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“Looney Tunes!”
Simon’s stomach swooped at the familiar voice calling his name. Well. Not his name exactly, but the moniker with which he’d been bestowed by the cute boy with the floppy hair.
Simon grinned and yelled, “Black eye!”
“Bro, just talk to him!” Ayub laughed as they continued trudging through the mud. How they had all managed to contract sunburn whilst also wading through the muddiest fields Simon had ever seen, he wasn’t sure. But everyone seemed to be having fun.
Truth be told, Simon actually hadn’t been having all that much fun. But that was until the cute boy with the bruised cheek had caught his eye.
Simon wasn’t usually into people who looked like they’d been in a fist fight, but the boy had yelled that he’d fallen foul of an unruly moshpit as the crowd had carried them in opposite directions.
All of their interactions had gone the same. Simon, Rosh and Ayub had been at this festival for three days, and he’d seen black-eye boy no fewer than five times.
Each time, it felt a little more ridiculous and (though he wouldn’t admit it to Rosh) more and more like fate.
“I can’t,” Simon replied. “He’s gone.”
“He’ll be back,” Rosh mused.
Simon hoped she was right.
“Ah! Fuck!”
“Shit! Sorry!”
“Yeugh.” Simon held his beer soaked t-shirt away from his chest with the hand that wasn’t holding the crumpled (now empty) plastic cups.
“Sorry! I— Oh. It’s you!”
Simon whipped his head up, finding himself face to face with—
“It’s you!”
The pretty face broke into a huge grin. “Hi.” The boy held out his hand to Simon. “I’m Wille.”
Simon wiped his beery hand fruitlessly on his beery shorts before clasping Wille’s. “Simon.”
“Not ‘Looney Tunes’?”
“No,” Simon chuckled. “Not Looney Tunes. Your eye looks better.”
“Yeah,” Wille said, clearly distracted. “Hey, do you want to maybe… grab a drink?”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Do you promise not to throw this one all over me?”
Wille laughed. It made Simon’s insides tingle.
“I promise.”
“Shh!”
“Fuck! Oops!”
“Be quiet!”
Simon giggled, pressing a hand over his mouth, but Wille was smiling at him.
“You’ll wake everyone!”
“I bet they’re not even in there,” Simon whispered back.
Wille ignored him as they picked their way to his tent.
Once Wille had unzipped it, they tumbled awkwardly in, limbs tangled.
“Fuck!”
“Ow!”
“Shh!”
“Sorry!”
Simon giggled again; he couldn’t help it. Now that they’d settled, Simon was lying on his back on—
“Is this a fucking air bed?”
“Yes.” Wille had a confused look on his face. “Why?”
Simon scoffed. “I can’t believe you brought an air bed to a festival.”
Wille rolled his eyes. “You won’t be complaining in the morning.”
The morning.
“Oh yeah?” It was supposed to be challenging but definitely came out more breathless.
“Yeah.” Then Wille leant forward, pressing his lips to Simon’s, tasting of beer and suncream, and making Simon forget about teasing in favour of kissing him back.