Work Text:
Wille couldn't concentrate. It didn’t help that the film was shit; but what was really making it difficult was how every cell in his body was vibrating at the feeling of being pressed this close to Simon. He could feel each point of contact as if it was a thousand degrees. Their shoulders, elbows, hips, knees. If he nudged his left ankle ever so slightly, he could even press their feet together. But maybe that was going too far, maybe that was officially playing footsie. Maybe Simon wouldn’t want that. Maybe he would. Wille didn’t know which prospect was scarier.
Someone was yelling on the screen. People were running through grass and screaming at each other. It really was a terrible film. He wasn’t really sure why he’d agreed to it, and had been almost ready to back out before Felice had invited Simon. Felice, who Wille knew wanted something from him, but he hadn’t figured out what yet.
That was one of the hardest parts of his position, not knowing why people wanted to be close to him. He didn’t know why Simon wanted to be close to him either. But this felt different. It felt like Simon wanted to be close to him despite his position. And that gave him a giddy thrill.
He’d never had a relationship like this before, was it classed as a relationship yet? Wille certainly considered Simon a friend, maybe an acquaintance? He wasn’t sure how it worked.
What he did know was that, earlier, when everyone was chaotically congregating in the common room to get settled for movie night, his eyes had sought out Simon, and Simon had already been looking for him. That had to mean something right? And surely it also had to mean something that they’d awkwardly gravitated towards each other as everyone was finding a spot.
“Is, uh, is anyone sitting here?” Wille had said, running his hand through his hair. His mamma had told him that it needed a cut. He liked it like this though. He also liked when Simon watched his hand as he combed it back from his face. It made Wille’s stomach swoop in the most delicious way; in a way that he’d not really experienced much of before he’d met Simon.
Simon had grinned and shaken his head. So, blushing, Wille had sat down beside him. And in the hubbub of everyone else getting settled around them, had pressed himself maybe slightly closer than necessary into Simon’s side. Simon didn’t seem to be complaining though. In fact, if Wille was allowing himself to play out his little fantasy in his head, Simon had definitely leant more into Wille’s side than was necessary too.
But now the film was playing, and everyone was watching it, and all Wille could think about was how much he wanted to hold Simon’s hand.
They’d held hands before. Wille knew it probably didn’t count, but he was counting it anyway. Simon hadn’t had to reach out across the back of the mopeds. He hadn’t had to brush his own fingers against Wille’s. He hadn’t had to link them slightly as Wille reached further. But he had. So Wille was counting it.
Wille’s hands were itching. Simon was so close. People around him were complaining about the movie and he could only vaguely hear what they were saying because Simon’s hand was right there. If he kept looking at the screen and didn’t make a big deal of it maybe he could just—
There was a loud noise on the screen and everyone jumped, Wille included. His muddled brain had been half way to holding Simon’s hand, so in his shock he had reached out into Simon’s space and grabbed for his knee.
Shit, Wille thought. Maybe he didn’t like that. Maybe he—
But then he stopped his own spiralling thoughts when he realised that Simon’s hand had shot into his own personal space too. They’d crashed midair so Simon’s was now back in his own lap, but he’d definitely been… had he been reaching out to grip Wille’s knee? Or, Wille had to push down the giddy bubbles climbing up his throat, had he been reaching for Wille’s hand?
As everyone settled down again, Wille could hear people arguing about the film, but he couldn’t hear their words. His heart was racing, making him feel slightly nauseous. But he’d also never felt so alive.
What if this was it? What if he wasn’t imagining things? What if Simon felt the same way? Wille knew he should probably explore the idea further, but the electric currents running from where his knee was pressing into Simon’s up to his heart might just kill him if he didn’t do something soon.
So Wille pushed down the voice in his head telling him to be sensible (it sounded ominously like his mother), gathered up all the courage he had, and lifted his hand.
Even in his slightly hysterical state, Wille knew that reaching out and grasping Simon’s hand in this room full of people, when he didn’t even know if Simon wanted that, was a terrible idea. So instead, he placed his hand carefully on his own knee, with his pinkie slightly, but clearly, resting on Simon’s leg.
He felt Simon tense beside him and look down at Wille’s hand. One, two… Shit. Had Wille misjudged this whole thing? Was Simon confused, or worse, disgusted at the idea of Wille’s hand on his leg, however slightly? Regardless, he boldly moved his finger slightly, gently caressing Simon’s knee.
Three, four… Oh God. What was he thinking? Why had he decided to do this? And in public at that. This was a terrible idea. Maybe Simon would be gracious and just ignore it, let him down gently, pretend he hadn't known exactly what Wille was trying to do. Or maybe it was the best idea ever, and this was Wille taking the initiative, making it clear that there was something here.
Five, six… He wanted to carefully stroke this tiny part of Simon forever. He wanted to freeze time and never have to know how Simon was going to react to it. Shitshitshit. Wille needed to move his hand. He couldn’t face the idea that he’d got this so wrong and Simon would ridicule him. Even if there were no other feelings there, Wille couldn’t lose Simon as a friend, he couldn’t lose the one good thing about this wretched place, he couldn’t—
Oh.
Suddenly, Wille’s pinkie was covered with a warm hand. Simon had lifted his right hand and placed it undeniably over Wille’s. Oh. Oh. Now Wille’s heart was racing for entirely different reasons. The panic was still there, but it had been overtaken by this cascade of syrupy warmth.
Simon was holding his hand. Simon was holding his hand. And even though it was only a few fingers, it was so much more than on the bikes. And Wille thought it might just be the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. Because maybe… maybe… maybe Simon liked him back.
Simon’s fingers were warm and dry and they made Wille’s whole body tingle in the best way. He wanted to giggle, he wanted to shout from the rooftops. He had a bucket load of nervous energy that he needed to expend somehow, and couldn’t think of how he would manage that in this overcrowded room.
Wille chanced a glance at Simon, trying to determine what was going on in his head. Simon was already looking at him, watching him carefully. Wille didn’t think he’d ever get used to how overwhelming it felt to have Simon’s full attention on him. Simon. Beautiful, confident, cute, snarky Simon. And he was looking at Wille. And if Wille wasn’t mistaken, Simon looked nervous too.
Not wanting Simon to be unsure, Wille sent him a small, tentative smile, which Simon returned immediately. Wille didn’t know how his body was going to cope with the onslaught of emotions this tiny point of contact was causing. Because this was it wasn’t it? This was proof. Confirmation that whatever it was Wille had been feeling, Simon had been feeling it too. Or if not quite the same thing, still something. Something… not platonic.
Because this didn’t feel platonic. And sure, people held hands with friends all the time. But he wasn’t sure that people ever held hands with friends quite like this. With timid, giddy smiles. And—
Fuck. Simon’s eyes definitely just dropped to Wille’s mouth. And friends didn’t do that when holding hands right? And Simon’s smile was delicious and Wille definitely wanted to kiss it. Wait. Wille’s heart jumped. Because yes, he really did. He wanted to kiss Simon. But—
Wille was prevented from going down that spiral by Simon gripping his fingers, moving his hand slightly to hold on even tighter. There was no denying it now. This was definitely, definitely, one hundred percent, non-platonic hand-holding. Wille kept his eyes on Simon’s face before dropping them down to their entwined hands. They looked so good. They felt so good.
Trying to focus his attention back to the screen (this really was the worst film Wille had ever seen), Wille squeezed Simon’s hand back, and was rewarded with a gentle stroke from Simon’s fingers. And this wasn’t supposed to feel this good right? How could a hand-hold feel so revolutionary?
Wille couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread on his lips. This was the best he’d felt in… potentially ever. And wasn’t that something. Something terrifying, and wonderful… and a little bit sad. All this emotion felt like it had to go somewhere, it was becoming almost impossible to contain it.
He looked at their hands and then up at Simon again, hoping to catch his eye and convey just how much this meant to him, just how much—
Shit. Shitshitshit. Sara had seen their hands and was giving him a weird sideways look. Quickly, Wille looked round to see if anyone else had noticed. Everyone seemed to still be absorbed in the film still, no one having noticed the cosmic shift that had gone on in his body in the last thirty seconds. No one except him. And Simon. And Sara.
Fuck. Without giving it any more thought, Wille untangled his fingers from Simon’s. He could almost feel Simon deflate slightly beside him. So now he’d disappointed Simon as well as himself. Great. Fucking fantastic. Why did it always have to go like this? Why was he always a disappointment? Why—
Wille couldn’t cope with this room any more. Not the terrible movie. Not the prying eyes. And not Simon. Beautiful, wonderful Simon. Simon who didn’t deserve to be rejected like this. Simon who didn’t realise how much Wille didn’t deserve him.
Hastily, Wille scrambled to his feet and fled the room, trying not to meet anyone’s eye, and trying to rid himself of the undeserved joy that was still coursing through his veins. If Wille thought about it hard enough, he could still feel the ghost of Simon’s fingers linked with his own. Hands intertwined. And if that’s all he ever got of Simon, well, it was still more than Wille could have ever hoped for.