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Simon knows that where he is now is not the best place nor the best time to come out. Because he’s drunk. Because he’s afraid of change. Because this whole Martin Thing has gone too far but giving in to him could be worse. But all of this? Well, Simon’s an emotional teenager with little to no control of his hormones and he feels stupidly, naively heartbroken, and all of this doesn't really seem all that important. Maybe he had been stupid to interpret the casual touches and warm smiles from Bram as something more than it was. Maybe it was outlandish, the possibility of someone so utterly, impossibly, perfectly unreachable actually turning out to be Simon’s email (boy)friend. And so yeah, he’s on the verge of tears, even though he keeps telling himself how freaking stupid it is, and because of that he’s making a beeline to where Abby and Nick are laughing on the couch, Leah just a few feet away looking around with wandering eyes.
“Hey guys,” he winces at the way his voice sounds slightly off and turns his head to blink hard.
“Simon?” Nick says, his voice confused but content. He glances up and after a moment, the small grin on his face falls off and is replaced by something much more solemn. “Fuck, Simon, you okay?”
Simon thinks he can hold up for a moment. He thinks that he can blink once more, close his eyes and the tears will be gone, the image of Bram and a fucking sexy Minion kissing against a bedpost will be gone, his voice will ring steady as he tells his friends he’s fine, really. But then he opens his eyes and he looks at Nick, who’s always been there even through all the awkward conversations about girls (which had mercifully stopped two years ago), at Leah, his best friend who always has known and always will know him better than anyone, and at Abby, who’s been the best addition to their group he could have ever imagined. He looks at all his friends, his best friends, who are looking at him with burning concern and open arms and he just. He just breaks. Because he can’t do it anymore, because it’s been four years and he’s so tired of holding his breath, because he started using Bram and Blue interchangeably in his head and now he fears he won’t ever be able to write to Blue again without feeling the heartbreak of Bram , the unfairness of it all, and he really, really wants his best friends right now.
“Simon?” Abby says as she stands up. Nick stands up too, reaching out to steady Simon who’s crying, actually crying, shaking with it all. Leah catapults herself around the couch and moves around Simon to put her arm around him.
“Alright Si, let’s go sit down,” Leah says, her voice bringing to Simon the sort of balming childhood comfort one only gets from their oldest, closest friend.
His friends quickly lead him to a bedroom which is blessedly unoccupied, glaring at anyone daring to give Simon more than just a passing glance. He’s still crying, his shoulders still shaking, and his friends are looking more and more concerned by the second. They’d never have pegged him as an emotional drunk, but his sputtering is proving them wrong.
As soon as they reach the bed, Simon sits down heavily and puts his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down. He wipes his tears away, trying to push them back into his eyes, and sniffles a little, feeling embarrassed and pitiful.
“Blue,” he begins, as his friends sit down around him and rub his arms and his back comfortingly. They don’t understand what he’s saying, why don’t they understand? They’re looking at him blankly, and he knows that he’s making no sense, but he continues anyway, because he knows if he doesn’t speak now he never will. “I have something for ‘B’ names,” he giggles, trailing off. “Why isn’t it him?”
“Why isn’t what who, Simon?” Abby asks, her voice gentle as she shares a look with Leah and Nick.
“Blue! I thought,” he wipes at his eyes again, “thought he might be, but he’s not, because he was kissing a girl, a fucking Minion, maybe I should wear more yellow?” Simon’s babbling now, his voice strained and sounding just a little bit heartbroken.
“Simon, buddy, you gotta help us out here.” It’s Nick speaking, with his stupid costume and his big crush on Abby that Simon may very well have messed up, and Simon isn’t ready, he’s really not, but he’s drunk and it feels kind of right and he might regret it in the morning but Leah looks like she might cry, and Abby’s shrunk down over herself, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t tell them.
“I’m,” his lips form around the curving ‘G’ of the next word, quiet choked sounds escaping him instead of words, as if someone is grabbing his throat, but he powers through, feels the liquid courage in his veins, takes a deep breath and falls off the precipice. “Gay.”
No one gasps. There are no dramatic proclamations, no one leaves the room.
Abby’s hand never stills on his arm, it keeps constant in it’s circling movements. Nick and Leah’s fingers pause for just a moment on his back, but then they start up once again, and they both scoot a little closer to him, and Simon regrets it just a little bit, but feels mostly relieved and warm.
“Si,” Leah breathes into the silence, and then Simon is crying again, not out of worry or regret but out of exhaustion and the ever present reminder of Bram is not Blue, Blue is not Bram circling around in his head.
Immediately after, Nick pulls him into a hug, and Leah and Abby come to wrap their arms around him as well.
“You know we’re not, like, homophobic or anything,” Nick pulls back in a panic, suddenly fearing he may be behind Simon’s newest crying spell.
“Yeah, shit, Simon it’s okay, please stop crying, this doesn’t change anything.” It’s Abby speaking this time, and he doesn’t know how, but that’s exactly what Simon needed to hear. The reassurance that this doesn’t change him, doesn’t change how his friends see him, doesn’t change the iced coffee and the waffles at WaHo, the facetime calls. So Simon sniffles again, pulls back with a watery grateful smile, and readies himself to talk. He needs to let it all out, because he wasn’t ready, but now he is, now he feels ready, he feels brave, he feels the most sober he’s been all night.
“So I’ve been emailing this guy. Anonymously. I call him Blue,” he begins, and Leah gasps this time.
“From the creeksecrets post?” she asks, looking excited, falling into the story as the role of Unrequited Lover starts to dissipate inside her head and be replaced by that of Supportive Best Friend. Simon nods, his smile firming up a bit and becoming almost dopey.
And so he talks, and talks, and talks. He tells them about Blue, about how ‘in like’ he is with him, how Blue’s words make him feel like he’s on a rollercoaster that never stops changing direction. He tells them that with Blue, he feels like he’s on top of the world, and even when the roller coaster dips down and sends him plummeting, he feels warmth and happiness bubbling up in his stomach.
“And I thought he was,” Simon lowers his voice and looks around even though the room is empty, “ I thought he was Bram. I really hoped…” he trails off and looks down at his shoes, and then back up at the sad eyes of his friends. “And he’s upstairs now, you know, with this girl,” he blinks again, trying to keep himself from falling messily back into his previous state of disarray. The momentary bliss of being able to tell his friends everything is slowly giving way to why he wanted to do so in the first place.
"Fuck,” Nick breathes, his face sad and his fists angry.
“I’m sorry Simon,” Abby says, putting her face in his shoulder.
Leah squeezes his hand.
And just like that, because the universe seems to get a kick out of dumping as much into Simon’s lap at once as he can take, the door opens, and Bram, speak of the fucking devil , is standing right there, his eyes sad and just the slightest bit strained.
“Simon,” he says, and he says Simon’s name like it’s something precious, and his face is almost apologetic. He seems to shake himself before he opens his mouth to speak again. “Sorry, I, uh, I came to apologize but - are you alright?” He seems to just now catch on to the fact that Simon has most definitely been crying. Nick looks at them and feels sorry for the both of them, because it just seems like an all around shitty situation to be in.
But Simon. Well. Simon feels just as drunk as he did when he broke down in front of his friends, his brief moment of sobriety flying out the window, and he’s angry, suddenly, though he has no right to be so. So he finds himself standing up, though Leah makes a futile attempt to keep him down.
“B-” Simon slurs out the ‘b’, because he really doesn’t know what name to use, and God, he’s so drunk, the room is spinning and his head isn’t feeling too good either, but he wants to at least explain to Bram why he’s so angry at him, why he’s been crying for fifteen minutes. “Bram-Blue-Bram-Blue-Bram- Blue,” he slings the two names together in lieu of choosing just one, and Bram is looking as if his brain still hasn’t caught up to what’s going on, but Simon’s not done yet. “Brue. Blam? No. No, Bram,” Simon points to Bram and laughs, assuring himself that Blue is not Bram and Bram is not Blue .
But Bram doesn’t look confused any longer when Simon looks at him. He looks like he’s about to cry, and Simon can’t tell if he’s happy or devastated. Leah understands first, followed by Abby and then Nick.
“Guys,” Leah says to both Abby and Nick, who can’t seem to look away. Something about a train wreck. She stands and moves to pull them out of the room, to give the two some privacy for what she assumes will be an awkward, if not heartbreaking conversation. Bram speaks before she can succeed in doing so.
“ Jacques a dit .”
The room is silent save for the vibration of air waves around Bram’s words.
“Huh?” Simon says, still too drunk and too sad to really get it just yet.
“‘Simon Says’ in French. Jacques a dit,” and now Bram is smiling, the kind of smile that stretches from cheek to cheek. Leah drags Abby who drags Nick out behind Bram through the still open door. They close it on their way out, and now it’s just Simon and Bram.
“How did you,” Simon trails off and it all begins to dawn on him. Oh God.
He’s known there’s a possibility Blue is some straight guy pulling one over him, but he’s never expected it to be Sweet, Cute Bram Greenfeld. Simon puts his head in his hands.
“Why would you do that? Was it all just a fucking joke to you?” Simon’s words are slightly unclear, but Bram gets it anyway, and a look of horror appears on his face as he realizes just how it must look to Simon.
“No!” Bram exclaims, walking until he’s within arms reach of Simon. “No, Simon, I’m-” Bram hesitates, letting the energy of what he’s possibly going to say out loud for the first time spiral around him. “I’m gay Simon.”
There it is. Out in the open, both of them, standing exposed to each other, not anonymous any longer.
“And the,” Simon pauses, feeling bashful and self conscious but curious nonetheless. “The sexy Minion?” He knows how stupid it sounds the minute he says it, but Bram doesn’t laugh. He steps closer, just a little bit, and he’s so close that Simon can see every single fake flower around his neck. There’s something fond in his gaze though, and he reaches out slowly to take Simon’s hand.
“I was drunk and curious,” Bram looks down bashfully and Simon swears he can feel his heart just stop right there in his chest, “And I was trying to distract myself from the idea of kissing you.”
And, well. Even if Simon wasn’t drunk, he’s pretty sure he’d always be weak to the charms and the effervescent pull of Bram Greenfeld, because he steps forward and leans in and even though he reeks of alcohol and bad decisions, he presses his lips to Bram’s.
Automatically they’re smiling too big for it to be a half-decent kiss by any standards, but it’s perfect to Simon nonetheless. Bram’s mouth is just so warm against his, and as his arms wind around Simon’s waist to pull him closer, Simon moves his hands around his neck. They part after bumping teeth, and Simon doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without kissing Bram Greenfeld.
Bram pulls him in again, not to kiss him this time, but to hug him against his body. Simon melts into him, and he feels so giddy he can’t help but giggle into the taller boy’s shoulder.
“Blue,” Simon breathes. “Bram.”
And Bram doesn’t know how he ever planned to keep this anonymous, because he’s pretty sure at the moment he’d do anything for the boy in his arms, and even though he expected to, he doesn’t feel even the slightest bit of regret.
“You know, I sort of liked ‘Blam’,” Bram teases, and Simon pulls away slightly to pout at him playfully.
And then they’re laughing, and they’re kissing again. That’s how they stay until Simon has to go, they move to sit on the bed and talk and share the occasional shy kiss until they feel like they know each other inside and out. Simon smiles so big he thinks the muscles in his face might start to deteriorate, and as Bram kisses him once again, he can’t help but think that this is the best Halloween he’s ever had.