Sidemen Shots

Security - Minishaw (Part 13)

They give themselves the rest of the evening, at first, and then the night also. They decide to sleep on things, put a pin in the conversation of what are we. They spend the night cuddled close beneath the covers of Simon's king size bed, lost to the world and their days worth of mistakes. Their sleep is peaceful, unbothered by their emotional turmoil and relationship troubles. (A stark contrast to their later moments of wakefulness.)

Simon wakes first, unsurprisingly. He lies awake, unobservant, after shifting from his side to lie on his back beneath Harry's motionless form. He stares nearly unseeingly up at the ceiling of his bedroom, critiquing his actions over the last few days and overthinking the ways in which he could possibly salvage this relationship with Harry. He's lost to his mind, locked inside a dishevelled shed of thought, his eyes glazed over to evidence his lack of presence inside the real world.

Still sleeping, Harry shifts with Simon's movement, continuing to doze unaffected. Their divide between consciousness and unconsciousness exists for over an hour after Simon initially wakes up, allowing the older Sidemen member to ruminate in his hefty feelings of shame and ambition. He hates it all, feels so uncomfortable, and simultaneously dreads and excitedly anticipates the conversation the two men will have once Harry finally wakes.

"Mhm," Harry grumbles as he eventually rouses from his utopian dreamland, burrowing his head closer to Simon's chest as he does so. He lets the laborious rise and fall of Simon's chest coax him from sleep, his eyes fluttering open as a tired smile twists at the corners of his lips. "Hey."

"Hey," Simon inhales deeply, greeting the younger man back on a heavy exhale, the breath heavy with the ache of repressed sentiments. Both good and bad ones, ones heaving with regret opposed to those budding with content. "You-" Simon seems to change his mind over what it is he wants to stay, instead he ends up proposing the question, "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I could do with some breakfast, yeah," Harry murmurs, his voice husky with sleep and throaty with lack of use. A quick glance at Simon's phone from on the nightstand informs them that it is nearly ten in the morning; they went to early bed at 8 o'clock last night, that too after a while of embracing each other in silence. They were too caught up on the secrets shared last night, their adrenaline sapped from their bodies after the revelations had had time to cool off. "You gonna cook something for me?"

"Maybe," with a speed so slow it would make a tortoise jealous, the two men slowly clamber out of the large bed together, the atmosphere a battling mix of awkward and fulfilled. "Depends what you fancy, doesn't it?"

"Lazy slob," Harry taunts as he stretches, arms high above his head, the movement enough to cause his t-shirt to rise up his torso, exposing his tanned naval. The darkening happy trail draws Simon's attention, only for him to look away as soon as Harry catches him staring. "Can't even cook me a meal. I demand at least two courses."

"It's breakfast! That in itself is a whole meal."

"Yeah, yeah, keep yapping." With that, Harry toddles out of the room on unsteady feet, his limbs fragile with drowsiness. He makes no further comment, trusting Simon to follow him without further prompting.

In the end, Harry makes himself a large bowl of cereal whilst Simon merely nibbles at an apple, the smallest and reddest of the bunch. No cooking takes place at all, neither man making an effort to search for or prepare any savoury breakfast items. Simon's fridge, he knows, is practically empty, so that rules out the option of any meat.

"You've never actually had a boyfriend before, have you, Simon?" Harry asks a few spoonfuls in to his cereal, the words forming around a mouthful of Cookie Crisp. He waits for Simon to shake his head sheepishly, his cheeks painted a rosy pink, before adding, "I'll be your first one, right?"

"Yeah." Simon's voice doesn't come out very strong, weak with uncertainty and self-consciousness. "Yeah, you'd be my first boyfriend."

You'd be my second partner overall, goes left unsaid, yet is understood by both men. The fact is at the forefront of both of their minds. Simon comes the closest to broaching the subject, though he does so in a vague manner that barely alludes to the vile woman who tore him down to his lowest self all those years ago. "You'd be my first good partner, and hopefully my first healthy relationship if I don't fuck things up for us. Especially before they can get good - or even started properly."

Harry swallows his current mouthful of food, depositing his spoon back into the ceramic bowl before standing from his seat at Simon's kitchen table. He swallows again, no food going down this time as this one is meant for some scrap of courage. He walks around the table, heading straight for where Simon stands slouched against the kitchen side, his lower back pressed against the granite surface.

"Simon," Harry's hands come up to rest on either side of the older man's face, the touch soft, gentle, and full of all the love he holds inside his body. "I'd treat you so well. You know we could be so good together. You need to let go of her, of the memory of her, otherwise that will be what causes our downfall. You can't allow her to keep controlling you this way - you're so full of fear and loneliness it's crippling you."

A nod, and then a tear reminiscent of the ones shed yesterday falls. It cuts down Simon's cheek in a rugged line, leaving behind a jagged trail of sorrow in its wake. Harry wipes its away with his thumb before it can reach Simon's chin. "I know, it's just..."

"I love you, Simon! I love you so, so much. I don't think I actually told you that last night, but I do. I need you to let me love you, Simon, or I might actually combust from my feelings for you."

Simon laughs at Harry, wet and rather void of any humour. The sound is carefree in its sound, yet careful in it's meaning. It's neither malicious nor judgemental, the chuckle short-lived and quick to hush.

"Fine, you can love me." Attached to the permission, while only a silent admission in Simon's head, is the knowledge that if things go south they might literally crush Simon from the inside. He needs Harry to follow through on the promise to never hurt him, to be the driving force that enables Simon to quit harming both himself and others in the process of battling with his own desires.

"Great!" Harry grins, large and unashamed. "I'll go change your contact in my phone to 'My Boyfriend'."

With that, Harry leans forward to peck Simon on the lips before turning to leave the room. He collects his bowl of cereal along the way, continuing to munch at it as he searches for his phone.

"Fuck." Simon's breathing doesn'tquicken dramatically, but his heart rate does increase with nerves. He'sfinally on the bumpy road to moving on, and Harry's probably the best possibleperson for him to drive along with, never mind the fact that Harry isn't the best of drivers. 

Simon can do the steering, and Harry can just give him the directions.

///

This is either the last or second to last chapter. I might write an epilogue or something to just tie up the loose ends, I don't know. If I do, it's unlikely to follow the same upload schedule as I have two requests I'd like to post by the end of the week. 

I've already mentioned this on ao3, but would anyone be interested in a Sidemen fest over there? Either as a reader or a writer. Please let me know if that's something you would want to participate in. Our fandom is quite small but also a really nice community and I think it would be really cool for this fandom to do something as a collective.