Security

Chapter 12

"No, no, no," Simon rushes the words out hastily, the mere idea of what Harry implies by asking that question making him feel sick to his stomach. A nauseous feeling settles at the back of his throat, unsettling him. "I trust you! Shit, of course I trust you. I trust you more than anything."

His words have a rough, panicked edge to them that sounds harsh even to his own ears, though perhaps that's because he knows more than anyone just how true the sentiment really is. He tries pulling Harry back towards him again, his hand gentle against the other's cheek. His stomach flutters when Harry allows him the action, leaning closer until their foreheads touch. The two contrasting shades of blue connect in a soft gaze, the two pairs of eyes wet with unshed tears and commanding soul.

"Then why would you... why would you choose to test me in that way?" Harry sniffles as he talks, shiny eyes still red-rimmed, worsened by the way he rubs his fist and then his palm against them. "You treated me badly just to catch me out? Did you want for me to leave you?"

Harry's breath catches on the word 'leave', the 'l' timid and hesitant, soft with upset and disbelief. He doesn't seem to want to say the words, yet he pushes them out with an almost irritated lilt to them.

"Gosh, I say that as if we're actually even together, yet." Harry takes a breath, his head twitching against Simon's hand. He doesn't move away, but it's impossible for Simon to take that as a positive considering how hurt Harry looks as he stares back at him. The eye contact stings, but the thought of Harry avoiding him (in any sense of the word) in this moment feels like a punch to the gut. "Did you hope you could get me to walk away? That you could make yourself feel better by not being the one to break it off. You think me stupid enough; you think so little of me you actually decided to make me believe I was in control of the situation meanwhile you were pulling my strings until I gave you what you wanted."

Simon wants to remind Harry the words he said not ten minutes ago, the precious words they exchanged in a heartfelt moment of trust. But he can't. He can't. Not with the way Harry is looking at him now, eyes alight with betrayal and wounded passion.

"It's always so light-hearted when you manipulate the games we play in MoreSidemen shoots. Your little smirk, your little laugh, they're infuriating and yet- yet I love those things about you because you're so smart. You put the rest of us to shame, it makes me so proud. I think I fall a little bit harder for you every time, a little bit more in love. But this time, this time-" Harry chokes on a laugh, void of humour and heavy with pain.

A moment after, and then they both speak. At the same time. As Simon begins with, "Harry, you don't understand-" Harry finishes with, "I didn't realise you could be so genuinely malicious."

Harry falters at Simon's words, resigned to the fact that they both deserve for him to hear him out. Simon feels his heart splinter at Harry's own statement.

"You don't mean that."

His voice is hushed, strong in a way that reveals his vulnerability. He comes across adamant in a way that exposes his desperation. He aches for Harry to not mean those words, for them to be an imagined slip of the tongue, fueled by his overwhelmed mind. Miscommunication is dangerous at the best of times, life-ruining in situations like this. (Harry understands how Simon feels about being branded manipulative, deceptive, and malicious. Their audience does it enough to keep him up at night on the odd occasion, he doesn't need for his loved ones to perceive him that way to.)

"Y-you're right. I don't. I don't, I'm sorry. That was out of line." Harry hurries to apologise, to beg forgiveness. The two of them are truly a mess in this moment. Their relationship had taken it's first hit during Simon's conversation with Tobi the other day, not that Harry had known that. Things had only gone down hill since then, Simon misinterpreting the younger man's advice from the way he had implicitly proposed it.

Tears fall, then. Neither can tell whose tear falls first, too entranced with the other's eyes, barely registering the warm, wet sensation of a teardrop slithering down their own cheek like a snake scorned. They may not be able to tell who starts first, but Harry is the first to move in to action, a delicate caress of his fingers coming up to wipe away the salty bead of sadness on Simon's face. Simon mirrors the touch a beat later, the pads of his fingers careful against Harry's damp skin.

"Just," Harry inhales shortly, starting again on the end of an exhale, his breathing strained and his tone dispirited. "Why would you do that to me? You claim to love me," Harry continues, quickly finishing his sentence before Simon can take the chance to interrupt with his defensive rebuttal, "and I believe you – in a way – I do, so why would you make the decision to do this? To treat me the way you did."

"...I was scared."

"You were scared." Harry repeats the response, a sense of dumbfounded dubiety present as he does so, replicating the incredulous nature of his earlier questioning. His fingers still rest against Simon's face, pressed gently in order to not disturb him or his features. His thumb rubs soothing circles atop the glowing redness of the apple of the taller man's cheek. "Scared of... what? Of me?"

"No!" As immediate and forceful as the response is, it couldn't be any further from the soothing brush of his fingertips against stress-warmed skin, "No, not of you, Harry. Never of you."

A shared breath, a beat, two, three, "Of me, in a way. Of loneliness, definitely. I'm absolutely terrified at the idea of your absence in my life."

Harry doesn't refrain from cooing, leaning in until their foreheads touch. The comfort is by no means stifling, rather all-consuming. Simon has no chance to ponder all this before he notices the feeling of tiny pillows melting against his lips, warmth bursting from the contact.

"You had no right to doubt me like that," Harry says as they pull away after a brief moment lost in each other, rosy lips twisting in a careworn smile. "I wouldn't leave or judge you, nor treat you the way she did. You're older and wiser, now, Simon – you need to embrace that,"

Simon releases a sigh, feeling impuissant against Harry's show of affection. "I know. It's just hard to forget it all. It's even harder to let it all go."