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jack merridew hated how he looked.
no. not just hated.
despised.
he loathed his face and his skin, his stupid eyes and especially his hair.
in his esteemed opinion, he was far too pale. in the early morning light, shimmering golden and pure, simon's skin burned a deep coffee colour. it warmed him from the inside as he gazed upon the other boy. simon's skin was oak trees and music notes, gentle orange sunrises and chocolate flavoured ices.
jack, on the other hand, was sickly looking and freckled. his skin blotched in unfortunate places and burnt all along his long nose. the freckles that adorned his skin were red, loud and present. not subtle and beautiful
like simon's.
he hated his skin.
he wasn't anything special.
just pale and ghostly and horrid.
he despised his eyes. they were too watery, too light and beady. simon's eyes were a gorgeous brown, threaded through with hints of deepest, clearest green. when he stared at them, at simon, they seemed too see everything. all his secrets, his fears and hopes and smothered desires. forbidden desires.
jack merridew didn't like being seen.
his own eyes were a light blue, set underneath bushy red brows and coupled with annoyingly long eyelashes. they were small and piercing, and although he liked to intimidate the littluns with his famous hundred yard stare, he hated his eyes.
the colour especially.
they weren't anything unique.
just boring and blue and ordinary.
his body was the worst. he was far too tall. "gangly looking" his father had called him, when he had last bothered to arrive to pick him up for the hols.
he hadn't done that in a while.
jack wanted to be like simon, who was small and lithe. quick on his feet but not conspicuously short. his arms were of perfect proportion to his body and his legs didn't take up the extra amount of space that jack's own did.
his legs were long and spindly, his arms wristy and stretched out. the freckles that stuck out, red and harsh, adorning his face, spread all the way down his body. they gathered at his forearms and thighs and stubbornly refused to leave.
jack bet that simon's freckles only reached his face and the bridge of his nose.
he hated his body, his arms and legs.
he hated it.
he wasn't anything beautiful.
just tall and obnoxious and rotted.
the thing he most abhorred was his hair. oh, his hair.
simon's hair was the most stunning shade of darkest, midnight black. like the feathers of a magpie. it cascaded on his head in curls, ending neatly at the tops of his shoulders and brushing his face in a frame. he wore it up in a bun sometimes, when he needed to focus on prep or in lesson. and when the time was just right, when the sun was just hitting his crown, jack swore his hair was a rainbow. hints of brown and chestnut, echoes of green, could be seen glinting through the ink. it suited him beautifully.
mysterious and mesmerising.
just like him.
jack's hair was an awful shade of ginger. it stood out in a crowd and never lay quite flat, instead sticking up at the front in a tuft. in the best of lights, it turned a slightly blonde colour, curling above his eyes in poofs. he never could get it to behave. when the others' hair was parted and slicked down for choir, jack's was unruly and everywhere.
an extremely annoying presence.
he hated his hair.
it wasn't anything breath-taking.
just odd and unusual and disgusting.
simon cambourne loves jack merridew's skin and his eyes and his body and especially his hair.
his loved the way his skin glowed in the firelight, the way it flushed a bright pink from games practise and frantic rugby matches in the winter. the way his freckles added depth to his skin and made constellations that simon could stare at for hours
he loved the way his eyes shone in the murky darkness as they climbed the tree of destiny together and the way they glittered as they took in his surroundings.
and maybe how he could kid himself that they glittered that way when jack looked at him.
when he was unguarded and gentle and kind.
he loved the way his legs moved, strong and capable and long, like a gazelle in the savannah. the way his hands strode along the paper, writing in scrawling, hurried cursive along the pages of their books.
he loved the way his hair tumbled about his head, never lying flat, but full of character and memory and fun.
the way it glowed a deep crimson and shone upon his head.
his unusually beautiful red hair.
simon cambourne loved all aspects of jack merridew.
he just wished he would love himself, that he would see himself the way simon saw him.
imperfectly perfect.