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Simon takes his job seriously, he came from a home that didn’t value its children’s education so, receiving his certification for paramedics was the most gratified he’d ever felt- a final ‘fuck you’ to his dead beat dad who saw no potential in any of his kids and who, in his last moments in life, fought with nurses and doctors alike who tried to send him to rehab to try and save his pathetic life (good riddance). Ever since that stain was buried 6 feet deep, the ‘Riley’ family has been thriving: his mom has a new husband that treats her on dates and drives her to her book clubs, his brother met a wonderful woman and now has a five-year-old, and Simon… Simon has his job. A job that he’s proud of and that he’s worked strenuously for; from the odd jobs, to living in his car for a few years, and to failing out of his general education courses a few times but he managed and now he works with the best of the best in the medical field. So, Simon is happy with his life, the way it’s turned out, the hard work he’s performed, and the position he’s been given on the team. He wouldn’t change a thing if you asked him.
If you asked his mother though…
“Simon dear, why don’t you go out and mingle? You might just find a nice woman your age to settle down and-“
“Mum.” A pointed look accompanying the stilling of his stirring. His relationship (or lack thereof) was a frequent topic with her, ever since Tommy married, she’s been nagging her eldest child with worry etching into her gentle features every time. Simon doesn’t blame her, she’s always worried (a sad side effect gifted to her from the sad sack of a sperm donor she married), and her children’s lives have been top priority since their birth. She sighs before taking a distinct sip from her ginger-honey tea and the whisps of heat fogs her glasses and her eyes flick from Simon to the wall to the ceiling- chewing on her next words carefully as she avoids her son’s glare. He wishes he could give her evidence to prove that he is happy. That he doesn’t need someone texting or calling him. That he doesn’t need another body in his bed to keep his side warm for when he returns home.
He’s perfectly content with being the only person in his life giving himself all of those lovey-dovey things when it comes down to it, after all- why show someone your innermost self if they may just be waiting to drop a knife to it? And, yeah, when he puts it that way, he can understand the worries she holds and why she’s so adamant on checking in on him and nagging him to mingle, but he doesn’t need someone to give him these things like her and Tommy do; he’s happy with just his job because his job brings him satisfaction.
“I know, I just… I worry, you know I do dear. I want my children to be happy by the time I’m gone from this life. I want you to find someone to share the good and the bad: to have what you never got to see growing up.” Tears well in the corners of her tired blue eyes and her voice shakes. “I don’t want you to end up with what I started out with- to be years locked away with some floozy that can’t be bothered to say good morning but doesn’t want you to leave them. I only have so much time left, and I don’t want to die not knowing my baby boy will have someone on his side supporting him in every way.” A few tears rolled down and soaked into the flowery napkin she holds against them. “I want you happy, not just content. You deserve it after everything.” Her voice has shaken so much by this point that it only comes out as whispers, the memories of what has happened coming to the forefront of her memories in her effort to explain herself.
Simon feels locked to the couch as bile tries to claw its way up his esophagus, eyes burning as he holds back tears at the sight of his mother breaking, and he can only watch as his mother shuffles to the kitchen sink and rinses her empty cup. Her yellow nightgown drapes to her green fluffy slippers and her long grayed hair is braided, just as she requested of Samson to do for her, as she fills the cup and dumps it in her pattern of threes. The tea cup in his hand squeaks in protest at the tension Simon holds it so he sets it down silently. The air feels heavy to him, a dense tension growing between the gap that divides him and his mother (a gap that he can’t seem to cross no matter how much progress he thinks he’s made), and he doesn’t know how to stop it. One day she’ll be gone, and Simon would be the reason she dies with regrets.
She clears her throat, “I know you said you have work next Saturday, but I just got off the phone before you stopped by and Tommy said him and Bethany will be in town this coming weekend. So, if you happen to want to stop by and visit…” She let’s the hinted invitation float and he pretends to consider it; he hasn’t seen Tommy in quiet some time, his brother moving across towns from them both, and he can’t blame him- he’d want to leave this place too to raise a family. He’d want to get away from the brother that left him behind too, to not be reminded of all the pain he’d endured. He would do the very same if he didn’t feel so stuck, so trapped by the monstrous idea of leaving all that he’s ever known. “Tommy says that this year little Joseph will finally be able to make the trip. Poor lad is always so sickly and I’m afraid that must be my fault- I was always such a poorly child around his age too.”
Joseph, his five year-old nephew, is the sunshine to this fucked up family. The only person that Simon thinks he would kill for if the need arose. The chubbiest cheeks, the pitter-patter of his little feet running anywhere and everywhere, and not a hint of true sadness hidden behind those adorable hazel eyes. He can’t help but smile and feel relaxed thinking on the last time he saw the little one and it’s tempting to visit next weekend just to see him, even if it means avoiding Tommy’s eyes the whole night. “I’ll have to see closer to time, can’t leave them short ya know.” His phone buzzes and he makes his way to the door, hesitating with a hand on the nob before deciding to wait for his mother to see him out instead of bolting like he usually does after one of these visits.
The gentle smile that greets him fills him with a spark of warmth that almost extinguishes that constant twisted feeling gurgling in his heart. “I know dear. Just let me know if I need to set another placemat for you, yeah?” Her hands are frail in her old age but still hold his own with the same amount of love and care as they always have. “I am so proud of you Simon, you’ve become such a wonderful man and I couldn’t have wished for any better.” Her hand is cold against his cheek (he’ll need to check if the heat is working next time he visits) before she kisses his cheek. “Have a good night at work dear; call me when you get home, please.” She waves him off as he drives away and Simon stews in his downfallen mood until he arrives to work.
Simon has learned after years of training and learning that night shift is a different breed in the medical field, you never know just what kind of call you’ll get, and Simon can’t say he loathes it like some of the others here do. In some dark corner of his mind he’s sure he’ll always be looking for some kind of toxic chaos to fill the infinitely deep toxic void his father carved into his heart; he’s tried everything but drugs to free himself from the chains that try to drag him under, and, so far, being a night paramedic staves off the gnawing hunger of the beast that prowls and nips for any slack in the leash that holds it and tonight appears to be a healthy meal for it as he speeds to the local pub. It’s not often but it’s not unusual that they receive a pub-call, and it could be any number of reasons why he and Price need to be down there: broken glass in the hand, some poor drunken fool stumbled down the stairs wrong. But when they pull up to see some bloke being forced into the back of the police cruiser they burst from the doors and enter the establishment. What a way to start a shift...
“Paramedics,” Price approaches an officer. “Where do ya need us?” They’re led to a man in all black, the shirt practically painted on the man’s shoulders, with the worst mohawk Simon’s ever seen in his entire life nursing a bleeding nose while some man also in black (an American by the accent) keeps ice on the wrist of his left hand. “Alright lad, let’s see the damage.” The nose looked decidedly broken, a gush of deep red drips through the short cut beard, traces down plush lips, and races down a thick neck to pool at the man’s collar bone. He kneels down with Price, gauze in hand, and pats away the unsettling trail while Price observes the man’s hand. “Sorry lad, but I’m afraid ya might’ve broken something in this hand here- try to squeeze my finger.” A pained yelp sounds out and something in Simon snaps to attention, memories of holding a bruised and bleeding brother as he tries to disinfect open wounds flashes in his mind, and something frail buried deep inside of himself compels him to speak.
“What do you do for work?” It’s stupid- he’s stupid, what does he even think he’s doing, trying to distract a man from pain with a dumb question? This is why he should leave the talking to Price, leave the comforting and distracting to his captain who is much better suited for socialization than Simon is.
“Huh? Oh, uhm, fuck! Sorry, I uh- shit- I work here, security. Bastard they carried away started harassin’ some poor lass and I stepped in- asked him to leave but of course the bawbag was too drunk to read the damn shirt ‘n thought I was her man, surprised me with a right hook but I’m ex-military so I gave it right back jus’ as good, aye Alex?” The man seems to be the talkative type thankfully- Scottish too, a cocky smirk, and blue eyes that Simon could melt in...
Fuck.
Fuck no.
He’s not doing this- not here- not now- and most certainly not with a patient!
He’s already blocked out the conversation between this charismatic man and Alex as he dives deep into his own psyche to avoid staring into those damn beautiful eyes and this is not working- at all damn it! And that accent is downright distracting- the way it curves and rumbles over vowels, the way the words make those lips curl and purse- stop it!
“Wha’ about you? What do ye do fer work?”
A blink of time passes as he stares at this handsome idiot and his stupid smug grin as he stares deep into Simon’s eyes. The moment is broken by a loud boisterous laughter from the man’s right (fucking Alex, he’s sure, but he can’t seem to look away from those crystal blues) and the blush that dots across his face just accentuates the beauty of the man. A soft pink dusting across his nose that’s only broken by a few small scars and- god- what Simon wouldn’t do to see if the man had more scars littering across his body.
“Ah’m so sorry- it must be the pain talking, you’re a paramedic Ah know that- Ah do- Ah just uhm ya know?” The man talks with his hand (the uninjured one thankfully) as he stutters, and Simon wouldn’t say it’s endearing (it’s absolutely not) or adorable (it’s not) that such a warm and louder-than-life person seems to be out of his element like this.
“I think we ought to get you to the hospital son, ya seem a bit out of it.” Thank whatever god exists for Price, he’s sure he’s not going to live this down but at least he’s capable of dealing with these awkward moments, unlike Simon. And yet, he almost wishes he didn’t opt for being driver tonight just for a chance to be around this man more in close proximity- even if it means being around the man’s boyfriend (who he really shouldn’t be jealous of- Simon doesn’t need a damn boyfriend and he’s not in the business of taking patients as significant others). He can hear them chatting away in the back though, talking about work and what plans are now canceled for the weekend because of this mess; the man’s very talkative, and popular, it seems. Simon tries not to listen but there’s one question that catches him off guard.
“So, is that guy gunna be around often? Ah mean, like to uh, take care of patients?”
“Simon? No, son, Simon’s just a paramedic- just trained to deal with on-the-spot stuff and drop off the injured for the hospital staff to take over. We don’t actually deal with the people we drop off after that, leave that to the nurses and the like.”
The man sounds disappointed, “Oh... well, guess Ah’ll just hafta thank him once I get to see ‘im next, yeah?”
He can barely make out a chuckle before the boyfriend (when did he start referring to him like that? He should really get a handle on himself) speaks up. “God, John you are down bad for this man- you barely just met a few minutes ago!” So, his name is John... It’s fitting for the man, he finds. It also appears he’s misjudged their relationship. This makes it all worse for Simon- he’s not allowed to have these nice things; he can’t have nice things. John seems too good for someone as broken as Simon- he shouldn’t even be entertaining these lines of thoughts.
“Ah am not ‘down bad’ you cock, just tryin ta show my appreciation to the people who came ta help me, ya wank!”
“Oh please, Lord in Heaven John- you heard the man talk and you went gooey-eyed!”
“Ah didnae! This is why ah nevah take ya out with me- ya think every guy Ah look at Ah want ‘nd it’s naw true!”
“It’s not every guy, you just have an obvious type- big, burly, deep voiced, and capable of lifting you.” He can hear the teasing lilt in tone, but it still seems to ring true as the Scottish gibberish increases exponentially to the point of untranslatable. It’s almost entertaining, but it’s embarrassing to hear someone describe him as ‘big’ and ‘burly’ and, accompanied by the image of lifting John up for something very much not for his job, definitely doesn’t help with getting the thoughts of John out of his mind. Pulling into the emergency bay is as much a blessing as it is a curse. He radios Price to let him know to get ready before parking and leaving the ambulance, checking his face in the side mirror for any sign of a blush before turning to open the back.
He and Price walk John’s gurney to the room led by nurse Gaz who chatters away with Johnny the entire time with Alex chiming in every few sentences or so with his own two-cents, and Simon is fairly certain they’ll get along swimmingly with how many hobbies they all have in common (hobbies that Simon idly notes he doesn’t share). It doesn’t take long for them to arrive to the assigned room and, really, they didn’t need to accompany them to the room- honestly not supposed to- but Simon just couldn't help himself and the amusement on his coworkers’ faces did not slip by him. He knows that once they’re all alone they’ll be giving him shit for how out of character he’s been acting tonight but he can’t help but want to spend more time with Johnny- the patient- he reminds himself. Simon can’t believe that he’s trying to give the man a nickname; they won’t be seeing each other again after tonight and it’s not like the man wants to see Simon again anyways so it doesn’t matter.
He turns to leave Gaz with the patient so they can talk and work on a recovery plan, but his jacket sleeve is grabbed before he could truly walk away. “Wait uhm- thanks, for helpin me stay calm with tonight uh,” he glances to the tag hanging from his shirt collar, “Riley?” He wants to correct the man, tell him his first name, but he can’t get his mouth to move (shouldn’t let his mouth move) so all he can do is nod and try to slip out of the man’s grasp and finds that he can’t. It’s not firm enough to stop him but it’s just enough to have his feet pause. “Am sorry if this is unprofessional, but uhm can Ah possibly buy your lunch for the night? Just as a thank you gift! Nothin more Ah swear to ya!” The blush is back with a fierceness on the tanned skin.
It would be very unprofessional of him to agree and he can almost hear the questioning looks of his colleagues as a smoke-ridden voice sounds in the back of his mind, ‘how low will Simon go?’ it asks ‘how desperate is Simon?’ it taunts him; he almost listens, almost agrees with it, but he’s aware of who the voice imitates: merely a dead man’s haunting memory. Simon wants it gone, and he’s sure his therapist would love the defiance he shows to it in this moment as he turns to his now former patient and says the only words that feel right, “I take my lunch around midnight, not sure you’ll want to be up for that.” Not an outright yes, but certainly not an outright no and the smile reaches John’s eyes with his answer.
“Ah think you’ll find A’m very determined, so ah’ll expect ye here around midnight.” It may just be the pain killer coursing through the Scots’ veins, but Simon has no qualms about returning to the man’s room when he has a clearer head, and instead of denying this handsome idiot he only hums and turns to walk to the door.
“I guess we’ll see how determined you are then, Johnny.” He hears the man splutter around his words, can make out a few ‘hows’ and ‘whats’ before the door shuts with a soft click behind him; his heart races and pumps adrenaline that he feels course from mind to toes and, for once, he’s excited to get to his lunch break instead of trying to weasel out of it to continue working. His father is definitely going to be rolling in his grave, and it’s the best feeling Simon’s had since that bastard died.
He was right that Price was going to give him shit; almost as soon as they got back in the ambulance that notorious shit eating grin appeared on his face as he sat in the passenger seat.
“I don’t wanna hear it, Price.”
“I didn’t even say anything, Riley.” Price does his best imitation of a Scottish accent on his drawn-out name, and he can’t help but cringe at how wrong his name sounds in Price’s imitation.
“Zip it Captain, if I wanted to be sassed, I would’ve stayed at my mother’s tonight.” Price cackles before the dispatch radios in to drag them to a nearby residential home, possible broken leg on a child under 10, and the topic is dropped for the time being. Only four more hours until he finds out what Johnny has in mind.
It felt like days by the time midnight rolled around, for some reason tonight seemed to be the night of broken bones and arrested cunts as he and Price were called to a total of four parties where drunks got out of hand and started throwing fists and glass bottles at the people around them while the rest of the night seemed to be either delivering pregnant patients to the delivery room or elderly patients that just couldn’t help but climb that attic ladder at some ungodly hour. Alejandro came by to relieve him for his 30 minute lunch break with a cheeky wink and “Good luck hermano” and Simon had to leave quickly before he did something stupid to the man (like send him to his very own designated hospital room). The cafeteria is usually empty, almost hauntingly cold and eerie, but tonight there sat two men: one in a hospital gown and decorated with a mohawk and the other in street clothes with a quiff and he knew immediately by the accents that the two were the ‘troublemakers’ (as head nurse Laswell has been calling them all night) and now feels a cold sweat break out as he begins to imagine their laughter together is not directed at the jokes they’re making but at him- at the sight of Simon Riley in his skull balaclava (it got cold!) and standing in the middle of the doorway like an out-of-touch buffoon (even though they haven’t even glanced his way yet).
“Ah’m tellin’ ye Alex, the man flew down a whole flight o’ stairs getting’ dragged by his buddies- fell flat on his face an just laid there whinin like a babe ‘till we scrapped ‘im off’a tha floor! Poor lass just stood there embarrassed the whole time!” John’s laughter is full body and with the force of it, the Scott has to lean against his friend. Alex seems to be more subdued in his laughter, small chuckles intermixed with snorts escaping the man.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you tell me about that one, I’ll have to get non-slip for the stairs now. Honestly surprised I haven’t had to hear a complaint about there not being any. I’m sure your ambulance boyfriend would agree that it’s a hazard.” Alex teases as John groans.
“Not my boyfriend, just a nice guy. Doubt he’d be interested in me like that Alex. Not many lads around here interested in me anyways, you know that.” Simon almost didn’t hear him, but his crestfallen face says everything and more; whoever broke Johnny’s heart and spirit deserves whatever divine hell awaits them.
“Soap, I know you’ve had shit luck with guys, but trust me when I say that this guy might just be worth taking the risk. The way he looked at you, could just tell that something was felt. I mean, did you see the blush he got when you started stutter like an idiot?”
“Away ‘n bile yer heid Alex! I didn’t stutter ya damp cunt.” Despite their biting words they smiled and laughed with one another, John still leaning on Alex as the other fussed and bullied his friend. Some jealous claw ripped his heart as he witnessed how different his life is to this stranger, he doesn’t have a chance with this man, he doesn’t compare to this man’s life! He prefers to stay his night’s in to catch up on his readings, to lay on the couch with his cat and watch Korean dramas, to make dinner on his off days and relax in a tub full of water. Johnny’s the sun, he deserves to be seen- not hidden away to rot in Simon’s darkness. So, he leaves.
The vending machine doesn’t have what he wants, it’s always low by the time Simon gets to it so he doesn’t know why he’s so disappointed now, so he chooses the least expensive snack it contains and watches as the spirals twist and twist and twist until his snack gets stuck in their turns. His blood feels like fire as it rushes through him, his chest is heavy with how he forces air down his throat. The machine is always broken so he doesn’t know why he thought today would be different, doesn’t know why he thought he would have any amount of fucking luck tonight, doesn’t know why he fucking thought he could have something fucking nice for himself. There’s a voice calling for him but it doesn’t have his fucking food so it doesn’t matter, nothing fucking matters, why the fuck would anything matter to fuck-up shit-head Simon-fucking-Riley.
“Son!” Darkness overtakes his blurry vision and strong arms wrap around his arms and back, a hand cradling the back of his head, and a deep shush echoes in his head. “Breathe, breathe. I’ve got you, just breathe.” The woodsy-citrus cologne permeates as he tries to match his breathing with the body holding him, his arms feel like weights that want to drag him down, down, down until he’s unable to get up again; his mind holds fog like an overflowing cup, and he doesn’t know what to do to clean the mess up- doesn’t know if he even has the strength to try. “No thinking son, just breathe with me. Just breathe, I’m here, I’ve got you. Just breathe, we’ll work through it after you breathe.”
In.
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In.
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The world begins to straighten, the lights no longer flicker before his eyes, and his chest may still be constricted but at least he can breathe lighter than before. The heavy hand grounds him as it scratches soothing patterns into his skull and his body leans against a sturdy frame and scratching beard. “There we are. Much better lad, much better. Keep that tempo for me just a tad bit longer.” Price is Simon’s safety net to his tightrope walker in this moment, a saving grace from a brutal demise he’s certain. Almost feels like he’s floating, all the weight of his heavy mind offloaded as Price holds it all in his arms, but suddenly the weight is shifting back to him- all of it rushing back to him as his consciousness is brought back to control and he is now face-to-face with a concerned captain. “Now what the bloody fuck was that Simon?” There are still sturdy hands keeping him steady by his shoulders; without them Simon’s sure he’d float back into that murky depth that Price just drug him out of.
He's still breathing hard, chest heaving as he steadies himself. “Just having a rough night Cap.”
“Don’t bullshit me Simon.” Price’s eyes grow stern with the level of his concern. “What happened?”
He almost breaks through the glass floor of his mind again, almost sinks back into his own murky anxiety looking into the eyes of the man who motivated him, guided him through his learning, treated him like a son. “I can’t do it, Price. I just, I can’t. I went in there and I just- I’m nothing like him. I shouldn’t even be trying to be near him. I don’t know what I was thinking- I wasn’t thinking and now he’s in there and he’s probably waiting for me only to see that I’m nothing like him or his friends or his family and he’s nothing like my family-!”
“Son. John wants to see you. He doesn’t want someone that’s the exact same as himself, in my experience that’s a life full of stagnation and boredom. Trust me when I tell you that all of Gaz’s text messages to me tonight has been about how, and I quote, ‘John won’t stop swooning over Simon please tell me his lunch is soon so I can stop being asked about him,’ end quote.” He can’t believe what he’s hearing. But it’s from Price, the man who’s never once lied to him, so how could it be false? It can’t. It’s hard to swallow, figuratively and literally, and he’s sure he’s shaking from how much emotion he’s holding in. “Give it a try- give John a chance, but most importantly, give yourself a chance. This job shouldn’t be your only priority. C’mon, let’s get some grub, yeah? I’ll even reimburse you for your wasted money at that blasted vending machine, damn thing’s always getting food stuck in it.”
Simon walks side-by-side with Price back through the cafeteria doors. John is sitting there still, restlessly eying the patient entry doors and hardly paying Alex any mind. His uncasted hand is twiddling with a spoon, spinning it between two fingers and bouncing it off the table. The conversations between the two seem to have died down with John’s mood, Alex worriedly looking between John and the lunch tray off to the side (the food on it left untouched). “Excuse us lads, didn’t mean to delay- just got back from a call.” Price’s hand on his shoulder pats him before he whispers in Simon’s ear, “Take a thirty minute lunch, son. I’ll have someone cover for you in the meantime.”
Simon finally looks up and finds the kindest eyes and softest smile and he finds that the ugly thorns that grow as his thoughts cower from the sunlight John gives off. He finds he doesn’t mind it. “Thought ye said midnight, Riley?”
“Nothing’s sacred in medical Johnny, and it’s Simon. Riley’s the last name.” He takes the balaclava off before sitting across from the two men. “Didn’t actually expect you to be here if I’m being honest.”
This seems to jumpstart Johnny as he pushes the sandwich tray with fruit in front of him, “Ah told ye Ah’d surprise ye. Ah’m only sorry all the foods been left out on ya. Would’a covered it had Ah known ye’d be a bit late, Simon~.” The way he purrs his name sends tingles down his fingertips. The food no longer interested him at this point, the cocky smirk the Scott flashes holds all his attention- the way it slants and favors one side over the other enchanting now more than the first time he saw it.
The moment is broken by an obnoxious yawn. “I think I should head out Soaps, been a long night and it’ll be an even longer one tomorrow without you on lookout for us for the time being.” They share a fistbump before the American makes his way to the exit. “Keep me updated on your progress!” He sings out.
“I think I’ll do the same Simon, got a meeting in five I need to tend to. Let me know if you need anything, right?” They nod before his captain takes his leave. He knows it for the excuse it is- there is no meeting, he would be a part of said meeting if there was one. It’s just the two of them now, a still untouched sandwich between them, and Simon stumbles. What is he meant to talk to with someone he doesn’t know? What is he meant to say to someone who doesn’t share the same career as himself? The Scott is social, he is not. The Scott has friends, he has coworkers (and Price). The Scott is beautiful, he has scars that litter him head to toe. The Scott’s dated before, Simon hasn’t had a crush since elementary school (and that was only because he thought he had to have one).
“Ah know ye said ye didn’t expect me ta show, but to be honest, didnae think ye’d show either. Honestly thought Ah came on a bit too strong with askin’ ye to lunch, figured ye were just humorin’ a man in pain.” There was no more bravado, only a small spark of happiness- and it was all directed at him. All because he sat here. And he wouldn’t mind seeing that look become brighter.
“I almost didn’t. Freaked out just thinking about walking over here.” He tosses a few pieces of fruit with the fork.
“Are ye alright? Ah don’t want ye ta think you have to be here!” He appreciates the words and the sincere face that accompanies them, the comfort they give him. He has a choice. Johnny’s not going to force him.
“I’m alright, just. I’ve never had this happen before. Didn’t really know how to react to someone, a patient no less, hit on me and ask me to lunch on their dime.” He huffs in what passes as a laugh for his state of mind and watches as the blush migrates from ear to cheek to nose to forehead and the Scott’s mouth opens and closes. “Oh? Is that all it takes to make Johnny silent?” He takes a grateful bite of the strawberry he fiddled with.
“Ah’ll have you know ye bastard, Ah didnae hit on ye! Only asked ye to lunch, no clue what gave ye the idea that Ah was wantin’ ta- ta- ta hit on ye! Ah don’t do that to people while they’re workin’, Ah’m not that kind of’a cunt.”
As adorable as Johnny’s being Simon knows he needs to get a handle on the situation, needs this man to know he wants this- whatever- too, or at least to try it out. He wants this to work, and not just because his mom wants him to. For the first time in a long time, Simon wants. He wants this loud, brash, beautiful, charming bastard of a man. “Johnny. I could hear you and your friend on the way here.” He takes the flailing hand in his own. “I want to try it. With you. If you want, that is.” He can feel a similar blush that Johnny has on his own face, can feel that burning heat rush to the surface of his face- can feel it in his hands and chest. He wants this to work so badly, wants to give this man as much love that he possibly still holds- give everything good left inside him to this kind soul and try, to give him all the scraps that are left once that runs dry. He’s never felt so comfortable with someone aside from Price, even his own mother sometimes feels like an abyss. But Johnny? Johnny is the sun, the earth, and the reason birds sing.
“Yeah.” Johnny’s breathless and that smile looks so, so pleased. “I want to try this. Ah mean, only if ye want to?” Oh, this poor, poor beautiful idiot. His poor beautiful idiot now. “W-wait! Ye already, ah shite sorry uhm. Not really making a good impression, am Ah, heh.”
“No, but I love the impression you have already. Don’t need something better than this,” he squeezes the hand still entangled with his own. “right here.”