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Harry – that was his name. These five precious letters. Harry.
Tall, quite skinny, with chestnut, disheveled hair and light grey eyes. Liked to wear plaid shirts and trainers. Only fifteen years old, yet already surrounded by girls, who would follow him everywhere. He had many friends, but his classmate Simon Monroe certainly wasn't one of them.
Simon's never been a joiner. He had few friends and didn't ever bother to talk with anyone else, even this famous, likable Harry. At least until history teacher paired them up for a school project.
Simon remembers this day very well – groans of all these disappointed and jealous girls, encouraging smile of Harry. He didn't seem to be upset at all.
Their very first chat was a turning point.
It was Harry's initiative – he met Simon on a schoolyard to discuss their project. While he was talking, Simon noticed things he's never seen before. Freckles on his face. Pinkness of his lips. This overwhleming joy in his sparkling eyes. Warm timbre of his voice.
Harry was beautiful. Way more beautiful than any girl or boy Simon's ever seen in his life. And it took only few meetings for him to fall for this boy and realize that he's beautiful in every way possible.
It's incredible how many things about someone you can find out while preparing presentation about French revolution. And how every single of these things can be perfect to you. Every fact Simon learnt about Harry – that he played guitar and piano, that he lived with his mother and sister, that he liked reading comics and his favourite superhero was Wolverine, that for some reason he really hated travelling by bus – seemed so precious, so unbelievably important. More important than this stupid project that they had a week to finish. Back then nothing about Harry was wrong. Even his impatience or brags about his excellent French (even though he only knew few words in this language) were charming and made Simon smile.
But after every "Bye" or "See you" came crippling fear. Everyday Simon was going to bed with one thing on his mind – it wasn't supposed to look like this. Right, he was never interested in girls, but he thought that he was too young for this. And then he got to know Harry and everything changed.
Simon already had many problems – all these dark places, somewhere deep in his mind. He wasn't ready to face the fact that he was gay, let alone telling about it his parents.
He was so damn afraid of rejection and loneliness. His parents rejecting him, Harry rejecting him. That's why he was hiding his feelings, that's why after their presentation Simon didn't protest when he didn't get to this exclusive circle of Harry's closest friends. They were chatting from time to time, but they never met outisde a school again. Since Simon never asked Harry out, it didn't feel like rejection – simple. It hurt, but he was convinced that being said "No" would hurt more. Simon couldn't imagine Harry reciprocating his feelings – charming, likable boys don't fall for gloomy, sarcastic, poetry loving pals. The only option Simon had was admiring his crush from the distance, but even this didn't last long.
Simon's world collapsed few months later, when he found out that Harry was moving out. His mother got a job offer in Canada. He seemed a bit sad , but still he was really excited, while Simon... Simon couldn't imagine his life without seeing his beautiful face everyday at school. It was the end of the world, but not until farewell party at Harry's house.
So at one memorable night, this snug house with huge garden filled with raging, partying teenagers... and Simon Monroe. Yes, he was invited, but it wasn't anything special – Harry invited all his classmated. And Simon wasn't really partying type. He was just walking around a house, planning how to say his last "Goodbye" not to sound too dramatic. He also tried his very first beer. One bottle was enough to slightly muffle his feelings, so he had another one and another one and... At one point (Simon isn't sure how) he and Harry happenned to be all alone in the kitchen. All other guests were in the garden, while Simon was helping Harry preparing some food. He drank too many beers to be useful, so he was mostly staring at host of the party and listening to him laughing at something he had heard few minutes earlier. That was exactly the moment when one very specific thought crossed Simon's mind:
Now or never.
What other chance would he have? He didn't have much time for thinking about pros and cons and alcohol gave him this kind of courage that he certainly needed. There was no time for hesitation.
They were both leaning over kitchen table and Harry wasn't looking at him, so Simon touched his friends arm to catch his attention. When Harry finally looked him in the eye, he rushed to kiss him. Simon barely touched these soft, pink lips he had dreamt about, when he was pushed away.
"Simon, what the fuck are you doing?!"
"Simon, what the fuck..."
"Simon?!"
He still remembers this shock and disgust on Harry's beautiful face and he will never forget it. So that's how rejection feels. Harry was looking at him and waiting for explenation, but he got none. Simon only managed to mumble "Sorry" and run out of the kitchen – he wanted to leave this house before anyone would see him crying.
Eventually he never said "Goodbye". Nor did Harry.
Simon came back home, lie down in his bed and cried, cried until he was too exhausted to stay awake. It was first of many nights he spent crying. And thinking about lips he'd never kiss or even see again.
He hasn't fell this hard for any boy for quite a long time. Few years later, when he became just another ordinary junkie living on streets, he slept with many guys. None of them was a match for Harry, but it didn't matter – it wasn't about love or attachment, only attraction and fun. There was no hesitancy, no regrets. No one was making him feel worse because of his orientation. Waking up each night in different bed didn't seem like a bad idea at all.
But then he met Kieren. And, oh god, if anyone told fifteen years old Simon Monroe that seventeen years later his partially deceased self would find a boy even more perfect, more beautiful than Harry...
...he would already start looking for him.