Chapter Text
The holiday was Simon's idea.
“Ah'm thinking ae taking Ben somewhere this summer,” he said one night during the ad break. They were watching Match of the Day in their jocks, bare feet on the coffee table. Mark had already kicked over two cans and was concentrating as to not make it a hat trick. “A campsite oan the continent, like. A sun holiday.”
“Aye, that'd be nice. When does he finish school fae Summer?”
“End of June. Ah wis thinking mibbe the first week ae July?” Simon opened another can and passed it to Mark. “It'd be hot but hopefully no’ tae hot, ken?”
“Aye,” Mark took the can gratefully, and tried to ignore the weird feeling in his stomach as he imagined a week in the flat without Simon. The thought should come as a relief, a welcome break from his incessant chatter and mess, but surprisingly it didn't. “Would Amanda let ye take him away?”
The custody battle had been hell, even with Diane's legal expertise, but over the last year Amanda had softened. The initial court legislated one weekend every three months had increased to one a month, a combination of Simon's regular clean tests and Ben's own enthusiasm for visits.
Mark would never tell him but he loved those weekends too. He'd accepted at this point that adopting a kid was probably off the cards for him now, considering that in two years he hadn't even been on a second date with a woman since his divorce and he wasn't getting any younger, but it was nice to spend time with Simon's. Ben was eleven, full of energy and that familiar Williamson cheek, and Simon never once tried to keep him to himself.
When he'd first been permitted one weekend every three months, Mark had imagined he'd be expected to make himself scarce and let them have quality time together, or even move out for the weekend, but that hadn't been the case. Instead, the three of them had spent the whole two days together, and every visit since had been the same.
It was weird, watching Simon parent, and even weirder still to feel like he was a part of it. Every trip to the cinema, every football game…it was Simon, Ben, Mark. Even in the framed pictures on the mantle. There was one of Ben as a baby in Simon's arm, one of Mark and Simon in their teens (courtesy of Cathy Renton), and then three more recent pics of them together that Simon had got printed the summer before. Mark had pretended not to notice the new additions, but his stomach flipped everytime he looked at the one of Ben in Hibs strip with them standing behind him and beaming proudly. Simon. Ben, Mark.
They'd even fucking taken him to visit Mark's dad at New Years. The whole thing was mental, but he wasn't going to bring it up and risk Simon deciding he didn't want him being a part of his kid's life after all. He'd grown fond of the little demon and frequently found himself looking at clothes or games that Ben might like.
“Ye’re fuckin' spoilin' him,” Simon complained in Argos one time. “He already has a Switch.”
“Aye, here. No’ in London. He seid he misses it,” Mark countered. “An’ ye willnae let him take it hame because yew like playing it yersel - dinnae lie.” Simon had rolled his eyes but when Mark glanced at him at the till, he was smiling like an eejit.
“She will, ah'm certain. If ah gie her aw the details an’ sit still fae a million safety lectures. Ae course she will. It'd be guid fae him, a proper caravan sun holiday, after aw these fuckin’ Coningsby family city breaks.”
Mark snorted. Although relations with Simon's ex-wife had improved considerably, he still hated her father with a passion and subjected Mark to many a rant or unflattering impression of the old man.
“Dae ye want me tae take a look at offers then? Ye’ll git a better price if ye book in advance.”
Simon wasn’t much of a tech wiz, and was a serial procrastinator when it came to anything that required commitment. You could just smell the ADHD off him sometimes.
“Aye, thit’d be braw.”
And then the ad break finished and that was the end of it, at least for another three weeks.
"Ah found a guid deal. Aboot two grand fae ten days. The campsite’s in the West ae France, oan the coast sae ye kin walk tae beach as well. There's pools an’ aw, wi slides.” He pushed the laptop towards Simon. “Huv a look. Ye’d be flying intae Bourdeax, mair than likely, an’ renting a car.”
Simon tapped through the photos. “Looks guid.” He paused, squinting, and then scrolled down the page to read the text, before grinning. “Only two bedrooms, Rent Boy.”
Mark felt his heart do something funny. He hoped his implant was working and he wasn't about to die at thirty eight, sitting at Simon's kitchen table. “Is…is Amanda going wi ye?”
He knew things had been improving but he'd never imagined enough to go on holiday together. He thought of Simon shirtless at the pool, his effortless charm. Surely she knew there was no way that they wouldn't end up shagging again. Jesus, maybe that was why Simon was so eager about this trip. Maybe he knew a week together would be enough to get her back in his bed, and she wouldn't be able to resist him after getting another taste. Maybe they'd come back a couple again and Mark would have to–
“Amanda?? Git tae fuck, Rents, yer no’ funny. Ah meant, are ye expecting me tae share wi Ben if there's only two bedrooms?”
Mark frowned, even more confused. “Two bedrooms,” he repeated.
“Aye. Whit, ye want us tae share?’
“Us?”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Are ye gone fuckin' deaf or something? Us. Yew and me.”
“Ye want…me tae come?” Mark asked slowly.
“Aye?” Simon was looking at him like he was fuckin' stupid, like this had been obvious all long. “Ae course.”
His heart again. He wondered if maybe he should go to the doctors about it. “Oh. Awright.”
“If ye want tae, like.” Simon started flicking through the photos again. It was unfair, how casual he could be about this. Like it wasn't a big deal, him inviting Mark on his first holiday with his son. Not inviting, expecting.
“Ah'd love tae,” he managed. There was a massive lump in his throat.
That got Simon's attention. “Aye, ae course ye would,” he said, grinning at him over the screen. “Only two beds.”
He felt himself flush.
Well done, Renton. Way tae sound like an eager buftie.
“Well, ah hudnae factored masel intae the equation when ah found the place,” he said stiffly. “Ah'll find another yin.”
“Naw, dinnae bother. Ah like this yin. Bed looks big enough, we kin jis’ share. No’ like we huvnae before.”
No’ in at least twelve years, Mark wanted to say, but he didn't. “Awright.”
“Dinnae kill yersel wi enthusiasm,” Simon said sarcastically.
“Naw, it sounds guid,” he manages. “Thanks fae bringing me.”
He didn’t need to look up to feel the eye roll that earned him. “Yer such a twit. Cannae believe ye didnae think yer coming. Ah cannae fuckin’ cook, ah'll still need ma personal chef in France. It'll be nice anyway, lads’ holiday. Mibbe ye’ll lighten up a bit, lose some ae the stress. Guid fae yer heart tae jis…relax.”
Mark looked at the pictures again before he books it, and disnae- disnae think about the small double bed and how weird it would feel to be pressed up against Simon in it like bairns again.