Cabin Fever (BXB)

The Night Simon Hopkins Confessed To Me

"Simon – !"

"Fuck, Micah, I love you, and I'll tell you that every goddamn day for the rest of my life, but you can't let me drag you down." His face scrunches, and he grits his teeth. "Please, out of every shitty thing I've done, let me say I'm sorry."

I stare at him, wiping his eyes with my thumbs. I'm left breathless and wondering how something so wonderful and beautiful had spiraled so quickly. "Simon, I was left alone."

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"I've been alone before, and I can't – I don't – "

"Tell me what you need me to do. I'll do it. For you, I'll fucking dive – "

"N-no, I-I don't want you to, to do this because you think it'll win me over."

He frowns. "What do you want me to do?" he asks, defeated. "Something small. Jus – something."

I inhale and wipe my eyes. I wipe his face, and there's nothing about his expression that doesn't hurt, because I know I did that, or that I was a part of it. I don't really know what to say to him about this, and I most definitely don't want to go back to his house to talk it over. I'm not ready to re-witness the mess I made.

"Micah?"

"I...don't want to go back to your place."

"Good," he sighs, and it's the lightest thing he's uttered since he found me. "Neither do I."

I look at him. "Where should we go, then?"

Simon glances down the empty street before he exhales. He wipes his face, and his fingers lace through mine. He smirks, and it's the warmest thing I've seen from him since we got here. Relieved, still hesitant and concerned, but stunningly perfect. "Let's get lost for a little."

His "getting lost" is winding through gently-gridded streets, past homes set too far back and spanning almost every decade since the start of the Industrial Revolution, and passing under trees that would make glorious tree houses. It feels aimless – the avenues all start to blur together – but after a while, I don't really care. Simon holds my hand, and he knows where he's going. We don't say much, taking the time to recollect ourselves.

People's staring becomes a game of "covert gazing". Some people are kind enough to not be so obvious about it, or whispering. It makes Simon visibly uncomfortable, and I get why. It feels disrespectful to do it so openly. I have to bite back asking them to stop, asking why this matters so much to them.

I let it pass, spark simmering in the back of my throat. I don't have the energy.

"Tell me something. About you," I finally whisper, my words gentler than the early evening breeze. I wrap my arm a little tighter around Simon's.

He takes in a shaking breath. "Anything in particular?"

"Anything. Everything."

Simon's breath trembles.

"Please?"

"I...I didn't really want to come back here." And he pauses, air inhaled through gritted teeth. He sighs, and starts pulling away from my touch.

I don't let him.

He wipes his face. "God, I-I'm so – Micah, it's complicated."

"I'm not going anywhere, Simon."

He sighs again, and our steps slow until we're at a standstill, shielded by a great tree leaning over the street. Shaking my grip from him, he wipes his face with both hands, swallowing a grunt. "Ev...everything with my dad, and mom, and – I don't even know what's going on with Finn, but when..." He slowly gets that vacant look in his blue eyes, and he glances down. "It's not that I didn't try. I did. I really tried, but none of it was enough. I thought they were doing what they thought was best, and I...I just wanted to make them happy." His arms flop at his sides. "And then I'd find myself looking around and...just..."