streets are much quieter at night, soft music echoing from the guitars of buskers desperate to make a living from our loose change.

"I'm taking you up the Eiffel Tower." I revealed grinning. The plan had been set, the booking had been finalised and the constant messages from Jimmy asking whether we were there yet was endless.

"Is that a euphemism?" He joked, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows, quoting Gavin & Stacey.

"No," I replied, laughing, "I've booked us dinner there, to ourselves, for the evening."

"You never fail to amaze me, Simon Cowell." He murmured, resting his head on my shoulder as walked, our hands fitting together as though they were moulded in such shapes for a specific reason. For them to be together.