Chapter Text
It’s the shifting that wakes Simon up. The slight movement of golden hair that slides across his skin. The bed dips, and the warmth that had lain in his arms for the better part of the night escapes his hold once again. Jack only ever came on Tuesdays. He always stayed far past what was comfortable for what they were, but Simon wasn't going to bring it up. To say it aloud meant the possibility that he wouldn't come back.
He let his eyes creep open; the sun was just starting over the outside hills, lighting the dorm in the faintest of colors. As always, Jack was quiet as he collected his clothes, putting them on, covering up the pinkened spots where Simon had lost himself too far. It was always like this afterward, quiet. He knew Jack preferred it this way; it left enough to be said on its own. Simon’s eyes couldn’t help but trace Jack's hands as they fastened buttons and skimmed softly down wrinkles where haste had meant more than propriety.
“I don't like it when you watch.”
“Sorry.” Simon dutifully turned his eyes to the ceiling before letting them slip back onto Jack. As a child, his mother had admitted to him that obsessiveness was both a burden they shared. This need to follow blindly against a person. To let them sink into their skin and grab onto any semblance or desire. At the time, he had only smiled and grabbed her hand tighter, pretending the yellowed bruise on her temple was simply a trick of the light. Now her words burned into his skin, but how could he dare to face anything else when the sun was permanently embedded into Jack's being? In his time of pondering, Jack had turned and faced the small mirror Simon kept tacked to the wall, slicking his hair back obsessively. Simon had been granted a single room this year, as had Jack. A gift for their seniority and last year at the school. He hadn't set foot in Jack's room once, but he tried to pretend it didn't bother him. Besides, the notion of running into Maurice or Roger churned his stomach enough that any interest in staying there was quickly extinguished.
Jack's eyes met in the mirror, a small smirk fixed to his face as he grabbed his tie from the floor. “Are you planning on going to the dance next Friday?” They both knew it was a daft question. Simon rarely left his room aside from classes or a trip to the nearby woods. Alone as always. “Asked anyone have you?” Jack said the teasing lilt to his voice. Clearly, their pleasant time basking in the heat of one another had worn off.
“No. I'm not going.” Simon said, he shifted on the bed, reaching for his own shirt. It was hard to lie here in the knowledge of Jack’s cruelty when the evidence of his ability to be kind was on display.
“Well, I have.”
“Mary, I presume.” Simon could see Jack's hand still, the knot of his tie faltering to meet its crisp end. Jack had begun seeing her a month ago. It was strictly a non-bedroom topic. Simon didn't know why he'd said it. They had rules. Unsaid but still enforced. To admit her name aloud was to break what frail distance kept them from the outside.
Jack continued on. The words, a barbed fly, he ignored. “Roger and Maurice are quite jealous, you know. I don't doubt every man in our year is. She's perfect. Beautiful, of course.” She was. Even Simon, with his wayward eyes, could see that. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a gentle demeanor. He had penned Ralph describing her once. Ralph had replied that only a narcissist like Jack would be besotted with a woman who looked just like him. “Soft hair, even softer hands.” The laugh Jack lets out lacks real humor, simply a reflex of time talking about women the way a man was trained to. Simon didn't dare tell Jack that he knew. That he had seen them one afternoon during a break. Those soft, slim hands had gripped through the polished ends of Jack's hair. Simon hadn't stayed further to witness more. The image was too damning to linger on for long. Instead, he’d pocketed the feeling and spent the next Tuesday licking the sweat from Jack’s neck in a way he knew only he would understand. Gripping blonde curls harder than Simon knew she ever could.
“She is rather beautiful. Bit like a peacock, all feathered and frilly.” Simon said. Jack let out a real laugh at Simon's comment this time, and Simon couldnt help but let the sound warm his chest; he never wanted him to stop laughing. Jack turned back to face him, tie now set. To an untrained eye, he looked the same as always. To Simon, it was clear where Jack's time had been spent. His shirt wrinkled at the front where Simon had pawed it from his tucked slacks. His hair still curled at the edges where hands had fisted and tugged in debauchery. The glow of his face shone in a manner that only emerged when Simon slinked down his body and kneeled at his feet.
“She’d cry if she heard that. She can be so very sensitive sometimes. Annoyingly so.” Jack took steps forward, settling himself to stand between Simon's legs. The heat of him grazed the hairs on Simon's thighs. Jack’s hand raised and pulled at the lapels of Simon's undone shirt.
“I’ll come see you after.” In another life, those words were a gift between lovers. An acknowledgment of structure and loyalty. Here in this cramped room, with the distance of understanding and the name of a girl who loved the boy he did, it only served to make Simon sick.
“It won't be a Tuesday.”
“An exception will be made, considering the event and all.”
“You can’t.”
Jack rolled his eyes. Pulling harder at Simon's lapel, the heat of his thighs pressed to Simon's fully. It reminded him of their position only a few hours ago. Expect then, Simon had wrapped his leg eagerly around Jack and had flipped him underneath. “I’ll get her out of my room by 12. I only need twenty minutes, and then I'll be by.”
“Jack.”
“What?” He pulled away harshly, the heat of his skin leaving room for the cold air to take its place. He gripped his shoes, putting them on more aggressively than necessary. “Unless you're busy. What on gods earth could you be busy with?”
“Ralph.” The world only served to make Jack stop his shoes left untied as he really stared at Simon. “And Piggy actually. They’ve planned to visit me. I had nothing that night. It seemed a fine time as any.” Simon said.
“A fine time as any?” A scoff escaped Jack's throat. “Honestly, Simon, they aren't even really your friends.” His shoes done, Jack leveled a cruel gaze at him. “They barely know you.”
“I write Ralph every Sunday." It was the wrong thing to say again. Jack's brow became pinched, the dip of his throat frozen with repressed thought. Ralph, unlike Mary, was spoken about, but seldom did Simon bring him up. His longtime pen pal often resulted in a fight between the two of them. The hypocrisy was clear, but Simon had little desire to open up that can of worms.
He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he admitted they had shared a kiss once. He and Ralph. Only a peck, truly, it hadn't meant much, and had only occurred long ago. A time when he hadn’t been completely Jack’s. During a winter before their arrangement, Ralph had invited him to stay during the long vac. He had put off saying yes, not wanting to leave Jack by himself. Only to change his mind in a quick letter when that same afternoon, he overheard Maurice and Roger inviting Jack along with them. When Simon had returned, all felt the same; the only difference was the faint reminder of a cold kiss shared between friends. They didn't speak for weeks after the vac had ended. The only hint that Jack acknowledged he existed were the moments Simon caught him staring, with that blank, studious look of his. Sometimes Simon wondered if Jack suspected. If the truth mixed with paranoia had created a pit inside of him. A pit that told him that somewhere deep inside of Simon was only a heart that longed for another. Jack was never good at being anything less than number one.
Simon could see Jack's Adam's apple flex beneath his tie, tensing. He usually was always good at this dance of conversation. Balancing Jack's tendency to lose himself in frustration with a docile word or touch, today, however, his steps were out of sync. Jack suddenly shifted on his feet, turning to Simon's desk. Hands fluttered through papers and began to descend towards the drawers.
“Let me see them then.”
“What?”
“Your letters. Dedicated to your best friend, Ralph.” Jack banged through the first two drawers. It was then that Simon reacted, bouncing from the bed and stretching a hand out to grip Jack's wrist before he could open the last drawer.
“Those are private.” Simon had never gripped his hand like this. Never held it with anger, only softness hidden within desperate pleasure. Simon watched as Jack's face contorted. A confusing mix of anger and desperation before he wrenched his hand away. Grabbed his coat from Simon's desk chair roughly, tipping it over slightly in his force.
“Better for me anyway. I don't exactly have the time to come see you.” Jack fastened the buttons of his coat. His cold demeanor took the sun from the room. “Besides, Mary’s been desperate to get fucked. Reminds me of someone.” He shot Simon a smug smile before schooling his face into an expression only reserved for outside of the room. Where he was seen and observed. Whatever peace had been found originally was long gone, and with one final blank look, so was the warmth of Jack's presence. Leaving Simon to wish he had only kept his mouth shut.
Jack didn't return the following Tuesday afternoon. Simon found it hard not to care, but he knew the distance was only temporary. Jack had a bad habit of letting the anger swell in his stomach before it dissipated with time. It was why he wasn't surprised when his door opened in the night. When Jack slid underneath the covers of his bed and notched his face into the crook of Simon's neck. Their bodies had grown far past being comfortable to share a single dorm bed, but it seemed not to matter when Simon brushed the curls from Jack's forehead or when Jack wrapped his arms around Simon's waist, pressing their bodies together harder, unable to sleep without the scent of Simon's skin enveloping his senses. They wouldn't talk about the words that had been said, or the people who awaited their evening that coming Friday. Those were matters for another day.