Chapter Text
Everyone around him had planned all sorts of trips to Spain and Greece, or wherever had nightclubs and drinks. Simon never had enough friends to even consider going on a trip with them. He had people he spent two years sat next to in lessons, but he did not fancy forking over money he did not have to spend a week or so getting pissed and having a bad time. Instead he found keep place to stay for a week, a place above some ransoms pub in East Kilbride. He was not sure what drew him to that place, but it was not Manchester, it was not too expensive, and he could actually be alone for the first time.
He did not mind that he was sat in the pub alone with a book, his feet were not sticking to the floor, he was not having to spend a night paying for overpriced drinks. He had spent one night clubbing, with some lads who had turned eighteen after exams. It was torture, the music was terrible and far from what Simon wanted to listen to. It was too crowded, it was all wasted on him. He did not understand why people would go out, entry fees were always changing, drinks were shite and the people where were rude half the time.
Rather than have to be somewhere he hated, he pushed it from his mind, and ignored how all the boys called him boring. The pub he was in was typical, there were a few families, some lads around Simon’s age and some older people. There was a match on the TV, Simon did not pay much mind to it, he preferred rugby to football. After a minor breakdown a couple of weeks ago, he welcomed the break away from his family and Manchester. He was stood in the butchers, having worked there part-time since he left secondary school, doing the same mindless job day in and day out.
He would get up, go to college, sit the exams, get his qualifications, do what was the right thing. Simon had done what he was supposed to do, he brought home some money that would contribute to the mortgage, or food, or bills. He would stay up late into the night doing every essay they asked of him. Once the exams were over, and he never had to pick up another revision card again, or a have to write another essay about the importance of one source over the other. It was all over, within a matter of a month, he was finished.
Something could not cope in Simon’s mind, he was not running off of energy drinks, stress and adrenaline. He was stood in the butchers, as his chest had spent the past week in an uncomfortable knot. Everything got to be too much, his chest tightened and his hands began to shake. He was bored out of his mind and exhausted. He could not take it anymore, he did not have the same choices as the others around him. Uni was going to be his way out, he did not even try applying for Manchester, despite his teachers pleading with him. Uni could be for Tommy, but for him, it was a luxury he could not afford, no matter how many bursaries the uni gives him, or how much his maintenance loan might be.
Simon ripped off his apron, throwing it to one side, along with his gloves. He ignored the yells of the owner, asking him what he was doing. Simon grabbed his bag and walked down the high street, his mind racing. He had just lost his job for sure, but he could not take it for another moment. The pain in his chest was not loosening, nor was the guilt in the back of his mind. He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets as he waited for the bus. There was a young lad next to him, in a blazer that looked to be two sizes two big. He looked just as afraid as Simon did, probably was a Year 7 still settling into school.
Simon let out a small laugh, the kid turned his head towards Simon, “The fuck you laughing at?” he asked, desperately trying to sound tough, but he was anything but. He looked to be taller than the rest of the people around his age, lanky and awkward. Simon recognised the way he held himself, the same way Simon had done when he was twelve as well. Wanted to hide away, disappear into the background, but that was difficult when he was always taller than the rest in his year.
“Nothing, kid,” Simon breathed out, that kid looked terrified, held himself in a painfully familiar way. Simon wished he was twelve again, where the biggest worries in his life seemed like nothing compared to what they are now. The bus arrived, both Simon and the lad had gotten on the bus, the lad wore the same uniform that Simon had worn just two years prior.
Once Simon had gotten home, he threw his bag off his shoulder, not caring where it was going to land. He just wanted to scream and hit something. The force he put behind the bag, it ended up knocking against his desk, causing the unstable stack of revision materials, notebooks and pieces of paper to come tumbling down. His desk was questionable at the best of times, it was some second hand thing that was bought for him when he was younger. It had seen better days, days where Simon did not take his anger out on it, days where he did not use it as a step to clamber out of his window.
Simon looked down at the pile of rubbish spread along his floor, he let out a groan as he fell to his knees and began shifting through it. He had half a mind to keep it, he was not sure what subjects Tommy was looking to take. But he kept them just in case, he might as well shove them in a Tescos bag and wait for the day Tommy finally tells Simon what subjects he going to pick. He was going into Year 11 soon, and applications would open soon, he was betting a tenner that both he and his Mum would spend an ungodly amount of time chasing him about the application.
Simon began looking through the materials, dividing them into each subject. He pushed all his History stuff to one side, if Tommy was going to take it, he was definitely going to need all the help he could get. All his grammar worksheets, essay and other work for German was all unorganised, but that was something he could not bring himself to care about. There was a system to his work, but is was not longer his issue. Finally he shoved all of his English Language stuff to one side.
While going through his stuff, he had forgotten that at the bottom of the pile were leaflets from career and uni fairs at the College. He had taken the leaflets out of politeness, some of the students and lecturers there were nice, but Simon just kept thinking about the costs of it all. He looked at the leaflets for Cardiff Uni, Manchester, Derby, Lancaster, and so on. Then there were all the careers fairs, which he could not stand. He ignored the leaflets for apprenticeships and positions in these massive industries. They were all mainly for engineering and STEM subjects, what was the point in him going into data analysis, which seemed to be the only good option for him.
Soon he found the leaflets for the British Armed Forces. He had spoken to all three branches, most of them were nice enough. The RAF pointed out how Simon had a knack for languages, Navy promised him camaraderie, and the lads from the Army looked like they were there out of punishment. Some of them made promising points, he could have a career, see the world, and have qualifications. But something rattled in the back of his mind, words from people in his year who had had families serving in the armed forces just a few years prior.
Flicking through the leaflet, Simon reread all the information from each branch of the Armed Forces, and settled on the Army. He looking into the different aspects he could go into, pulling out his bettered phone, Simon looked up more information on being in the infantry division. He saw that applications were open, and before he knew it, he was looking into applications and what needed to be done. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and he had not eaten. His stomach growled, his legs were cramped and he had lost all feeling in his arse.
Simon completed everything he needed to have done in time for basic training, he had not told his family yet. He was opting to do so through a letter they could read while he was on a train to Yorkshire. He was given a date for when he was expected to be there, he still had some time. Simon looked for places where he could just be for a moment. He had never done something this selfish before, while some of his pay would go to help his mum when she needed it, most of it would sit in his bank account. Simon did not touch it unless he needed it, and he never told anyone how much he really had. Two years of probably breaking every child labour law in the UK needed to pay off at some point.
Which is why Simon was sat at some random pub in East Kilbride, with a stack of books and some clothes. He had ventured around the area, but for the most part, he was just reading. For a moment, he had no worries, he was not panicking about someone trying to ask him the whereabouts of his father, or of Tommy had gotten into another fight. He did not have to worry about the bills or seeing people he did not want to see. Instead, he was in the background for once, people saw some random lanky lad with a book, and just ignored him… almost everyone.
“Who comes to a pub… and reads?” a thick Scottish accent broke Simon’s focus, groaning internally, Simon glanced up from his book to see someone around his age. The lad was not bad looking, he was built far more than Simon was, wearing a band t-shirt that Simon had never heard of before. His jeans fit him well, and his converse look battered. Simon bit back any comment about how good looking he was, a pub was the last place he wanted to out himself. But he could not be blamed, however, the man also looked to carry himself with an air of cockiness, and Simon was not going to feed it.
“I do,” he bit, the smirk on the lad’s face did not falter. He seemed to take it as an invitation to is down with Simon, he pulled a chair out and placed himself down. Simon only continued to stare at the lad, hoping he would take to hint that Simon wanted to be left alone.
“What ye reading?” the lad asked, leaning against his forearms on the table, leaning closer to Simon. He could smell the obnoxious sent of Lynx, not that it was hard, when the apocalypse came, that smell would still linger in every secondary school changing room and teen lads’ bedrooms.
Ignoring the excitement that thrummed through him, Simon chose to pay more attention to the fact that this lad was going to annoy him, no matter how pretty Simon found him. Simon rolled his eyes, lifting the book up slightly, giving this lad a chance to read the cover, Amerika by Kafka was exactly what a sane person would read while on holiday. It was a gift from his German teacher at the end of his exams, “Bit bleak?” the lad half snickered.
It seemed like a bit of s silly question, Simon did not waste money on books that he would not enjoy, “I like it,” he shrugged, he was indifferent about the book, however, he did not fancy going into a long monologue about the books themes and the author himself. What was the need to invite unnecessary conversation? Simon tried to make a show of the fact that he did not want to talk to this lad, but something struck him a slightly, “You read Kafka?”
“Nah,” the lad laughed, as if it was the most ridiculous question ever asked, “But my sister loves them books, I got curious one day, looked at one of her books. I don’t think a fourteen year old should be reading those, mind ye she asked for her first copy for her twelfth birthday. It’s fucking odd, what that man writes about,” Simon tried poorly to stifle the chuckle that bubbled up his chest, “Course someone like ye likes him,” the lad snarks playfully. Simon tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the lad, just because he was pretty, it would not stop Simon from clobbering him, “A mardy arse, who sits in a bleedin’ pub and read,”
“Social isolation, one of Kafka’s main themes,” Simon shrugged, his tone still monotone and his body language refusing to let this lad over stay his welcome.
“Clearly, ‘cause this pub is complete empty,” the lad snarked again, looking around to the pub. Since he had sat down across from Simon, more people had arrived, he could seen a couple teenagers ordering drinks at the bar for their friends. More parents had arrived too, their kids running havoc outside. This was not Simon’s first time reading in a pub, he had grown up doing that, sitting in a corner waiting for his parents to call it a night.
“It is, all these lot are in your ‘ead,” Simon said, keeping his voice serious as he could.
The flash of panic that flooded the lad’s face, Simon could not hold back the chuckle. The lad scowled, “Yeah, yeah,” he grunted shaking his head, “My sister tried that years ago, in me, won’t work this time,” he pouted. Simon bit back the thought that he looked even the slightest but cute, leaning against the table, pouting; he was never going to admit it.
Simon, instead, nodded along, “Same one who read Kafka, tried to convince you you’re schizo?” he commented, he felt this strange sense of proudness for a random girl he had never met.
“Nah, this was my older one, she spent a year convincin’ me, that was ‘till I went crying to my Ma, askin’ to take me to the GP to get sorted,” the lad explained casually. Simon poorly tried to stifle a laugh behind his head, “Yeah, whatever, it wasn’t funny then, still isn’t funny now,” this lad admonished, Simon begged to differ.
Simon tried to compare himself again, “No, you’re right,” he managed out, his voice wavering slightly, “being gaslit by your sister into thinkin’ you’re schizophrenic in’t funny,” was all he was able to get out before he laughed again. It had been a while since he had laughed to hard his ached, his ribs and chest were pleading for him to stop, but he could not. He was not even laughing that hard, it had been that long, it was a strange thing that he missed.
“Oh, fuck ye,” the lad hissed, “S’not funny,” he practically whined.
The laughter eventually passed, “I ain’t the one keepin’ ya ‘ere,” Simon snarked.
“Bonnie lad like yeself,” the lad borderline gushed, “Ye kinda are,” Simon’s mind became a loading screen, one of the ones from the ‘90s. People rarely ever flirted with him, most of the time it would be girls drunk at some house party that he was dragged to. He had never been interested in their remarks, rather than, he would ignore the way how the lad his sat next to in Year 9 German made his heart speed up. He thought it was normal, until his Dad came one home day with his mates, blaring about how they had just taught some fag a lesson. From then on, Simon thought it was best keeping it to himself.
There was a period of time, where Simon desperately tried to humour these girls, but in the end, he felt nothing. There was never any point in letting it escalate, so Simon would excuse himself to the toilet quickly or offer them another drink. No one ever noticed him slipping through the front door, or sneaking out of the side gate. A polite smile and easy excuse was enough to get him out of the situation, if it was house parties, he would offer them another drink. Rather than the empty feeling of nothingness, and a twinge of flattery, Simon’s body felt different. Something akin to when he was fourteen, trying desperately to ignore his feelings.
His heart began to race at the sheer thought of someone, he was event the smallest bit attracted to, flirting with him. Simon had along the way came to terms with the fact that he was not the most attractive person in the world, he had always been taller than the rest, meaning he was never able to keep the weight on. He spent most of his life being some gangly weird, stalking the corridors at school, in a uniform that never fit him, no matter how hard he tried. Simon had never had a girlfriend before, nor had he ever shown any interest. No one else in school was willing to be out as gay, if they were, they would not stay long enough.
Even at his big old age of eighteen, Simon was still lanky, and even though he stopped growing at an awkward 198cm, he still never kept weight on. Compared to this lad, he would give another person a paper cut if they hugged him too hard. Simon thought about what he was wearing, his jeans were scruffy, covered in marks from Christ knows what. His trainers had taken a bearing, his top was pretty much hanging off his. Simon tried desperately to ignore his pale skin and the freckles that littered his body, or the fact that his hair was always a mess. Any shred of excitement that thrummed through his body, just as quickly was replaced with dread. Even if this lad thought Simon was a shred of attractive, he would not when Simon took his top and jeans off.
Simon’s silence dragged on a little too long, his face had fallen as the thoughts rushed through his mind, he had began to look uncomfortable. Something switched in the lad’s face, “Oh shite,” he breathed, panic began to riddle his body, “I’m well sorry, mate, I thought ye were…” he pushed himself against the edge of the table, his chair only moving so much against the carpeted floor, “I’m normally good at telling if people are, but…” any sense of confidence and cocksureness had left, “Um, I’m just gonna,” he tried to scramble to his feet.
“I am,” Simon let out, his voice was small enough that it would probably have been missed. A strange tingle came under his skin, he had never admired it out loud before, “I just ain’t…” he tried to get his words out, but to no avail, his mind appeared to only want to supply him with half formed sentences. The lad set himself back down carefully, as if he was about to scare Simon if he moved too quickly. The way he looked at Simon, with those big blue eyes, there was a feeling of care behind them, a show of genuine interest. Simon grunted, frustration began to itch at his skin, “Never ‘ad a lad flirt with me before,” he muttered pitifully.
“Oh,” the lad nodded, “oh, OK,”
Every last of one Simon’s walls were back up, it could not have been that easy, this lad could not be that understanding, “OK?” Simon bit.
“No, no,” the cogs were visibly turning in the lad’s mind, “It’s just, thought ye were about to bash ‘is in, that’s all,” he confessed, “It’s fine. S’not like you’ve never flirted with a lass before,” Simon tried not to shift in his seat, all of a sudden he began to feel as if he was under some sort of scrutiny, “Oh,” the lad laughed a bit. Simon gritted his teeth, closing his book and going to stand up. This conversation was officially over, “No, please, I’m sorry, I just thought that someone a bonnie as ye had some experience. But never mind, my fault, it’s all good, I’m sorry,”
Simon stared down at the lad, not moving from where he stood, “Look, assumed wrong, my mistake, can I please try again?” he pleaded. Simon sucked his teeth a little bit, rolling his eyes, he was about to regret the choice. Simon nodded his head, setting himself back down on the bench, “Thank ye,” the lad let the relief wash over him, “I’m John,” he announced, stretching his hand out in front of him.
Simon gave him another once over, this lad had to be the oddest person he had ever met, “Simon,” he said, shaking John’s hand in return. He may be odd, but Simon could match it, if he was given the time.
The night progressed in an odd way from there, Simon learnt that John could talk for Britain. He was in his final year of secondary school, hoping to join the army straight after. He liked football, almost went to an academy when he was younger, he was self taught in art, and listen to random bands that Simon had never heard of. He also learnt that John was a local, offering him a tour of the town, even though Simon had already wandered around most of it on his first day, he took the offer anyway — mainly because he assumed John would not follow through.
But at seven o’clock the next morning, Simon’s phone began to ring, constantly. He grumbled, picking it up, he had only been able to get to bed at two in the morning. After last orders, he and John went to a bar that was further into town, Simon put his book back and changing into a more presentable top. If John had flirted with Simon before he had changed, afterwards, it was dialled up to a level Simon had never seen before. But that was all it was, flirting and talking. Simon had actually made a friend with someone, for the first time in a long time.
The next day, despite his lack of sleep, Simon wandered around with John, being shown all the spots that he could think of. They ended up back at John’s house, which was far from what he was expecting. Simon thought this was going to be ‘goodbye’, but when he was ushered into the front door, his skin began to crawl. It smelled like a home, food was being cooked, there were photos lining the walls. There was chatter coming from in the kitchen, but the raised voices were not arguments, it was just a loud conversation.
Simon had never felt more out of place, his house did not smell of cooked food, nor was it lined with family photos. His mum tried to keep it in the best shape possible, but with Tommy refusing to help most of the time, and his Dad out on the lash more nights than not; it was always in a questionable state of despair, “Shoes,” John hissed, breaking Simon out of his train thought.
“Eh?” Simon let out, he had not fully heard what John had hissed at him.
“Take ye shoes off, my Ma will kill ye,” John said, toeing his own off, one hand pressed against the wall, keeping his balance. John pushed his shoes to one side, where a few other pairs sat.
Simon’s heart began to race, reality set back in for him, “Nah, nah, nah, you didn’t say nothin’ about brin’ us to your gaff,” Simon said, keeping his voice hushed. He had only known this lad for a day, and he was already being invited back. Simon was not the type to be invited round for dinner.
“S’not a big deal,” John shrugged, Simon should tell him about his home life, about the way he was raised. That would be enough for anyone to go running, “They’ll love ye… once they get past you bein’ English,” John joked.
“Imma kill ya,” Simon hissed.
“After food,” John retorted, a grin plastered all over his face.
As they rounded the corner, the two stepped past the door frame and into the dining area, Simon was greeted with a family having some sort of argument-conversation. There was a girl, no older than thirteen, she was lanky and small, but her voice carried in a way Simon would not expect from a girl her build. Her glasses were far too big for her face, but they suited her. She had tied her half of her hair up, keeping it out of her face, the rest of it sat in a messy bob just above her shoulders. She was wearing clothes too big for her build as well, must have been John’s hand me downs.
She was talking to, who Simon assumed to be, their Dad. He was a stocky build, his arms seemingly stuffed into his knitted jumper. His sleeves had been rolled up to display two sets of tattoo sleeves, both seemed to be in a traditional style, they were a little faded and had been there probably since before their eldest was born. He had a scruffy beard, something that John was not able to grow. His hands looked battered and rough, probably from his time in manual labour or working as a mech. From Simon’s guess, he was around his forties, same with John’s mother.
Their older sister, who also looked the spit of their Dad, also had wavy hair, but hers was cropped to her jaw. She was dressed in a dark cropped top, with a red flannel shirt over the top and low raise jeans, with a beer in hand. Simon took a wild guess that the Doc Martens by the door belong to her. On one arm, there appeared to be, only what Simon could guess, was the beginning of a sleeve; most of the ink was covering her arm, a floral scene was developing from her wrist up her arm. Simon knew very little about tattoos, he took another wild guess that she still had a long way to go.
And then there was their mother, who had darker hair, was a little more tanned and just ever so slightly shorter. She was dressed in comfy clothes, with her hair pulled back out of her face. There was just something about her, something that made Simon want to start telling her all of his issues. She shook her head at the comments being thrown around, a smile lightly gracing her face. She downed her wine as fast as she could, she glanced up for a moment to look across at Simon and John. Letting out a squeal of excitement, she bounced up from where she was sitting.
“Ye brought a friend round?” she commented, looking Simon up and down. All of a sudden, Simon became all too aware of how out of place he was.
Any polite remarked he could muster seemed to die on his tongue before he even got a chance to utter then, Simon’s palms began to sweat, “Aye, this is Simon,” John said as if they had been friends all year.
“Right, John said you would be stoppin’ by,” his dad commented, his accent was thicker than what he had heard from the local area, but there was this softness hidden behind the gruff voice. The conversation seemed to be placed on pause, John’s two sisters looking Simon up and down, as if they were assessing if he was worthy enough. If they asked him, Simon would have honestly said he was not. All day he had spent with John, walking around to all the spots that John deemed good enough to show Simon, he had enjoyed himself more than he wanted to admit, “Nice to meet you, lad, I’m Lachlan,” he said, reaching out a hand.
Simon awkwardly shook it, “I’m Ramsey, that one’s Fiona,” the eldest said, pointing between herself and her younger sister. Fiona did not say much, she was everything that Simon could have imagined her to be, albeit slightly more terrifying.
Simon awkwardly waved as the introduction, they already knew his name, “You can call me Marta,” John’s mum introduced herself, with a warm smile
Desperately trying to get his words out, Simon cleared his throat, his old man’s words echoed around his head. The admonishments he would get every time he struggled to get his words out, smack up the back of the head and a bollocking, “Thank you for ‘avin’ me, ma’am,” he said, suddenly becoming self conscious of his accent. They all seemed to be taken aback by it, he knew it was thick, but considering he had never been out of Manchester, he did not register how much it made him stand out.
“No need for formalities, don’t don’t go making me feel old,” she chuckled, waving a dismissing have, “Please, set yourself down, no need to stand on command,” she said, pointing at the two empty chairs. John pulled on out and set himself down, Simon, however, took a moment to realise what was happening, “John told us about ye, said ye only here a couples days,” this lad who he met by chance in a pub, had told his family that Simon exists — his chest began to flood was a warm sensation, he looked towards John who was paying to mind the the comment, lest he blush any harder.
“Aye,” Simon nodded, a smirk growing on his face slightly, “Just came up ‘ere for a break, after all my exam results, before I’m off over Yorkshire way,” he explained simply, he had clasped his hands in front of him, trying desperately not to look nervous.
“Yorkshire, ye got family over there?” Lachlan asked, titled his head to one side.
“Nah, nah,” Simon shook his head, “I’m, um,” he started, and that is when it hit him. This was the first time he was going to say it out loud, he had read it countless times by now, he had written that latter to his mum, but he had never said it about before, “I’m starting basic training,”
There was this uncomfortable silence that settled amongst the room, Simon could hear the food cooking in the distance. Simon did not know enough about this family, but the armed forces looked to be a topic to avoid, “I’m gonna check on the food,” Marta uttered, her chair scraped against the floor as she pulled herself up to here feet. Simon began to sweat behind the knees as thoughts began to race around his mind. If Fiona’s looks could kill, Simon was sure that he would be dead by now.
Simon turned to John, leaning in slightly, “Did I say something wrong?” he whispered, trying his hardest to keep his voice normal.
“Nah, ye didn’t lad,” Lachlan reassured, taking a swig from his pint, “I served for a bit myself, couple years back now,” he explained, “Got medically discharged after caught a bullet and a bit of shrapnel, in Iraq,”
Simon’s chest restricted entirely, “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, regret setting into his bones immediately.
“Ye weren’t to know,” Lachlan shrugged off, picking up his pint again, “Anyways,” he moved on swiftly.
The conversation picked up again, they asked him where he was from, asked about his family and his life back in Manchester. Lunch was served not long afterwards, and Simon was grateful for the much needed distraction. Marta had put together one of the best meals Simon had eaten, everything seemed to be cooked perfectly and with so much care. He had only ever had pie from the chippy, so when he was presented with something that had been made from scratch, something settled in his chest.
The conversations skirted around Simon’s life in a few days, he had heard the odd stories from here and there, about some of the older lads he used to go to school with. They signed up, went off to fight, and did not come back the same. Some of them were injured so badly they were discharged after a couple tours, some were scared beyond understanding, not allowed to go back under the risk of the rest of their unit. Then there were the ones to were took good, who took too much joy out of what they did, those men scared Simon, something in their eyes reminded him of his old man.
The tension still remained in the air, haunting evader conversation they had, Simon moved around in his seat a couple of times, trying not to feel the scrutiny of the MacTavish family. Simon helps clear up the table, despite the protests of Marta and Lachlan, taking the chance to elbow John in the ribs, “The fuck was that for?” John yelped, slapping Simon on the arm in retaliation.
“Could have fuckin’ given me a heads up, ‘bout bringing me back here, and ‘bout ya dad,” he muttered, placing the used crockery in the dishwasher.
“Ye could have told is that you were fuckin’ off,” John scoffed, rising a plate off in the sink.
Simon gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, “I’ve known you for just over a day,” he snapped, under his breath, “Oh yes, pleasure to meet you, I’m Simon Riley, in a few days time I’m going to train to be apart of the infantry in the British Army. That does mean I face the possibility of being deployed Iraq,” he taunted, “Y’know how mental that sounds,” Simon looked away, placing another plate into the dishwasher, not before he saw the way John’s face fell.
John also turned his attention back to the rinsing off the plates, “Ye right, sorry,” he mumbled, just barely over the water gushing out of the tap. Reaching out, John placed the freshly rinsed off plate in front of Simon, who stood there awkwardly for a moment.
Biting his lip, Simon sniffed, “Nah, you’re good,” he said, his voice now soft, lacking any of the anger that existed a few moments ago. Sometimes he really hated his mood swings, “Ya were’t to know, sorry I didn’t bring it up,” Simon smiled lightly, “but in my defence, it’s ‘ard to get a word in around you,” he joked.
Twisting his head, John scoffed, “Oh, he’s got jokes now,” he scowled, flicking water in Simon’s direction.
Simon flinched, holding his arms up to defend himself, letting out a laugh that he did not know he had in him. John continued to flick water at him, but he could not help but feel something flutter in his chest at the music that was Simon’s proper laugh, “‘Ve always got jokes,” Simon said, in between breaths.
John scoffed, stopping his assault, “Yeah, they’re terrible, by the way,” he mumbled, like a petulant child.
As Simon watching John continue with the task at hand, he had the strange sense of familiarity bubbly in his chest. Even though he had only known John for a day and a bit, he could no ignore the way how John was finding a him under his skin, “How comes you mentioned us to your folks?” Simon asked without realising the worlds had escaped his mouth, the question had been nagging at him all day, “Not like there’s much to talk about,” he shrugged, closing the dishwasher.
A shade of red crept up the back of John’s neck, “They were askin’ is why I had come back late,” John explained, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, “Said I had met someone, and that we were gonna see each other again today. Ma being ma, she asked after ye and I thought because ye were so skinny, ye might as well have some fattening up,” he smirked, turning to look over his shoulder, “Now that I know ye goin’ into the army, ye definitely need to have a bit more meat on ye’s,”
Taking more interest in wiping down the countertop, Simon mutter, “Do they know… ‘bout…?” he asked vaguely.
“Oh aye,” John nodded, “Well, they know about ‘is, I’m not about to be outin’ ye when I doubt ye’ve even said it aloud before,”
Simon’s hands began to shake, the shame of the truth within the statement bounced around his mind. He had never once even uttered it to himself late a night, when no one was around to hear him, “‘M glad your folks accept you,” he said in a small, pitiful voice. He thought about his mum for a moment, she was probably the only person in the family who would not bat an eyelid at him being gay, she most likely knew already. But knowing the lads Tommy hangs around, and the way he adores their old man, the last thing he needed was a beating for liking lads.
“You’ve got a nice family,” Simon smiled, sadly, “Fiona does look like she’s about to kill me though,” he tried to joke. Looking back, hoping to see John ready to start a happier conversation, Simon was instead met with John looking at him like a kicked puppy. His throat closed up, in the past, when Simon skirted around talking about his family, people accepted the change in topic. Not John though, he looked as if he was ready to hold on to Simon for dear life.
“Ye don’t have to say, but, I’m guessin’ ye’ve not got a good home life?” John asked, his voice small.
Bringing in a deep breath, “In’t the best, but, ‘ve got me mum, and me neighbour, Vinnie,” he reassured to the best of his ability, “brother’s a useless twat, and my old man’s an alchy who’s gone ‘alf the time. And when he’s there, well, he’s just a right old cunt,” Simon sniffed, “Ah well, is what it is, don’t matter much anymore, not like Imma be there for long,” John did not seem to take the dismissal well, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist.
Their height difference was made apparent, with John resting his head against Simon’s chest, his grip around Simon’s waist did not seem to let up. Simon froze in place, his eyes burning as tears began to threaten his facade. Pulling in a shaky breath, Simon placed his arms around John’s shoulders, resting his head against the top of John’s. No one had held onto him like he was the most precious things to exist, like they understood that he was held together with duck tape and chewing gum, “Ye always welcome here,” John promised into Simon’s chest.
“You don’t even know us that well,” Simon laughed, wetly.
“Don’t care,” John countered.
The heat of late August evening was far more bearable, however this was not enough to make up for the obnoxious buzzing of insects around them. Simon spent most of the meal swatting flies off his food, than he had done actually eating it. A wasp appeared while they were sat around eating, and Fiona’s tough persona was finally broken. She let out a murderous scream, one that shocked Simon and John into a laughing fit.
“So,” John’s voice cut through the silence of the late evening, “ye off to Yorkshire soon,” he commented, picking at the label of his beer. He had been avoiding this topic for a while, thinking about the fact that he was running out of time with Simon made his heart ache, he still had a year left of school, while Simon was going to go off and start his life. It felt silly to let this get to him, he did not even know Simon a few days ago, and somehow this lad had buried himself right in his heart.
Not only that, but the rest of his family had seemed to welcome Simon into the family, even if it was for a short while. They had invited him around for a barbecue for his last day in East Kilbride, wanting hot give him a nice little send off. Seeing Simon fit in with his family, even if it had only been a short amount of time, made John want to hold on with both hands and never let go; it was the strangest thing. John knew it was unfair and unreasonable of him, he could not ask Simon to stick around just because John wanted him to, he knew what the others would say as well.
“Aye,” Simon nodded, the two lads had been the last ones left outside, the others had retired back to the house to watch some reruns of Merlin, a show both of them could take or leave. Simon offered John another drink and the two spent most of the time just sat side by side, enjoying each other’s company.
John turned his head, studying Simon’s profile, “Nervous?” he asked.
Simon’s jaw clenched a little, taking a moment to think, he could lie, say he was excited and ready to go. But that was not fair, nor was it close to the truth, “A li’le, yeah,” he shrugged.
John’s heart clenched at the honesty, “I’m gonna miss ye,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, he was ready to blame the beers and the heat for his actions — ignoring that he had spent the past day dreading Simon’s last day in the area.
A silly suggestion had been floating around Simon’s mind over the past day, “You know you can write to us, if you fancy,” Simon proposed, smiling slightly. As the words left his mouth, he began to brace himself for a rejection. He understood that John had a year of school left, and was aiming to go to university, the last thing he needed was Simon being deadweight. Picking at his nails, Simon continued to look at the garden in front of them, too scared to see the answer before he could hear it.
“I might,” John agreed, “Gonna tell you about all the shit goin’ on a school,”
Simon’s heart raced, something thrummed under his skin, the same sensation that he had been feeling since he had met John. It was new and exciting, nevertheless, it still terrified him to no ends, “Try to make it to Christmas before you blow something up,” he joked, a smile lighting up both of their faces.
“Nah,” John shook his head, taking a swig out of the bottle, “I’m actually gonna pay attention, my Ma wants ‘is to take this seriously, apply to unis, the lot of it,” the normal lilt in his voice was nowhere to be heard.
“You know you don’t have to keep in contact if you don’t want to,” Simon said, leaning over to knock shoulders with John, pulling his attention away from the thought of universities and exams, “Not like you’ve know me long enough. Got no obligations to me,”
“I mean it,” John said defiantly, “I’m gonna miss ye,” the honesty in his voice was refreshing, Simon still could not understand how John would say whatever crossed his mind, not bothering to make it easier for someone. John did not change himself, nor did he shy away, he lived in a space and made it clear to those around him that they would have to live with it, or leave.
Simon smiled weakly, “I’m gonna miss you too,” he sighed, “‘Ve ‘ad more fun these past fews days that I ‘ave in a long while, thanks,”
“Will ye come back?” John asked, tilting his head to one side.
“If you want us to, yeah,” Simon nodded his head, smiling at the prospects of coming back.
“I do want ye to,” John whispered.
“John?” Simon’s heart began to beat against his chest once again, his palms began to sweat and he had lost feeling in most of his limbs. Electricity ran through his body, while thoughts raced through his mind. He wanted to be more like John, he wanted to live in a space and have people understand that, he was tired of changing for people, tired of being someone he was not. Maybe a few days with John MacTavish was better than a few days alone.
“Mhm?” John hummed.
“I’m gay,” Simon said, his voice was small and the words were barely audible, albeit, John’s reaction meant that he had heard them.