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Horace has been stood up. And, in all honesty, he’s fine with it.
He realised the night before that he was drawn to her not because of her beautiful smile and bright red hair. The sad truth is she was only a shadow of him. So, he gave himself two options: go on a date or break it off on Valentine’s Day. Horace might be a bastard, but he’s not that much of an asshole.
Now, he has a leftover bottle of red wine and somebody far more important who might appreciate it - a certain someone he’s definitely not going to talk to about how hopelessly in love he is.
“What do you want?” Simon’s been drinking, it seems. It’s a rare sight, and Horace can’t help but wonder what brought him to seek comfort in a bottle. The animal tamer leans against the doorframe of his trailer as Horace holds out the bouquet of flowers and bottle of wine.
“She ditched me, so I figured why not spend quality time with someone who matters?” Horace says. Simon rolls his eyes.
“So I get your date’s leftovers. Wonderful!” He always forgets how prickly Simon can be after drinking.
“Don’t be like that! You know you mean far more to me than some random woman, right?” Besides, if he thought Simon was interested he would have brought him something better than convenience store flowers.
“Sure. That's why I’m your second choice, right?” Simon says as he reluctantly steps aside to let Horace into his trailer. Horace frowns.
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Jealous? Of some random hook up? Please, give me some credit,” Simon mutters.
“Alright, sure. Just, y’know, if you wanted to spend time with me, all you had to do was ask,” Horace says. Simon ignores him and instead wobbles over to the sofa before sitting down, his gaze glued to the horror film playing on the television. It’s not unusual for them to watch frightening films together, but usually Simon shrieks and covers his eyes when it allegedly gets too much.
Horace places the wine and flowers down on the makeup table before joining him on the sofa. He doesn’t understand why Simon hides his true self from the world, but he’s grateful for the glimpses of the real him only he gets to see. It makes him feel valued, even though it’s not always pleasant.
“So, who do you think’s going to die next?” Horace conversationally asks.
“That guy in the baseball cap. They always kill the loudmouths early,” Simon mutters. He turns the sound down before giving Horace a piercing look. “Why are you here?”
“Because you’re my friend! Is it really that unfathomable that I want to spend time with you?”
“You could’ve gone to the bar and picked someone up. You have the perfect sob story with your date ditching you…”
“Yeah, well. I’d rather be here with you than having a cheap lay.”
“...Right,” Simon looks at him questioningly, before turning the volume back up. They watch it in silence, but the plot isn't up to their usual standard. Eventually, Simon starts to drift off to sleep, his head lounging against Horace’s shoulder. It’s a rare moment of peace in a hectic life.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Knightley’s words jolt Simon from his slumber. He drunkenly blinks up at him, his gaze drifting over the sharp planes of the bodyguard’s cheekbones. The soft light of the television makes his features even more defined.
Why did Knightley waste his time coming here? There were so many other places he could go. He doesn’t know that Valentine’s Day is the last holiday they’ll ever spend together. This time next year, Knightley will be six feet underground. There’ll be no unexpected visits to alleviate the loneliness of the night and Simon knows he’ll never let himself get this close to someone again. It’s too dangerous, too unpredictable.
Is he really okay with a life spent alone? It’s what he wants, isn’t it? Perhaps, just for one night, he could take the chance to see what could have been. The alcohol clouds his judgement as he wonders where's the harm in one little kiss?
He leans closer, and Knightley turns to look at him, his brows furrowed. It’s almost endearing, how unsuspecting he is. Before he can have second thoughts, Simon clumsily closes the distance, his lips softly caressing Knightley’s.
The bodyguard jolts back.
“Hey, wait! What’re you doing?” Knightley asks as he gently but firmly pushes Simon away. The sting of rejection cuts deep, made worse by the sense of confusion.
“Me?! You’re the one who came over here with wine and flowers! You’re the one who decided to cuddle up with me on the sofa!” It had to be Knightley’s fault that he woke up with his face pressed against his shoulder.
“Whoa, calm down. You’re way too drunk for this. I know you’ll sleep it off and hate yourself for making a pass at me.”
“Why are you rejecting me?! We could have had a nice night together, no strings attached!”
“That’s why! Because I don’t want to ruin our friendship over a one time fling.”
“Nothing would be ruined! This could have been the perfect arrangement for us both, if only you weren’t so uptight!” He thought Knightley would jump at the chance to sleep with him. Had he read him so wrongly?
“Si, you’re drunk. We can have this conversation in the morning, when you’re sober.”
“What makes you think I’ll want to talk about it in the morning?”
“If you don’t, then that’s all the more reason to say no.”
Simon lets out a disgusted sound of irritation, but Knightley just shakes his head in response.
“Simon, you mean more to me than just a kiss. Look, let’s get some rest and we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”
It’s no use. The mood’s ruined, and Knightley is far more stubborn than Simon expected. Perhaps it’s better this way, Knightley doesn’t deserve to experience his touch. Begrudgingly, Simon leans back against the sofa, his eyes half-closed. Soon this will all be over. No more desire, no more turmoil.
“Knightley?” he asks, after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you see yourself in a year?”
“...Hopefully, I’ll have finally made it. Number one at work, with Rooke out of the picture. Hey, maybe if you don’t have other plans we could do something special for that Valentine's Day. A nice day out together.”
“First you turn down my kiss, and then you say that…” Simon murmurs. Knightley shrugs awkwardly in response. “What would we even do together?”
“We could do something thrill-seeking, like skydiving. And, in the evening, we could go to an expensive restaurant and complain about the prices.”
“No way! You’re not getting me to jump out of a plane.”
“Aw, c’mon. I’d be right there with you.” But he wouldn’t be. He’d be long dead by that point. All the pretty plans Knightley’s making are for naught. “Alright, scrap the skydiving. We can chill with some games, catch up on our favourite shows and have a warm, cosy day together.”
It’s impossible. He’ll be gone, a corpse without desire or warmth. Would he be buried or cremated? Soon, the one person who knows the pain of amnesia will be gone. The closest thing he has to a friend. He remembers their days at the orphanage, before his memories returned.
“Simon… why are you crying?”
“Huh?” Simon raises a hand to his cheek, his confusion rising as he feels the traitorous touch of tears. He furiously rubs them away while internally cursing himself for drinking so much. “It’s nothing! I’m drunk and messed up and…”
“...C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.” Knightley gets to his feet and holds his hand out for Simon to take, before leading him to his room. They don’t bother with the lights, the faint glow from the living room is enough as Simon collapses onto his bed. Changing out of his clothes is too much effort, so instead he buries himself under the blankets. Knightley passes him a tissue from the nightstand, and he awkwardly blows his nose.
“...I don’t think I want to be alone,” Simon mutters. It’s a dangerous thought to voice, but he can always lie and say he means when Knightley’s out of the country.
“As long as I live, you never will be. It’ll be the two of us, united for years to come,” Knightley says. Simon’s shoulders shake as he holds back a fresh wave of emotion. A morbid laugh, interlaced with more devastating feelings. This is why he doesn’t drink. “Hey, Simon! What’s wrong? I’m not going anywhere.”
He tries to cling to the hatred, but alcohol numbs his rage. The bed creaks as Horace sits down beside him before pulling him into a hug. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll be himself again. He’ll be able to focus on the rage.
But for tonight, he just wants to savour what they have. It’s fleeting, like a dying butterfly, but it’s something. He leans in for another kiss, and this time, Horace doesn’t push him away. Their touch lingers, fragile and weary. No lust, just a weary acknowledgement of feelings he can’t understand.
Slowly, Horace pulls back. The bodyguard’s smile is laced with disbelief.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning, yeah? I’m not gonna take advantage of you, Si.”
“...Okay,” Simon mutters. Horace still refuses to give him something tangible to hate, aside from the pain of their childhood. Simon shivers as he remembers his dying moments, the frost’s fearsome grip growing stronger. Knightley had tried to break them both free between tearful apologies.
His dad would hate him for being so weak, seeking comfort in the arms of the one who betrayed him. The touch of their kiss turns sour on his lips.
“You look exhausted. I’ll let you get some sleep, alright? Call me if you need anything,” Knightley obliviously says. Simon nods as the other man heads over to the wardrobe and pulls out a set of spare blankets and pillows for himself. “Goodnight, Simon.”
“....Goodnight,” Simon whispers. Knightley shuts the door behind him, and memories overtake him in the darkness. Despair, hatred and bitter longing. Just a few more weeks, and it will all be over.