The next day, after a disagreeable sleep that stains the skin under Simon's eyes a faded violet, Simon leaves his hotel feeling a multitude of emotions, though his mind names none of them. (To name is to give power, and the last thing Simon wants to do is fuel his self-inflicted heartbreak, his rightful remorse or his immaterial trepidation. They're rotten feelings, the lot of them.) Hopefully, Tobi won't find out that Simon has packed away those various emotions the same way he packed away the gifts from the welcome basket that had been laid out on his bed amidst a layer of rose petals. As he shoulders his rucksack - now full with two fluffy bathrobes amongst other fancy toiletries and decadent chocolates - the man sighs. His side feels cold without Harry right there next to him, and his heart burns painfully with Harry's name stitched across it in the shorter man's scraggly handwriting.
He's rather glad Ethan was one of the ones who chose to travel straight back home yesterday, rather than staying the night in the area. He has a family to go home to, so of course he did. (Unlike Simon... who doesn't have so much as a partner waiting for him to return.) He can confidently say that the other man would, without fail, point out the implausible explanation for why Simon essentially organised a one night couple's stay for the same day he decided to test Harry's patience and anxieties. Especially considering he knows perfectly well how Harry can get when he's frustrated – the younger man is always even more intense whenever he recognises that people are purposely trying to get a rise out of him.
And Simon had seen it, yesterday. He could see it in Harry's eyes, that recognition, the resulting woundedness and exasperated indignation. And yet he carried on anyway, laughing and taunting as he observed with eagle-eyed attention every move and sound Harry made. He had searched with bated breath for any sign that Harry wouldn't want to make a commitment with Simon, wouldn't want to eventually promise himself to Simon in exchange for Simon's own oath. That he wouldn't want to deal with Simon's baggage from his last relationship; the one that scorched his sense of self and demolished his trust in both himself and others. Harry had been the only one impervious to that... until Simon realised his feelings for the other man, as well as the fact that the two of them together is slowly becoming a reality more so than a dream. Or, well, it was. Up until Simon worked his worthless magic.
Now he'll be lucky if Harry even looks at him, or speaks to him, ever again. Simon can definitely forget the idea of ever calling Harry his boyfriend, though. At least he has the excuse of the Sidemen, he supposes, in a vile instant of selfish yearning. With the group they're both a part of, and their rapidly growing fanbase, Harry has no choice but to ensure Simon continues to stay as a constant in his life. If they can't be friends at the very least, then Harry will just have to get used to the fact that they are co-workers. It would be a lie to say Simon wouldn't mind becoming colleagues above all else, but he knows he'll have to get used to that being the case now. He understands with tainted clarity that he is the only one to blame, after all. He may have been the victim once, but that doesn't excuse his behaviour now, all these years later. It both started and ended years ago, and this situation is nothing like his previous one. He's neither twenty-five nor twenty-nine anymore. Those four years were a dark period for him, yes, but it's also nearly four years on from that time. He needs to get over himself!
With that thought in mind, Simon steps off the platform and onto the train that will take him back to London - not back to Harry, which is what he really wishes for, but back to the populated, lively city at the very least. If only he had used his heart instead of his head. Maybe if he had listened to Tobi in a regular way, had absorbed his words in a way not derided by the idea of his ex, then Simon wouldn't have fucked up as much as he knows he has. Maybe if he had done all that, then he would still have more than just the idea of Harry clouding over his soul with the greyest of pre-storm clouds. Arguably, the storm has already passed. Or just started, is perhaps more like it.
Figuratively but not physically injured, Simon takes a seat, placing his bulging bag on the empty seat next to him and quickly fishing through the front pocket of it to retrieve his AirPods. He stares at the chipped state of their case, which used to bring a mystifying, twisted smile to his face as he would think back to the peculiar cause of the damage, picturing himself and Harry mucking about on the set of a recent second channel shoot. Now, however, his lips merely warp in a devastated show of emotion. His eyes slide shut, making the conscious decision to suppress the memory as well as attempt to crush his feelings for Harry along with it. (It obviously doesn't work, and might not ever. Simon's heart is forever indebted to Harry, as is his mental state. Harry has always been the sunshine in Simon's drab day of a life, always been the sunflower amongst the sea of daisies being offered up to Simon.) As if in a trance, he takes the white earphones out of their case one by one, then shows the same courtesy by plugging them in his ears in the same order he removed them from the case.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket at a leisurely pace, unlocking it and scrolling through until he's able to load up a music app. With an almost wary reluctance, he settles on a playlist, both embarrassed and irritated with himself knowing it's the one Harry made for him a couple days ago, when they settled on their need to talk to each other about what is they are becoming. Were becoming.
As the first song in the playlist drifts along, Simon lilts his head back against his chair's headrest. He listens with closed eyes and tense muscles. The hand holding his phone clenches into a fist, the edges of the device digging into his skin uncomfortably. He unconsciously nods his head along to the beat.
The song draws to a delicate conclusion, leaving Simon feeling ready to cry right there in the first class carriage of the train
Take my heart, don't break it
Love me to my bones
All this time I wasted
You were right there all along
YOU ARE READING
Security
FanfictionIt is half way through the video shoot, about ten minutes after Simon notices that Harry is getting antsy, that Harry is dragged away from where the rest of the group are gathered. He notices a couple odd looks from some of their newer crew members...
