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the thing is, despite it all, simon is a gentle, sensitive thing. his eyes well up when rocky sings. he squirms at the sight of blood, despite insisting he's seen plenty. he curls up in your brother's arms, and it looks like something sweet.
you don't know who turned this tenderhearted boy into a killer, but it happened before he grew the extra teeth. that's why you don't trust him. you don't care that he's a freak. you care that he can't meet your eyes because you looked into them once and already had his number. you're a cadaver dog, and simon smells like death.
you go through all of ryland's notes to find what you need, thinking about the composition book diary he kept when he was ten. you never would've touched that, but circumstances are different.
ry had dutifully logged everything simon had told him, even while he'd still been delirious. most of it is nonsense. but there's enough.
neither colt nor rocky can sleep without some part of their body touching ry, so when you watch, they're on either side of him. it's probably why simon stays up with you.
"i know about butcher," you offer, not looking away from the twins.
it's silent for a while.
"butcher is dead."
you laugh. "six was dead until i needed something from him."
"six?"
"c'mon, kid. i know you smell it on me, too."
something clears up in simon's voice. "you don't like... people like us. around them."
"bullseye," you reply. "but i like them happy more." you realize, staring at his slack face, that ryland's still wearing his glasses. properly, naturally, only now that he's asleep. you gently remove them, and hand them to simon.
"you make rylie happy." that much is obvious. "so here's what i think. i think you're going to be the perfect boyfriend. you're going to push butcher deep, deep down inside, and you're never going to have to meet six. sound like a plan?"
you don't know it, but the man you're speaking to has seen into the eye of god.
he swallows before he answers, "yeah. yes."
and then, softer, "... thank you."
gentle, sensitive thing.