Chapter Text
He found himself the very next morning at Johnny’s doorstep, hoping that the man was inside and not residing with his family.
Valeria had given him tea when he woke up, retching up his entire stomach and staring in awe; remembering all of last night. She hadn’t touched him after their conversation, leaving to sleep in their guest bedroom as Simon dragged himself pathetically to his bed.
Simon was endlessly grateful that somehow, Valeria did not act any differently. She was almost relieved, it seemed, already taking her own comfort in their house. Simon found her sitting with her feet up in their garden, a bonnet over her face as she wrote down in her journal; a book, and her own tea beside her. She greeted him, a small eyebrow raised as she looked him up and down, almost questioning if he’d take her advice.
Of course, he did, of course, he would; he’d run after Johnny for the rest of eternity if he has to. With Valeria’s consent, it was all the more better, but nervousness and a pit at the bottom of his stomach (though, it could be attributed to the copious amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before) continued to grow.
The feeling persisted, standing where he was, hand held in the air in a tight fist. Fearful of what might face him on the other side. Johnny would turn him away again, he knew, deep down he knew. But he needed to try, needed to shake off the grip of fear that had hid him from the world for so many years. He’d do anything to show Johnny how much he’d be willing to sacrifice, he’d scream to the world if he has to, that he loved men; that he didn’t care about his family name. He'd stand on the highest roof in Manchester and scream it, would throw out the mask, and let himself bare the boos and violence that would greet him.
If only it would make Johnny take him back.
He only had to knock, and muster up the same courage to face his lover as he had to face the world. Simon simply refused to think Johnny didn’t want him anymore, no, he wouldn’t have come to his wedding if he didn’t want him. Wouldn’t have held him so softly, Johnny wasn’t cruel, not in that way.
Knuckles against wood, Simon took steps back, holding his breath as footsteps echoed through Johnny’s home.
And there he was, still in his sleepwear, that ugly striped shirt and pants that Simon had a copy of at his own home. Hair disheveled, Johnny was standing behind the door in something short of shock.
“Simon?” Johnny asked, sounding dazed at his presence.
Another pair of footsteps and a young woman appeared beside Johnny, a scarf covering her hair and a flowing dress behind her. A head shorter than Johnny, but she held something in her eyes that made Simon think she was older than she looks; at the very least in spirit.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said quietly, looking between him and Johnny, “I thought you might be my mother…”
“Farah…this is Simon Riley,” Johnny introduced, waving towards him, then looked at Simon “this is my fiancé, Farah Ahmed Karim” he explained.
For the second day in a row, Simon felt his heart shatter, somehow hoping Johnny had told him he was engaged to rub it in his face. To make him ache in the same way. Like he was evil in that way. Johnny had always been truthful, Simon didn’t know why he expected otherwise.
“Ah, Mister Riley, I didn’t arrive on time for your wedding, yesterday, my deepest apologies,” Farah smiled apologetically, and Simon shook his head, a bit stunned.
“It’s…alright,” Simon whispered, and Farrah threw a confused glance toward Johnny. Simon had sounded far too somber for the context she knew, so he quickly tried to fix it, “It’s a joy to meet you, Miss Karim,” he added, extending a hand so he can shake hers.
“You too…if I had known you’d come to visit, I’d have prepared a tea. John has a great selection,” she said, and Simon could only smile painfully. Yes, yes he knew Johnny had a huge collection of teas. He’d been the one to grow it, after all, all tailored to his taste and the few Johnny tolerated, “would you like to come inside?”
Simon shook his head, feeling lightheaded and weak. If he were to witness any shred of domesticity between Johnny and Farah in the house that, at some point, had encompassed them. The idea made yesterday’s drinking all the more sour in his mouth. Had they shared the bed already? Had Johnny removed the remnants of Simon, the small heaven they’d built together. The trinkets Simon had carved for him? The gifts he’d bought? Did Johnny already replace him, filter out anything related to him to give Farrah, his rightful wife, the space to grow where he once was?
He felt sick, like his knees would buckle underneath him and he’d fall into a heap of misery and heartbreak right at Johnny’s doorstep. “I only came to…” Simon trailed off, looking away from Johnny and Farrah, “to say thank you, to the MacTavish family for joining us yesterday… and the gifts, it’s…much appreciated,” he lied, truthfully he hadn’t even seen what the MacTavish family gifted them for his wedding, and he didn’t care.
“No need, Simon,” Johnny replied, knowing full well Simon was lying to his face, “are you feeling well? You look…paler than usual” there was a tinge of humor there, but Simon shunned it with a dead expression.
“Right as rain, enjoyed myself a bit too hard yesterday, is all,” he lied again, smiling with as much venom as he could; at his own words or at Johnny he didn’t know.
Johnny’s lips thinned into a line, and he nodded firmly, “well, hope you have a great day today,” he snapped back, and Farah’s eyes squinted at the odd aura that surrounded them.
“I will,” Simon promised as if he could ever enjoy anything again. Turned on his heel and left, feeling as though a tether between them was stretching beyond its limit, and it will, very soon, snap and thrash them both in the face.
His hope had gone down the drain, and the hopelessness he felt hours ago returned with a vengeance. The trip from Johnny’s house to his own was only a ten-minute walk, but Simon felt as though his life force was draining with every step he took.
Physically, his only pain was the headache on the right side of his head, emotionally, his entire body was on fire. If he could, he’d seek out his mother, and ask her to hold him as she did on his wedding day. Like the child, he felt he was, rubbed raw and slapped by the harsh hand of life. She would whisper to him, and tell him it would be alright. Lie to him so seamlessly like she always did, but it would bring him comfort.
If he turned up on his family’s doorstep a night after his wedding, his father would pelt him and accuse him of being a shame to the family. Abandoning his wife not even twelve hours after their rings had been exchanged.
With that knowledge, he went to his own home, wounded, heart bleeding, and feeling numb to the world. He didn’t bother to answer Valeria’s questions as he climbed the stairs and closed the bedroom door behind him. Not bothering to strip out of his clothing before he collapsed on the unmade bed.
He didn’t cry, he was far too gone for that, only stared blankly at the wallpaper opposite him. Johnny’s locket was still around his neck, and if he focused, he could feel his own heart beating against it as it pressed to his skin. Simon didn’t know if he could live like this, he’d been beaten down harder than his father’s fist ever could get him. Johnny didn’t even have to lift a hand, only glance at him with indifference, standing comfortably next to his wife-to-be.
It might’ve been hours, or minutes before a timid knock sounded on his door. Simon didn’t respond and glanced weakly at it as the door opened.
“Hermano?” she poked her head in, spotting him laying in gloom, “I made you a tea,” she said, pushing the door open with her hip, revealing the small trey she’d been holding. “It didn’t go well, hm?”
“His wife was there,” Simon mumbled, “She’s pretty”
“Farah?” Valeria asked, and Simon stared up at her, “Chico, you mustn’t let her stop you,” she nearly giggled, placing the tea on the table by the window; gesturing for him to sit up.
“Johnny- “
“Listen to me, very well, hm?” Valeria interrupts, walking the few steps between them and leaning down to cradle his face. Nothing like how soft Johnny did it, more like how his mother did when she was making him promise something, “You two are very lucky that you married us, almost destiny. I can guarantee she does not care if your Johnny kisses you or not”
“How would you know?”
“Because, Simon,” Valeria smiled cheekily, standing up and crossing her arms, “I’ve shared more nights with her than she will ever spend with Johnny”
“What?” Simon asked, blinking dumbly up at her. Valeria snorted, something he’s sure his father would burst a blood vessel if he heard, but Simon only squinted at. He felt as though he was missing a joke.
“Homosexuality doesn’t only happen with men, you know,” Valeria said simply, “Farah and I were…well you can say business partners for a while”
“Oh…” Simon breathed out, still slightly confused, but slowly piecing it together, “oh”
“There you go, smart boy,” Valeria grinned at him, taking a seat beside him on the bed.
“You knew?”
“Not that your boy was marrying her, I heard she’d been in and out of England for years, but we never crossed paths after our… separation,” Valeria explained, “nothing as traumatic as you and Johnny boy’s separation…but we haven’t spoken in a year or two. My letters went unanswered, until three weeks ago.”
“Does Johnny know?” Simon asked, feeling horrible at the amount of warmth that spread through him once more, heart soaring at the idea that Farah doesn’t want Johnny, in the same way Valeria didn’t want him.
“No tengo ni idea, she only sent me a letter to invite me to her wedding,” Valeria smiled, “in many more words than I used”
“Does she know about you?”
“Being here? Possibly, I doubt your Johnny didn’t tell her about us,” Valeria smirked, placing a gentle hand on his chest, “We could…pay them a visit?”
“Both of us?”
“Oh, I know if I left it to you two men to sort it out, I’ll wait a millennium,” Valeria laughed, but it wasn’t harsh, despite her words, “just, let me set it straight, I’ll talk to Farah; she’ll be more than happy not to conform to their marriage.”
Simon, for the first time in what felt like forever, grinned, feeling like he’d been washed down and cleansed of all his worries. If Johnny’s words were true, he’d let him be close again, after explaining their situation. If Johnny’s words were true, he would have no problem, because their women did not have their hearts in Johnny and Simon’s hands, but each other’s. Only if Johnny’s words were true, and Johnny never lied.
Valeria leaves him to clean up, after making him promise he’d take a bath so he’d stop smelling, in her words, “Like your daddy’s waistcoat” which he had not understood, but felt insulted from nevertheless.
By the time he’s out, smelling like the flowers Valeria brought back from her home with her, and admiring his new closet; Valeria had devised a plan. After planning out his outfit, something Valeria said Johnny wouldn’t be able to resist; which Simon doubted very much but went along with silently, she got into her own outfit.
A dress Simon didn’t recognize and had never seen anything like before. There were no shoulders nor arms, and the neckline plunged in a way that would make any man blush and look away. It was all the more exciting that she did not wear it for any man, a devious look in her eyes as she padded her cheeks with blush and sprayed on her perfume.
“I’ve sent a letter to expect us, so don’t you worry your pretty head about that, chico,” Valeria bent down to kiss his cheek, rubbing away the lipstick that had imprinted where her lips were, “it’s not my first attempt at getting two stupid men together, I hope I can retire, after this”
“You’ve married other homosexuals?” Simon asked, amused, feeling the word roll off his tongue for the first time with no disgust behind it. His father wasn’t sneering it at him, and he wasn’t admitting it like a sin. He just simply said it. He was a homosexual, and it seemed to be fine, and safe to admit so. At the very least, in the confines of his own house.
“Strangely, came very close to doing so, yes,” Valeria shrugged, “Back home, I was engaged to a very wealthy man. Was in the military and had a very high status, wealthy, and friends with mi papá. Two months into our engagement I caught him kissing his second in command.”
“Perhaps you’re the problem, Valeria?” Simon whistled, smiling gently as she tapped his face with her makeup brush in retaliation; unamused.
“It wasn’t half as saddening as your case, he tried to threaten me if I didn’t keep quiet about it. I told him I’ve probably kissed more women than he has men; shut him up pronto. It was funny, I think they live together, now.” She hummed thoughtfully, “I should send a letter there, as well. Could do you and your boy good, to have other men like you around.”
“Four homosexuals are quite enough for our city, no?” Simon asked, and Valeria looked at him with a glint in her eyes.
“Oh, querido,” she said with pity, bumping her knuckle to his nose, “we are far, far more than four homosexuals in Manchester.”
Simon sat silently for a long moment, only admiring Valeria as she pampered himself for Farah, while he sat hoping again; for Johnny to be back in his arms by the end of the night.
“I’m ready, I don’t think I can be prettier than this,” She sighed, looking at herself in the mirror and twirling to see her back.
Simon grabbed her coat, draping it carefully over her shoulders so as not to disturb her hair. “You look beautiful,” he complimented, and Valeria tsked.
“What do you know about beautiful women?” she asked, looking at him and analyzing his suit for the night. She hummed appreciatively, grabbing one of his untouched new colognes and sprayed him with it, “there, perfecto”
They had opted for a carriage, so as not to get Valeria’s dress dirty on their walk, and to make their appearance more proper to the unwanted eye. It was odd for newlyweds to visit anyone, but they could make up an excuse later on. For now, Simon bounced on his toes as he helped Valeria down the carriage, horses looking at him with disinterest as he psyched himself up.
He was so close, closer than he had been for months. Everything had to work out, Simon had faith, and Valeria had a fire in her that burned so bright it warmed him by proximity. She would help him, and if worse comes to worst, she would not force him to be a husband. He could be Simon, around her, and not Riley Junior.
Farah and Johnny greeted them a moment after they had knocked, and Simon couldn’t help but stare at Johnny as he stood, once more, by the door.
He was dressed up, much like he was the night prior. Dark suit and grey waistcoat, hair slicked back and eyes as bright as they’d always been. He smiled at him, this time, whether to put a good front in front of Valeria or because he actually liked his company; Simon wasn’t sure. But it stole his breath anyway.
Simon glanced at Valeria, watching a silent conversation run between her and Farah for a moment before Johnny ushered them all inside.
“What a beautiful home,” Valeria mused, following a step behind Farah as Johnny led them to the reception.
“John had great taste,” Farah waved a hand, a secret smile sent to Valeria, “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Neither did I,” Valeria admitted, “a pleasant surprise?”
Farah laughed, pulling Valeria by her hand to sit on the couch nearest to the fireplace, “You’ve no idea, Val”
Simon and Johnny stood awkwardly opposite each other, watching as their wives fell into an easy conversation. Catching up on the years that had gone by them, where they had not been by each other. He couldn’t help but glance at Johnny every once in a while, too nervous to sit, too high-strung to speak. Somehow he had wished Valeria would explain everything, would walk up to Johnny and tell him all she knew. But it seemed she’d taken a different approach, pulling away Farah and reconnecting with her; leaving an opening for Simon to do the same.
“Join me for a smoke?” Simon asked hesitantly, glancing at Johnny for a moment before his eyes dropped to the carpet beneath him.
“I’d love to,” Johnny answered, and something began to unwind as he led them through familiar rooms. Johnny’s office, which felt more like a small studio, was at the far end of the house. Private and where the sun hit perfectly at day, and the moon shone brightly at night.
He could see the moon illuminating the room before Johnny lit up a lantern he’d kept by his desk, pulling out the cigarettes from the small stash Simon had built in his drawer. It warmed him that it still remained, untouched.
Johnny threw him a lighter, pushing open the window that overlooked his garden.
“Johnny…” Simon started, pressing the cigarette between his lips but lighting Johnny’s first. His fingers itched to touch him when he leaned into the fire.
“Simon,” Johnny responded, looking at him through unreadable eyes, “what a week, aye?”
Simon smiled back sadly; it hadn’t been a week to him. It felt like an eternity, like a prisoner awaiting his execution. Waking up knowing his love had left him behind, that he had hurt him without being able to prevent it, it had been torture. His days were spent crying silently into his pillow or sitting numbly as his father droned about what he must do to upkeep their image.
“I love you,” Simon couldn’t help but admit, again and again, and again, he’ll never stop saying it, “Johnny, I love you”
“I know, Si,” Johnny smiled around his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his nose as he looked out the window, “Farah told me”
Simon waited, hope brimming to the point of overflow, but he needed approval. Needed one chance, one word to get him to fold back into what they were. He needed Johnny to tell him he wanted him, wanted them.
“Does it change anything?” Simon asked, hands nearly shaking as he awaited the answer. Johnny took another drag from his cigarette, glancing up at Simon.
“It changes everything,” he admitted through smoking teeth, “oh, Si,” Johnny nearly whimpered, “I missed you”
Simon didn’t, couldn’t, wait any longer. His entire body surged with the need to be close to him, to his Johnny, months of his absence leaving a void so cold Simon was shivering from it. Now that his sun was close once more, his unlit cigarette was thrown out the window as he plucked Johnny’s out from between his lips.
Their lips met in a flurry of teeth and tongue, something so raw at their clash. It could barely be described as a kiss, and more as if Simon had been trying to merge them face first. Johnny fell back into the wall with the force, something so close to a moan slipping from their connected lips as he tore away Simon’s mask. It fell to the ground with a thud and a gentle crack. He couldn’t care less, not when Johnny’s tongue was desperately trying to lick into his mouth.
It was better this way, nothing between them. Simon could feel Johnny’s hands digging into his scalp, carding through the hair he’d been neglecting to upkeep. Longer now that it fell slightly over his ears, and gave Johnny the best leverage to pull on it.
Simon pulled back, breathing heavily, grinning widely when Johnny came to steal another closed-mouth kiss. His hand was still buried in Simon’s hair, refusing to let go.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny whispered, “I’m so sorry, m’eudail, I shouldn't have...have abandoned you”
“I forgive you,” Simon promised, “as long as you’re here,” he added, kissing the stray tear that fell out of Johnny’s eye, “so long as we’re together, alright?”
“Alright,” Johnny nodded, “I love you,” he said, pulling Simon closer to his chest, holding him so tightly it felt like the broken parts of him were fitting together again. For once, feeling whole like he had been sorely missing. Johnny’s hand carding through his hair, no mask to hide behind, no distance between them at least.