Chapter Text
Simon knew that Zoey was in love. It wasn’t roses on her desk or cutesy pet names. It wasn’t matching Mickey ears or gratuitous PDA, urging “Get a room!” comments.
No. They weren’t sickening sweethearts. Simon knew that Zoey was in love in the little ways, in the ways that only someone who was watching closely would see. He knew she was in love in the way that only someone who was in love with her would notice.
The first time, he was waiting for her to arrive at the reception of her father’s funeral. He sat, waiting patiently in the living room, watching as people he didn’t know pass him by. He knew the drill, knew how these things went, how there would be stacks of homemade food brought by who knows how many guests in the kitchen. He thought back to his father and the emptiness of the room after everyone left. Simon sat in the chair, not afraid that he, himself, would break down, but ready to be there if Zoey was showing signs.
He had seen Max already in the house, juggling serving spoons and bottle openers. Max maneuvered the kitchen as if he had been there a hundred times over, pulling drawers open and directing traffic. At Simon’s own father’s funeral, Simon had busied himself with playing waiter, serving drinks, getting kids crayons - anything that could distract him.
In this instance, he knew that Max wasn’t trying to distract himself. He was wordlessly being there for Zoey, to make things run as smoothly as could be.
When Zoey arrived with the rest of her family, Simon couldn’t help but pull her into a hug. It was more of a comforting hug than one of any lingering feelings on her part. They didn’t need to say anything. Simon knew that Zoey knew that any words would just be unnecessary, would reiterate what was already conveyed in a glance.
She moved into the dining room, talking for a minute with her father’s doctor. Max came up behind her, and slotted himself into the conversation. It was seamless, unspoken.
As Simon watched the two of them, there was a look, a glance, a gaze that told him everything he needed to know. He knew they were close. Hell, he knew that they were best friends in the purest form. Movie nights and cereal bar chats, lunches at that Thai place across the street and coffee every morning. He even heard the stories of the singalong pitch which was a disaster on paper, but actually worked. Thick as thieves. Simon should’ve realized that it was always going to be Max.
For five years, since orientation day, he knew they were inseparable, at least that’s what Tobin told him. When he took a job in the office, Tobin was his “welcome buddy.” He revealed all the “hot goss” in the office. They passed by Leif who gave Tobin a high-five. Simon was introduced to Joan, turning a pen in her hands as she yapped into the phone.
He didn’t take much note of it, but he remembered seeing Max and Zoey, eating Thai food and sitting in spinny chairs. Zoey was talking a mile a minute, waving her chopsticks around while Max was listening intently, interjecting at points and laughing at her antics all the while.
“Zoey, we have 5 minutes left until lunch is over,” Max said, holding Zoey’s chair still, “You can talk to me all you want about taking apart your television later, but for now, just eat.” Zoey huffed but listened, pushing her auburn curls behind her ears.
But here, at the reception, the look between the two of them was something different. Simon had best friends. He knew how to be there for someone, but that look between Zoey and Max, it was more than just best friends - it was family. It was support and friendship, the kind of glance that says “I will be with you through anything. Just say the word.” It was love.
Granted, Simon didn’t know if it was romantic or hopeful or the kind of love you have for the person who has seen you on your brightest mornings to darkest days, but he knew that it was something only between Max and Zoey. A look, that behind it, stood a long history.
As Zoey shrugged off her coat, Simon and Max were left to their own devices. If it was anybody else, he would’ve been mad. Even though jealous was a light way to put it, Max was right. Max was good. Zoey deserves the best and Simon knew in his heart that Max would always stand by her side. No doubt about it.
He saw Max and Zoey at the funeral, the way Max was greeted by Maggie and David, as if already part of the family. Simon noticed the way he automatically held the umbrella up for Zoey, so much so that he got a little rained on in the process. He saw how, when David was giving his speech, all due to a short intake of breath, a signal of sob to quickly follow, Max grabbed her hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of her hand.
It was the little things, how he brought her wine, a smile of appreciation glazing over her face. How, no matter what room she was in, he always had an eye on her, to be by her side if she started to bounce her leg or pick at her nails. Simon knew that look all too well - Max was making sure that if it ever got overwhelming, if she ever had a second where her breath hitched and all the emotions came flooding back, he would be right there.
He knew that Zoey was in love by the way she sat by Max on the steps, her head resting on his shoulder. As Simon left that night, he wasn’t angry or bitter. All he could think about was that he was so glad she had someone by her side the way he wished someone was there for him after his father passed away.
Zoey was his grief counselor and therapist and most recently, the girl who he was falling for, but in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t be selfish. Even though she was his confidant, he knew that in her time of need, that didn’t automatically make him her’s. He would always be there for her in a heartbeat, but Simon could tell that she already had someone in her corner, who was there from the very beginning.