Simon holds me for the longest while, his hands delicate yet tight, tracing up the back of my head. His chest rises and falls against me. He radiates this sickly warmth of sweat and desperation. His breath trembles, burning on my skin, and he sniffs every so often. He buries his face into the crook of my neck.
And then I'm hugging him, in the same way a child holds their parent after getting lost in a crowd – clinging and suffocating and struggling for some grounding. I can't help myself. Suddenly, everything around us doesn't matter, and I grab at his shirt, pulling and tugging him closer. I'm scared that if I let go of him, that if I'm not touching him, I'll wake up and none of it will be real. That I'll be hiding in a bush somewhere and my mess back at Simon's house will still be waiting for me. That I'll be alone, knowing I can't change that.
"Hi," he says.
I'm ready to break down again. "Hi."
"I-I tried calling you," he whispers.
"I know. I-I'm sorry."
"I – " Something catches in his throat, and he holds me tighter. "W-why did you go? I-I mean, I know why, but-but, God, fuck, Micah. I-I – please don't – I'm so sorry."
And despite everything, I'm crying again. I can only bring him so close to me already, but he smells so good, and my chest swirls with a flurry of rage and absolute sadness. I want it to stop. "N-no, I-I didn't mean – "
"No, y-you have every right – !"
"Simon, I – "
His hands fumble to my face as he presses his forehead against mine. "No," he says, so definitively that it makes me shudder. "Don't. Please don't. I-I'm sorry, Micah. I'm so fucking sorry." His hands clasp me like I'm the last tangible thing in the entire world, and after a minute, he deflates. "Please, please forgive me, Micah. Please."
"Simon – !" But my tongue's paralyzed. I wouldn't know what to say, anyway, if I knew.
His breath matches pace with mine, and shadows start inching up our legs as the sun recedes. The world falls into gold and orange light, washed away until we stood in a cluster of hazy punches of color. A bird whistles in the distance, and leaves hush gently overhead.
We are not alone. Every so often, people drift into this realm of ours and stare, never staying for long. Some avert their eyes, cross the street and fade into foggy oblivion.
"...don't...don't say I should find someone else," I whisper, my words lost into the gentle dampness of his shirt. "Please. Please."
"I...I didn't mean – I mean, I kind of did, but I didn't – uugh." He cups my face, and the ghosts of tears marked their paths down his cheeks. "Y-you were leaving, before, and I got so fucking scared. I knew you'd come back, but I didn't – Micah, I'm so sorry."
"I-I shouldn't have left," I fumble, hands shaking. "I-I shouldn't have – "
"Don't," he says, the single word so firm I could almost hold it. "Don't apologize to me. I – it was all my fault. I'm so sorry. I-I love you, Micah, and I've messed up too many times already for you to, just, forgive me. I jus – I can't ask you to wait around for me to do some of the things you want me to do. I'm scared to dive headfirst like you want me to for everything. You've seen my family. I can't, just, open up and I can't ask you to wait for me to do it."
That spark's back in my throat. "Simon."
"I'm so sorry if there, there was ever a moment you thought I didn't love you. I-I didn't want to come back here. I didn't want to come back with you, so you could see how much of a failure I was and realize how much of a hopeless loser I am."
"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..."
"...drowning."
Simon nods. He brings his gaze back to me, and his eyes are glossy again. "You ever get that feeling of, just...drifting? Like when you float in water and you can feel yourself drifting? That's what it was like, except I was face down like a dead man. I jus – I wanted them to be happy. Feel accomplished by me. I wanted them happy." He lets go of my hand and runs both of his over his face. "And then these...waves of...like, standing at the bottom of the deep end of a pool and looking up and needing air but not swimming to the surface and seeing the light but still not moving...started happening. Or, maybe it was always there. I don't know." He crosses his arms and sighs.
I step closer and touch him. Just to remind him I'm there.
"I didn't – I planned on going to college. I didn't plan on coming out, but it all just – something happened. I said it. It came out, and Dad, he..." Simon grunted. "He asked if I was joking. He asked if I was joking, and I didn't say anything. What the fuck was I even supposed to say? And what's worse is that I could've said something, taken it back...and I didn't. We didn't even fight. I said it, and he asked me if I was joking. He told me to leave, so I did."
'Snuck out of the house like a rat. Stole the car I bought him for his 16th birthday and disappeared.'
"I packed up my stuff and left that night, because I knew Finn and Mom would try and stop me." He turns away, his steps slow, gaining speed.
I trot after him.
"I...didn't know what else to do. I started driving. I slept on the side of the road, and got a new phone number the minute I hit a new state. I withdrew everything I could. I didn't want to be found by them. I-I thought I could go back, but I just kept driving. I knew they'd be mad at me, but I never turned around."
I slip my hand into his, slowing him down.
Simon draws to another stop, his hand squeezing mine like a child holding a stuffed toy for comfort. "I...God, Micah, who – I-I want you to love me back. I do, but I don't – the thought of you knowing me, really knowing who I am, is...it's fucking terrifying."
I step in front of him. "That's...not how that works."
"I know," he whispers, his head hanging and his eyes down. "I know that I know, but it doesn't make it any less...scary."
I squeeze his hand. "Isn't that half the fun of dating someone?"
"Not for me. Never has been." He sighs. "No one's ever wanted to stick around to find out, either."
The air is finally cool, and wind sighs down the dusk-lit streets with the last of the daylight before the streetlights turn on. Budding and blooming flowers scent the breeze in lilacs and roses, violets and bluebells. For a second, as the trees sway with the wind, the world feels like it's let out its own breath of relief.
My hand, still clasped in Simon's, presses into his chest. "I hate that you left me alone."
"I know."
"A part of me really hates you, Simon."
He winces. "I...know."
"I have to know you. Because I want to, and because I want to be there for you."
"Micah, I'm – "
"Don't say 'sorry' anymore. You already have." I swallow, trying to quench my dry throat. "I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere, and I'll say that always. Until you're absolutely sick of me, and then some."
"You don't have to say that."
"I do. Know why?"
He looks at me with the saddest, most pathetic look I've ever seen.
"Because..." I sigh. "...in spite of everything, everything that's happened, I..." I look at him. "A part of me doesn't want to love you anymore, Simon. Things got hard, and you...weren't there, and I felt so alone and helpless and you – you were gone."
Simon glances away. "I know."
"What happened?"
He doesn't answer.
"Are you still drowning?"
After a second, he nods. "It'll pass."
I squeeze his hand. "How can I reach you, then?"
"I don't know."
"I don't want to wait for it to pass, Simon. Let me reach in when you're drowning. Heck, I'll drown with you if you'll let me."
He squeezes my hand back. "I...couldn't ask you – "
"I'm not asking." I step forward. "It's not 'asking' if I'm offering it already. Let me be there for you."
Simon sighs, and takes a step back. His fingertips hang on mine.
It feels like another chasm starts opening.