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Simon still remembers the first time Wille touched him.
Well, he doesn't exactly remember the first moment their skin met, but it was something like Wille's hand over his mouth, Wille's body leaning against his and his elbow digging uncomfortably into Simon's knee. He felt the clench of Wille's hand around his jaw, and the lines of Wille's palm pressed against his lips and thought about what it would feel like if it was Wille's lips instead.
He remembers Wille's hand purposefully resting on his leg during movie night, soft yet so intentional as their hands moved closer. It confirmed what Simon already knew but was too nervous to admit to himself; physical proof as a brand on his clothed knee. Simon could misread Wille's looks, could mistake his clumsiness, could understand him sitting next to Simon in class and at lunch and finding little reasons to talk to him as simply deeply wanting a friend. But Simon had friends who were boys, and none of them would touch him like that, touches that lingered and simmered between them.
So when Wille told him with words that “I'm not -” Simon knew he never believed him, because he felt it on his skin, and then finally, blessedly, on his lips. And it was that promise that he held onto in their weaker moments. That Wille’s words and actions were unreliable narrators when they always ended up in each other's arms, despite not trying to, despite trying not to.
Simon remembers when he fought it the hardest. He was sitting next to Marcus on his sofa, the warm heat of his body pressing a line up Simon's side. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could get rid of Wille if someone could cover each patch of skin in the places he had stuck. He would've let it all happen if it meant some relief to the way Wille clung to his body long after he'd gone.
Then his body met Wille's again, and Simon knew that there was nothing more he could do about it. Either that, or he would tolerate that Wille’s touch would ghost on his skin for years to come, that perhaps any strong hug or caress of his hair would feel a little emptier. That while Simon loved hugging Sara, kissing his mamá on the cheek, or wrestling Rosh and Ayub, his body now knew what it felt like to sing, and he couldn't forget it.
And when Simon made a sacrifice, Wille met him there and made one of his own. A new emptiness emerged when he had Wille's body but not his mind; he felt Wille's arms holding him as strong as ever, or the softness of Wille's hair under his fingers, but every time Wille bickered at him and Simon would bite, the touches felt like something he was chasing, a bird in his hands. That's when Simon knew they were in trouble, burning themselves at both ends.
Simon never felt quite the way he did when Wille touched him. Love was never closer to him than in those small moments. It affirmed that despite everything, Wille still wanted him in the deepest way, and Simon wanted him back.
That's why these days, Simon holds Wille closer when they are finished, because he needs that feeling to last, to be soaked into his skin so he can remember it when he needs to the most. At first Wille laughed at him and groaned, uncomfortable that he was inside of Simon, or the other way around, or that their skin was sticking them together. But he eventually relented, understanding as he did without Simon having to explain. There lies the proof of their love, shoved underneath his skin where no one can touch it. Wille had claimed him and he had claimed Wille where it would never see the light of day again.
He nearly liked it more than sex and that scared him. Where sex was a pressure valve being released, the after was the water being returned to the land, the sky clearing from the clouds. It scared him sometimes, and he wouldn't say it to anyone, not even Wille. Not because he wouldn't understand, but rather because he didn't have to. Simon knew in those moments only they could make each other whole. There was no before, and if there was an after, it couldn't be made of the same things as this.
They would stay pressed close after, Wille curled up on his sternum or cocooned around his back as they inhaled and exhaled together, and he’d count all of their touches until he fell asleep, grateful to never run out of them.