Security

Chapter 4

Danny keeps winking at him. He does it every time they catch eyes, without failure, and it's pushing Harry closer and closer to the edge of his emotions. The expression is exaggerated, the wink also accompanied by a knowing smirk. It has Harry on the brink of crying.

The thing is, Danny doesn't know that nothing actually happened that day he walked in on them. Simon's hasty departure four days ago left a hole in Harry's heart, but Danny's smugness digs deeper and deeper until there's suddenly a crater in Harry's chest.

"It's alright, Harry," the sudden, unexpected whisper in said man's ear makes him startle, "You go ahead with Simon. I'll distract the rest so you guys can have some time alone together." Danny continues before successfully drawing away Randolph and Chris to some other hallway.

The only two left in the corridor, then, are Simon and Harry. It should be awkward, especially with how hurt Harry has been feeling since Simon walked out on him before a kiss, but Simon is acting like everything is normal. Since he first arrived at the shoot location nearly two hours ago, Simon has been attempting to engage Harry in some of their regular conversations. Harry has avoided each effort with a stubborn determination.

"Have you done the ducks yet? Let's head there."

Harry doesn't reply to Simon, but he does silently follow the older man to the room with the hook a duck task in it.

He doesn't bother trying to complete the task, not even when Simon offers him the hook to take the first go. He watches Simon complete the task - he does it in a mere two attempts, which Harry won't admit is cool - and all the while feels uncomfortable. It's not yet at the level where his entire body feels constrained, but his throat is starting to constrict painfully.

"You sure you don't want a go?" Simon asks him, and he's staring at Harry with a rather disconcerting expression from where he's still leant over the pool of water. He looks a mixture of concerned and abashed as he stands straight again, his eyes zeroed in on Harry's harrowed stance.

Harry doesn't think before he says it; the words come up like acid, blurted so suddenly he doesn't have the chance to regret them until they've already smacked both men in the face. "W-why-y did you run a-away?"

It's probably less the question and more so the way the question is said that causes Simon's face to crumble instantly.

To make matters worse, and the situation more painful, Harry hasn't stuttered when alone with Simon nearly ever. The only exceptions are the first couple times the two met, back when Harry was sixteen and had decided to uproot himself to a whole other country than the one he grew up in. It really didn't take long for him to clutch on to Simon, though, who exuded safety and succour. (It's distressing to register the fact that Simon is apparently perfectly capable of also being the exact opposite to him.)

It's not suspicious that Simon stays silent in response, but it is cowardly. The older man gulps, his eyes darting down to watch his hand twirl the hook in the air. If it was anyone else, Harry would likely call them out on the spineless behaviour, but this is Simon. Simon has never been just anyone to Harry. (Harry hopes he'll never become that. Unfortunately, with the way Simon is behaving, it is becoming way too feasible of a prospect.)

Seconds tick by in an unbearable silence, until several minutes have passed before Simon finally works up the nerve to actually respond.

"It would be a pretty dick mood if I killed you right now, wouldn't it?"

He sounds as tense and embarrassed as he looks, and the horrific joke falls flat (which is unsurprising, considering who its audience is). There was no true effort in it, but either way, Harry can't believe the audacity of the other. He doesn't even care that Simon has just outed himself as the imposter. That's the last thing on his mind at this current moment in time.

The miniscule, salty tears that suddenly begin sliding down Harry's face in the multiples are a much harsher pill for Simon to swallow than any words the younger could ever say. Simon would literally prefer Harry to scream abuse at him, until he's red in the face and panting, than have to watch the younger cry in silence.

"Shit, Harry, don't cry!" Simon rushes forward as he speaks, dropping the hook to the floor, his arms raised ready to envelop Harry in a hug. Except, this time Harry doesn't try to meet him halfway lie he usually would, instead sends Simon flying backwards by shoving him. Hard. A loud splash rings out in the tiny room as Simon lands directly in the middle of the small pool, water soaking his clothes and puddling on the floor around them.

"Y-you don't have the r-right to touch me any more."

Simon sits there, gobsmacked, staring up at Harry with a visibly astonished look in his eyes. As he stands, both slowly and messily, he says, "I guess I deserved that."

Harry stares at him, face set and voice resolute as he demands, "Tell me why you ran away."

It's almost as if, by pushing Simon down into the water, Harry's subconscious recognises he has the upper hand in this situation, even if it - to him - doesn't feel like he does. He's gained back his stolen confidence and comfort by humiliating the older man. The back of Simon's white overalls are soaked through, and he didn't bring a spare set of clothes with him.

Simon swallows, nervous, as he takes a step closer to his friend. He doesn't dare try to touch him again, not after such a physical (almost repulsed) reaction. He shrugs, staring at Harry's face where he notices the tears are drying. No more are falling now, at least.

Simon shrugs, avoiding eye contact. "I was scared."

"Why?" Harry asks before he can stop himself, "Scared of what?"

"I don't really know." Simon answers honestly. He finally makes eye contact, and the action is to his benefit because it allows Harry to notice the earnestness projected in the deep gaze.

They stay gazing at one another for several more minutes. Forget cutting the tension with a knife, their connection is being stitched back together, their hurt buried and left to suffocate.

"But I think I-" Simon starts shakily, his tone audibly lacking his usual self-assurance. He's courageous but no longer assertive, which feels weird for the both of them. "I think I'm more afraid of losing you than I am of whatever it was that sent me running from that room with my tail between my legs."

Harry is out of it enough, too focused on Simon's captivating eyes, that he doesn't realise the taller man has been walking steadily closer the entire time he talked. He can suddenly feel the sensation of warm breath puffing against his lips, and it leaves his own breathing stuttered and irregular. Harry slowly inches his face closer, heart pounding deafeningly, painfully, inside his chest. Just as soft lips begin to brush, the sound of the door slamming open echoes around the room.

"Oops, sorry guys! I thought you'd be done by now."

Neither man looks over at the newcomer, even as Simon orders, "Get out, Danny."

"Yes boss!" Danny salutes, wasting not a single second before retreating from the room. "Don't have too much fun in here, it's a public space."

Simon doesn't give Harry the chance to process what currently is happening. Before he can say anything, Simon leans in for a kiss. Their lips lock together in a passionate embrace, gentle hands coming to rest on either the face or hips of the other man.

When they pull away, they're both panting, smiling cautiously.

"I think I'm scared of loving you." Simon tells Harry, wrapping his arms around the younger and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. "But I also know loving you is so worth it, even when I'm not in a relationship with you."

Hold on. Did Simon just admit that he loves him?