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"What were you planning to do?"
"Hm?" Diego responds tiredly from where he's sprawled out across the couch beside Simon. Mask is long gone, the movie long over. They've just been sitting in silence, taking in each others' presence.
It's been a while since Simon had seen Diego before now. Released hardly more than three months ago, the man was still adapting to life outside of the clink.
When he'd been released, Simon was practically attached to his hip. Making sure he found housing again, found a semi-stable income in the form of taking on legal paperwork for a few agencies as a sort of work-from-home LDA. Things Athena had helped them do when they were first released.
And as much as Simon hated it, life caught up to them. After the first two weeks, visits were cut down from every day to every other, then once a week, and now it's been two since their last visit.
After all, the world doesn't stop turning for anybody.
They call and text, out of paranoia, their thoughts helpfully supply. But nothing reassures Simon that Diego is truly okay except for being there to see it.
And... Well, there's been something Simon has been suspecting. Something they've been suspecting for a while.
"What were you planning to do?" They repeat, a little louder. The increase in volume nabs Diego's attention, and now he knows it's serious.
Diego lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "You're going to have to specify, Duckling. There's a lot of things I may or may not be planning to do."
Simon shifts on the couch to lean against Diego. It's easier than looking him in the eyes, even if he's blind right now. They feel Diego's hand begin to comb through their hair, an unconscious gesture more than anything now.
After a minute, Simon finds the strength to clarify.
"When I got executed. What were you planning to do?"
The soothing motion stops, for just a moment. But then it continues. "Get a volleyball and paint your face on it, what else?" A louder, barking laugh this time.
"Godot-dono..."
"Told you it was Diego now, Duckling." Diego corrects them. "I'd paint your face on a volleyball and talk to you every day, and I'd ask you how you got to prison, and you'd say you were–"
"Set up, yes, I know. Your puns are as ridiculous as ever." Simon huffs, grinning despite themself.
"I can tell you're smiling, you know."
"Shut up."
Diego laughs before going quiet again, and Simon is almost content to leave it at that. The gentle combing through their rat's nest of a mane is soothing, almost putting them in a trance…
...
"Oi. Dark Roast."
"Mm?"
"You were deflecting."
"Ah... For a moment there, I really thought you'd drop it."
Simon scoffs. "You think I don't notice your mind games? I'm the Twisted Samurai."
"Yeah, yeah. You're still a little Duckling to me."
"Answer my question, Diego."
Diego goes quiet again, and Simon can practically feel his tenseness. "...Do I have to?"
"Of course you do, you old fool. I'm asking you for a reason."
"I don't want to tell you."
There's something in Diego's tone that is so... Vulnerable. So unlike his usual manner of speaking, a side of him that Simon had only witnessed a handful of times. Most people never saw it at all.
Simon almost wishes they could see Diego's expression. At the same time, they're afraid to.
They push anyways.
"Tell me."
"I don't have to tell you anything."
"I'd be very cross if you didn't."
"You'd be very cross if I did."
"Diego."
"Duckling," Diego says, and Simon has to be imagining that fear in his voice. It can't be real. "...Duckling, I don't want to talk to you about it."
"...Please. I need to know how... How I hurt you."
"How you– Duckling, that's ridiculous. You didn't choose the goddamn death penalty."
"Just answer me."
Diego sighs softly. "You're not going to give up, are you?"
"Never. You should know me better than that."
"I do. Seven years is hard to erase..." Diego's voice trails off, and Simon can practically hear the cogs turning in his brain. Then, "...Alright. Alright, fine, I'll tell. On one condition."
"Yes?"
"I don't want to hear a thing about it being 'your fault,' because it's not, and that's final. Capiche?"
That hardly bodes well. Simon nods, frowning deeply. "I agree."
Diego hums in acknowledgement, but takes his time still combing Simon's hair before speaking again.
"You were the only person in prison I ever talked to much, outside of surface-level shit and business." Diego begins, tone carefully softened. "You were the only person I could trust there. And I watched you grow from a young adult to a fully-fledged prosecutor and inmate."
Simon is quiet and Diego continues. "...Sure, there was Maya, who visited sometimes, but she was in Khura'in. And sure, there was Wright, who'd send letters and drop by every few months, but..."
"For me, it was all just you. And you know how being on death row goes. You're only really going to keep living if you've got a reason to."
Simon might've imagined it, but they think they hear Diego's voice break a little. "So, a few months before your execution, I..."
The combing abruptly stops, and Simon finally turns around to look at Diego. His blind gaze is more distant than usual, and Simon feels their heart beginning to break.
Diego lets out a small, dead laugh. "I decided that, once you were gone, I'd join you."
"Diego…"
A ghost of a smile flits across Diego's face. "Sorry, Simon. I just didn't have the patience to keep you waiting. I had it planned out and everything– wrote out a few letters, too. They're long gone now, probably in some dumpster, but I can recite every word."
The use of their name stirs something within them, and Simon reaches for him, pulling him into a tight hug and burying their face in his shoulder.
Diego returns the embrace a moment later, and Simon can feel his heartbeat.
How lucky Simon is, that Diego's heart still beats. How lucky they are that their own does, too.
Against all odds, somehow, both of them are still alive and breathing.
They don't even realize they're crying until they feel Diego tugging them closer and murmuring words they can't make out.
"Diego– Diego Armando, you idiot. " Simon hisses out between hiccups. "Why didn't you tell me when we were in prison?"
"You were already dealing with so much," Diego answers. "Didn't want to burden you. ...And besides, back then, I was still on death row, too. All it really would've done would be... Speeding things up."
Simon hates this feeling. This feeling of helplessness, so similar to when they found Metis on that operating table. Like the world loathed all Simon was, and sought to destroy it.
And it's ridiculous, they think. Diego was the one in crisis. Yet here Simon is, crying in his arms.
"...Hey. Hey, Duckling. Look at me for a sec."
Simon lifts their head to look Diego in the eyes. It's odd, how sometimes it's almost like he can still see. Like staring at a picture that's just slightly off.
"I'm okay now, got it?" Diego whispers. "You're alive. My retrial worked. We're both free now, and that's all that matters. All I care about, anyways."
"...You're okay now?"
"I am. I promise."
Simon sinks back into the hug, clinging onto him like a distraught child to their mother. And God, do they feel like one.
Neither of them move from that spot for a long time.