Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

"Wicked" Pt-2

"It's tender. It's raw. It's that moment in the story where you realize the boy with the sharp tongue is just trying to survive."

The gymnasium didn't look like a warzone for once. Twinkling fairy lights. Shimmering paper decorations. Music thudding like a heartbeat through the floor. Everyone dressed like they believed, just for one night, things could be good.

They spun in circles under cheap strobe lights.

Laughter, perfume, sweaty palms. Girls in pastel dresses and boys with wrinkled suits. A hundred little moments folding into each other like the ending of a teen film that didn't know it was lying.

Everyone was dancing.

Everyone but him.

Simon Riley stood in the far corner like he'd been carved from stone. Black suit, no tie. Sleeves rolled. Hair slicked back like he hadn't meant to care, but couldn't help looking sharp anyway.

No one came near.

Even now, especially now, he carried the kind of silence that made people nervous. Like a grenade with the pin half-pulled. Boys nodded at him from across the room, girls glanced and then looked away too quickly.

He didn't mind.

He was used to being the ghost in the room.

Used to watching Tommy from a distance, his younger brother in the center of a circle of friends, laughing like nothing had ever hurt him. Like he hadn't grown up in the same house with fists for lullabies.

Simon's jaw tightened.

He turned his gaze to the floor, pretending not to hear the laughter.

Pretending he wasn't waiting for it all to end.

"Why are you always like this?"

The voice startled him, soft, sure, like it wasn't afraid of him.

He looked up.

Rose.

She stood a few feet away. Pale blue dress, hair pinned with tiny silver stars. Small. Gorgeous. Out of place and yet, somehow, the moment.

She looked at him like she wasn't sure why she'd come over, only that she couldn't not.

Simon exhaled a slow breath through his nose. "Like what?"

"You know," she said gently, stepping closer, "Alone. Angry. Like you want everyone to stay away, but you hate being left out."

His mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a wince.

"You've been watching me?"

"I've got eyes, Riley. Doesn't take a genius."

He looked away. "Don't worry about it."

"Too late," she said. "I already do."

He didn't speak for a moment.

Didn't move.

The music pulsed around them like a heartbeat neither of them wanted to claim.

Rose's voice dropped. "You're not just mean. You're hurting. I can tell."

Simon laughed. Quiet and bitter. "That what you think?"

"It's what I see." Her voice didn't shake, even though her hands were clutching her dress like she was afraid of his answer.

"Then maybe you're seeing it wrong," he said, eyes fixed on the glittering floor. "Maybe I'm just broken. Maybe I'm just built this way."

"You're not."