Chapter Text
Roger could count at least five people he had bumped shoulders with as he made his way out of the too-loud, too-overcrowded party. The event has been raging for at least three to four hours by now, cheap makeshift disco lights alternating through bright, neon colors and reflecting through the windows and surfaces outside. The air had gotten too stuffy for him even as he spent the hours rotting away on just one corner, only getting up to refill his cup which he's pretty sure has been spiked halfway into the party.
He's never been a party guy, he'd tell you that. Why he attends these get-togethers is a wonder many share but no one bats an eye as he slips away through the back door of one of the boarding school houses.
Roger had stayed long enough to witness his friends get drunk enough to start losing track of their dignity which naturally was Roger's cue to go. And by to go he means to grab one of the half empty bottles of alcohol snuck in by god knows who and get some fresh air. Which may also be another word for he needs a damn smoke.
He shuts the door just in time to hear— who he assumes to probably be—Maurice crash onto one of the tables which earns him a slight grimace. He'd probably have to drag him and their other housemates back home. Whether he'd be provided any help rests on if Jack Merridew stays sober enough to get some of the boys off his back.
Roger tugs irritatedly at the front of his jacket zipper, pulling it down and opening his jacket wide enough to let the cold night breeze reach the hidden parts of his torso. The party was supposed to be a year starter. One last moment of freedom before the school year starts back up again and the students are forced back into their learning seats. The campus mostly allowed these activities, especially when mixed with promises of uniformity and good behavior. Roger wouldn't really say the thick air of tipsy teenagers and weed sat under the umbrella of good behavior but it wasn't his place to judge.
He took the chance anyway, mourning his stupidly spent summer as he craves for a surprise extension. Roger had spent his summer doing absolutely nothing. His friends had made the most out of their vacation, Robert even finding himself a job at a nearby bookstore while Roger had been lounging around his aunt's house all day everyday.
He'd worry about it when the time comes. Right now, all he has to worry about is his busted lighter and its unwillingness to cooperate.
He made his way to the small, open pavilion outside. His thumb had started to burn slightly at the repeated action of trying to activate his lighter, the paper around the cigarette crinkling and bending in a very unsatisfying way. Could his night get any worse? He clicked his tongue furiously, pulling the stick out of his mouth and tapping it a few times against his wrist to compact the leaves inside back into place.
The flame lit up finally after the fifth try, his throat burning as the smoke glided from his lips and settled to the bottom of his lungs.
A bottle of alcohol at his feet, a lit cigarette between his fingers and the loud music playing outside of his personal bubble, Roger leaned his head back onto the rough brick pillars of the pavilion and indulged in the small, lonely blanket he had created for himself. Away from the people, and away from whatever problem was threatening to enter his mind and ruin his night.
He made sure to enjoy the few quiet moments like this. Who knows how long it’ll be for the next one to arrive.
He closed his eyes, the smoke slipping from his lips and flowing like water around his head. Roger swallowed the slight irritation in his throat, staring at the night sky partially obscured by the wilting trees ahead. He noted how cold the autumn breeze had gotten at this hour which was pretty unusual, especially in the middle of September.
Bending down to reach for the bottle at his feet, his ears pick up a slight disturbance in the air making him hesitate for a fraction of a second. When no further sounds echoed, he breathed an air of relief. He would hate to share his space with another person right now.
He raised the bottle to his lips, the bitter liquid mixing with the smokey aftertaste in his mouth. He takes a few hearty gulps, not caring about the way his lips twitched at the horrid taste. The alcohol did its job of warming up Roger’s insides though, the heat traveling through his body.
Roger was in the middle of raising the bottle back to his lips when a thump to his right caught his attention. He turned towards where the noise came from only to see a figure emerging from one of the corners of the dark pavilion. The sudden appearance made Roger recoil from fright, the bottle slipping from his fingers and colliding with the floor with a sickening shatter.
“Jesus Christ.” He muttered with a sharp exhale, turning away from the boy to hide his disturbed reaction.
How long had he been there? He cringed at the thought of having spent his alone time with an unnoticed person across the pavilion this whole time. How stealthy does one have to be to stay hidden for so long anyway?
He sneered at the shards scattered at his feet, the liquid drenching the front of his shoe as he swipes them away.
He turned to the boy just in time to hear him end a quiet murmur. Roger hadn’t quite heard what he said, the music from the party drowning out his meek voice. Though the lights blaring from its open windows gave Roger a slightly clear view of the boy now that he’s stepped out of the darker area of the pavilion.
One side of his face reflected the red, blue and green lights while the other shone with nothing but the moonlight yet Roger could point out the mess of curls atop his flushed, slightly freckled face. It was almost absent in the night and the average person never would’ve noticed it, not without the sunlight. But Roger had seen those freckles in the sunlight before.
“What?” He asked, asking him to repeat his words as he brought his cigarette to his lips to inhale a lungful.
“I’m sorry.” He said again.
Roger scowled, “I can’t hear you.” He raised his voice a tad bit higher, the music preventing him from hearing the words tumbling out of the boy’s mouth.
The brunette swallowed a lump in his throat, inching a little closer and speaking louder than usual. “I’m sorry! For scaring you!”
Roger could tell it took him a bit of strain to raise his voice higher than he was comfortable with. Simon had always been on the quieter side, even back in choir when they shared the same performances, his voice always blended into the masses never standing out of place.
He could see the way Simon shook slightly, visible air blowing through his lips from the cold, a sharp contrast to the cloud of smoke circling his head.
He sighed, and for a few seconds, they both just stood there. Roger turned away to face the railing of the pavilion while Simon shifted where he stood thinking of his next course of action. Roger didn’t say anything further. What was there to say? The boy had nearly scared him half to death even if he’d never admit it and also cost him a perfectly fine bottle of half filled alcohol.
Simon shifts from one foot to another before clearing his throat and asks, “Would you like me to leave?”
Roger didn’t bother to reply with a tangible sentence, instead dropping what was now just the filter of his cigarette, stomping on it and pulling out a fresh stick from his metal case. He nods curtly, flicking his lighter a few times before breathing in his second cigarette of the night and Simon quickly takes the hint.
Problem solved.
But for some reason, Simon didn’t leave. He quietly made his way to the farthest end of the pavilion, brushing off some dried leaves off of one of the benches and sitting with his hands under his sweater as an attempt to warm them up.
From inside the main building, the music swelled. Someone shouted something unintelligible, followed by a chorus of laughter. Simon glanced toward the sound, his expression briefly tightening before he looked away again.
He couldn't go back in just yet.
Not until he was certain he was all right. The noise, the heat, the crush of bodies in the hall. He'd already spent the better part of the evening trying to convince Ralph that he didn't need to be watched like a hawk. He wasn't about to prove him right by returning before he was ready. Besides, Ralph was still inside, and Simon had promised he'd find him before leaving.
He wasn’t just going to disappear without saying goodbye. But he’d rather he wait the party out than go back, trigger a seizure and leave an even bigger mess for Ralph to clean up.
Roger only stared incredulously, turning his head to look at the brunette who left a large area of space in between them, trying hard to avoid Roger’s space. When he noticed Roger’s eyes on him, he met his gaze with a look of slight shame, seemingly understanding Roger’s confusion.
‘You shouldn’t have offered to leave if you weren’t planning on doing so anyway.’ Was what he wanted to say. Instead, he just turned back to mind his own business.
Roger exhaled another slow stream of smoke, watching it curl and thin against the cold. Almost immediately, a soft white puff answered from the far end of the pavilion—Simon’s breath, visible in the September air. Roger’s eyes flicked sideways. Another drag. Another deliberate cloud from his lips. Another answering plume from Simon, quiet and stubborn, as if the boy were answering some private challenge.
He turned his head fully this time, his elbow perched on the railing. "Do you smoke?"
Simon looks up from where he sat, hands rubbing together to create friction under the warmth of his sweater. He thought about it for a second, "No."
Roger considered him for a second longer—the thin sweater, the way his hands were shoved deep underneath it, the visible tremor that had nothing to do with nerves. He jerked his chin toward the empty space on the bench nearer the middle of the pavilion. “You’ll freeze out here. Come closer if you want. The brick holds a little heat.”
"Oh." Simon shook his head at once. “I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself.” Roger took another drag, slower this time, and watched the answering puff of cold air rise from Simon’s mouth like a mirror. He let the silence stretch until the music inside swelled again and someone hollered loudly.
"Why are you out here?" He hears the brunette ask.
Roger shrugged, humming slightly as he formed his words. "Party's done for me. Just waiting on some friends."
He'd been pretty tipsy before he made his way here, the smoke and fresh air helping to bring him back to land. He was pretty much clear headed at the moment but he wasn't sure if he could say the same about his friends. One of them might just be taking a shot on a headstand right now and he wouldn't know about it.
He glanced down, "You?"
Simon’s gaze drifted toward the glowing windows, then away again. "Same as you. Kind of. It got kinda stuffy and bright and uhm- loud."
Roger nodded, noncommittal.
Simon kept his eyes on Roger for a moment before deciding on asking his question. "Can I get your name?"
He wasn't expecting his night to go wayward with a boy sitting across from him making small talk as they both escaped from the gathering happening inside. He wasn't sure if he'd want to give out his name that easily. Especially since he's pretty sure they'd forget each other once the night passes anyway.
Against his better judgment, he gives in anyway. "Roger."
Simon nodded, a shy smile tugging at his mouth.
"Roger." He repeated, testing the way the name rolls off of his tongue. "I'm—"
"Simon. I know." Surprised, Simon turns to Roger as he completes his sentence for him. "We used to be in choir together."
Simon couldn't tell whether the blonde was lying or not. He doesn't remember ever meeting a boy named Roger during his time as a choir boy but to be honest, it had been years since he last sang. He had quit after sixth grade, opting for focusing on his studies instead. He was never really a well known member either. He's more surprised that Roger had remembered his presence at all.
Simon’s eyes stayed on the cigarette between Roger’s fingers for a long moment. The colored lights from the party windows flickered across his freckles.
“You’re smoking,” he said. Simon’s voice stayed soft, but there was a note of genuine confusion in it. “Is that allowed? When you're in choir?"
It didn't take much to correct the brunette and admit that he had quit years ago but he didn't want to go down the long path of explaining why. Instead, he just let the words settle in the air as Simon observed him for an answer that never came.
Roger observed him back. The boy was still curled in on himself as an attempt to conserve heat. He sighed, pulling out the cigarette from his lips and offering it to the boy again.
Simon stared at the offer like it might bite him. "I don't—"
"It might warm you up." Roger's voice was flat, almost bored. "Just try it."
The pause that followed stretched far too long for Roger's liking, feeling his hand start to strain from holding the stick forward for too long. If he had waited longer, the cigarette might have turned to dust already. Roger had started to retract his hand when Simon slowly stood from his place at the bench, walking slowly towards Roger before breaking out into a small jog.
He turned his body to fully face Simon as the brunette brought his hands from under his sweater to hesitantly take the stick from Roger's hands. He could feel a quaint smile tug at his lips as the boy struggled to hold the cigarette naturally, his hands shaking slightly as he placed it between his index and middle finger, imitating how Roger had held it before bringing it to his own lips.
"Inhale, don't sip."
Simon's eyes darted from Roger and the cigarette a few times before taking his first inhale which definitely went far too deep that he anticipated. His eyes went wide, body jerking a few times as he coughed up clouds of smoke from his lungs. Simon could swear his throat was melting away right now, the burning sensation leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Roger watched, chuckling smugly. He reached over, plucked the cigarette back before Simon could drop it, and took a calm drag of his own while the boy kept coughing into his sleeve.
“Again?” He offered sarcastically.
“No th—” The brunette lets out another cough, raising his hand to rub at his chest. “No thank you. Christ, that’s horrid.”
“You get used to it.”
Roger said it to the open air, watching Simon wipe at his watering eyes with the heel of his hand. The brunette was still sitting a little too straight, still trying to breathe the taste out of his mouth.
“I don’t think I want to. You shouldn’t either.” Simon’s gaze flicked to the cigarette between Roger’s fingers, then back up, green eyes staring at him in confusion. “You actually like it?”
But somewhere beneath those green orbs, Roger could pick out the distinct presence of something he could only describe as disapproval and censure. The way Simon looked and spoke was to him like a person with very bad life choices. It left a bitter taste on Roger
“Is it a problem?” He replied, almost challenging him to continue further.
“Well there’s better things to do than smoke.” Simon tugged the sleeves of the jacket back over his knuckles, sensing the disdain on Roger’s words. He tried to sugarcoat his words a little more. “Yet you still choose to smoke. It’s bad for you.”
Roger let out a slow breath through his nose, smoke trailing out with it. He tilted his head and gave Simon a long, unimpressed look.
“I can choose to do far worse. But I don’t. I oughta get a thank you but I don’t. Instead I get a batty kid thinking he can tell me what to do.” He tapped the ash onto the concrete rails. “What’s it to you?”
“Worse how?”
Simon waits for a reply but Roger doesn’t answer. His jaw shifted, and he looked away toward the treeline as if something out there had caught his attention. Simon watched him for a moment. The quiet should have been his cue to let it go, but he’d never been very good at that.
Against his better judgement, he chose to continue. “Just because someone isn’t doing something terrible doesn’t necessarily make what they are doing good.”
Simon could swear there was something in Roger that made each bone in his spine rattle. He had stumped his cigarette down onto the railing, extinguishing its fire without as much as a glance towards it. Instead, his blue eyes bore into Simon in a way that Simon could only describe as unsettling. Actually, scratch that. It was very uncanny in a way that Simon couldn’t read what exactly was going through his mind at the moment.
Roger’s eyes were expressionless. His eyebrows raised in amusement. Simon couldn’t tell whether it was only for show—amusement shifting to awe before falling back to expressionless. But his words were easy, the voice people use over a cup of tea.
“Are you saying I’m a bad person then, Simon?”
“What? No.” Simon’s hands came out of his sleeves, a hasty, flustered gesture. “That’s not what I...”
“Then what are we arguing about?”
Simon opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. He hadn’t realized it was an argument until it was named, and now he had no idea how to climb out of it. He settled for narrowing his eyes, color rising high in his cheeks despite the cold.
“Are you always this nosy?”
“Is it a problem?” He recognized immediately as his own words rolled off of Simon’s mouth in an attempt to tease.
“There’s better things to do than be nosy.” Roger replied, his face showing signs of smugness and pride as he threw Simon’s lecture right back at him. The air between them shifted. Simon looked ready to say something else but his eyes held no real heat within them, feeding into the witty banter they had going on. Simon opened his mouth to speak but before he could, the music inside stopped.
It didn’t fade or shift into a new song. Instead, it cut off mid-beat, as if someone had pulled a plug, and the sudden absence of sound was so total it rang in their ears. The bass that had been thrumming through the pavilion’s floorboards for hours vanished from under their feet.
They had turned their heads towards the party just in time to see the bright neon disco lights going out and being replaced with bright fluorescent lights.
Distantly, through the walls, the noise of the party rose again, but it wasn’t the same. The laughter was gone and was replaced with murmurs. Voices overlapped, sharp and confused, then swelled into the clamor of a crowd being herded toward the exits, Mr.Campbell’s booming voice was impossible to ignore, shouting angrily as he yelled for the students to ‘Get their asses back to their dorms.’
And that was Roger’s cue to go. The house staff had probably gotten word of rowdy teenagers sneaking god knows what inside the party and decided to shut it down for good. He sighed, tilting his head back in annoyance. Here comes the worst part of his night, having to deal with his drunk mates. God he really hopes Jack is sober.
Just as he looks back down, he finds that Simon had already gotten a few meters away from him, his curls bouncing slightly as he runs the distance from the pavilion to the house. Probably off to find his friends. He exhales, kicking off of the railings and making his way towards the same direction.
Roger quickly met up with his friends, Maurice surprisingly sober enough to stand while Robert rested on Jack’s and Bill’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen Simon again for the rest of the night, assuming he most likely went home like the others but a feeling of discontent settled in his stomach for the rest of their walk home. He surely didn’t expect spending the night exchanging witty banter with a long familiar face but he wouldn’t mind picking up where they left off.
He adjusted Bill’s weight on his side, tuning out Jack’s muttered complaints as he thinks back to the last seconds of their interaction. He wonders what quick-witted comment Simon wanted to throw back at him or where the night would’ve taken them if their bubble hadn’t been disrupted.