Chapter Text
Simon doesn’t do crowds.
Well, he does them, he’s just on pins and needles the whole time. He turns into something granite and hyper-aware, covered as much as he can be with a medical mask and long sleeves, so you try not to force him through it too often. Sometimes though, there’s a good reason for suffering.
“Fuck you,” Johnny mutters, arms crossed while you both watch your boyfriend seamlessly plink through targets, with that mini rifle tucked tight into his shoulder. “Right prick.”
“Eight out of ten is still really good,” you remind him. Johnny only missed the first two targets, and that’s understandable considering the carnival air guns can’t possibly be accurate.
“Used my go to sight the weapon, is what he did. I’m goin’ again.”
You’re not entirely sure that it’s possible to aim a gun just by watching someone else shoot it, but then again, Simon is finishing up the last target right now, dead center.
“C’mere, you.” Your man motions you over with a jerk of his head, handing the pea shooter back to the bored worker.
Simon watches your face as you hurry over to him, as if your delighted smile is all he wanted in the first place. You quickly scan the prize options as his hand settles against the curve of your lower back. Unicorn… cat… sloth… raccoon… teddy bear.
You choose the pillow-sized raccoon because it’s fluffy, and it reminds you of Simon before he washes off his eyeblack.
“Thanks,” you chirp, hugging your prize and stepping out of the way for Johnny’s turn.
“Someone had to pick up the slack,” Simon mutters, turning his eyes to the determined set of Johnny’s shoulders.
Horrified, you shoot him a look that conveys, ‘You’d better shut the fuck up, or else.’
Plink. Plink. Good start.
“Better hurry up, Johnny,” Simon drawls. “Too slow, you’re gonna miss it.”
“Simon,” you hiss at him, only to observe a devious light in his eye while he pretends he can’t hear you.
Plink, plink, plink.
“Two, ten, seven, reload,” Simon barks. “Oh look, Graves is here.”
“I’ll fawkin’ kill ye,” Johnny growls against the stock, nailing the last few targets in rapid succession.
Your face is burning by the time Johnny sets the gun aside. Of all the days for Simon to antagonize him, why does he have to pick this one? You’re not even sure there will be another chance to see Johnny after today, and instead of minding the delicate balance of things, your boyfriend’s decided to stomp all over it.
Yet somehow, you seem to be the only one concerned. Johnny merely spares his friend a passing glare before turning back to the prizes, selecting a sparkly unicorn for himself.
“Do you want me to carry that for you?” you offer with a shocked laugh.
He hugs it against his chest. “Aye, when I’m good and dead. No one’s separating me from my unicorn.”
Right. Okay, then.
The sun has just gone down, and taken the last of the warmth with it, so you thread your fingers in with Simon’s and look around for things to do before the nighttime crowd fills the park.
“What kind of rides do you like, Johnny?”
He winks at you over the fluffy rainbow mane. “Fast ones.”
“Bloody hell,” your boyfriend sighs. “I’m gonna be stuck holding the toy shop for the pair of you.”
“We can take turns,” you suggest. “Look, this one’s the biggest roller coaster they have. You and Johnny go, before the line gets too long.”
Simon doesn’t disagree, but he starts squinting up at the ride the closer you get to it, as if he’s inspecting the track for defects. You’re just about to reach for the unicorn Johnny’s passing to you, when Simon makes a grunt of disapproval.
“Fuckin’ back brace on him, I’m not going.”
Sure enough, one of the workers is gingerly crossing the platform to unstrap riders, while encased in a turtle shell of a brace.
Johnny scoffs. “Didn't break it on the ride, you dobber.”
“Fuck are we supposed to know that?”
“He’d be dead then, wouldn’t he? Puddle on the pavement.”
“No one is dying on these rides,” you insist, snatching Johnny’s toy. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Simon smoothly plucks both animals from your grasp. “Seeing as you’re not worried, you and Johnny go.”
Okay, well, now you’re worried.
You find yourself spectacularly stuck next to Johnny in that stuffy queue leading up to the platform, feeling like a total idiot for getting so easily conned into it. Why couldn’t you have thought of an excuse to avoid this? You only suggested the ride to give the guys a chance to have fun together without stepping on anyone’s toes, and instead you’re left scrambling for small talk.
It’s not that you don’t want to be alone with Johnny, it’s just that you weren’t expecting it to happen so suddenly. You were perfectly fine with using Simon as a buffer for the night, and never bringing up that whopping pile of confusion until Johnny was at least willing to open up a little. But now he’s alone with you, acting fairly happy and normal, as if he never walked out that door.
Is that what he wants? Is this going to turn into some horrible game of evasion, where he wanders back into your life and you’re forced to pretend nothing ever happened, and just hope he doesn’t do it again? Can you live like that?
You tried winging it before. You never made him explain himself to you or communicate, and all it did was blow up in your face.
“So why’d you pick the raccoon?”
You blink yourself out of your thoughts, focusing on his face in the cheery glow of Christmas lights. “Oh, um. They’re cute. And I guess I like wild animals.”
For some reason Johnny laughs at your genuine answer. “Makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.” He rests his elbows back on the steel railing and gives you this irritating smirk, so you roll your eyes in return. Okay, Flirt MacTavish. Nice to see you again, it’s been a while.
Thankfully the line moves forward right when you need it to, and you sidestep his teasing eyes to poke your head around the beam and scan the waiting area for Simon.
“Oh my god, Johnny,” you whisper. “Look.”
His body presses to your back as he looks over your shoulder, and is greeted by the same sight you are — Simon, with one enormous plushie wedged under each arm, engaged in apparent conversation with some random, gray-haired grandma. You can’t see his mouth moving behind the mask, but he’s inclining his head the same way he does when he’s talking to you.
“She’s stealin’ your man, hen.”
“Let her. He likes the attention.”
The stuffed animals have absolutely shattered his carefully constructed standoffishness. They’re like a beacon of cuteness, inviting in questions and curious looks, and honestly it serves him right for abandoning you to Johnny like this. You hope he’s suffering, but from the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, you kind of doubt it.
Finally you get buckled into the ride next to Johnny, and the nerves you have about him give way to your more pressing fear of heights. When was the last time you rode in one of these things? All of a sudden the pattern of loops spreading across the open air in front of you look a lot more serious than they did from the ground.
“Don’t let Simon see you scared,” Johnny says, nudging your shoe with his. The ride starts forward with a reverberating clunk, clunk.
“I’m not,” you lie.
“Hold my hand then, or you’re full of shit.”
That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but you mold your palm around his and squeeze it tight, right before the drop.
Holy shit.
Johnny wasn’t kidding about liking fast rides. He whoops and laughs through most of it, and you’re not sure if it’s the actual rush that’s getting to him, or your terrified shrieks. The loops hit rapidly one after another, and you just try to hang on as you pass through your threshold of fear and beyond. By the time you finally hit the end of the ride, your heart is slamming in your chest, and Johnny’s hand seems to have permanently fused with yours.
As the ride cars slowly chug up that loud conveyor belt to the platform, you unlock your spine and glance over at your friend to make sure he’s all in one piece.
He’s gorgeous. Ruddy-cheeked from the cold, breathlessly grinning at you, as if he’s exactly where he wants to be right now. Beautiful, human, completely impenetrable and emotionally closed-off.
It makes you want to hit him.
You’d go to town on his stupid chest if you could, punching and slapping those perfect muscles on up and down his shoulder. You want to scream in his ear until he understands how much pain he’s put you through, because maybe then this hold he has on you would finally release. If you burned all your bridges and told him never to come back, maybe you’d stop wanting him quite so fiercely.
Because even after all of that, you do want him. You want to own him. You want to ruin him. You want him like Veruca Salt stomping her foot and shrieking, ‘Daddy, give him to me!’
You want your heart to connect with his, and that craving is so intense that you’re almost jealous of anyone who’s ever deeply known him. Jealous of Simon, who always seems to understand what Johnny’s thinking before you do. It feels wrong, existing so close to Johnny and not touching, not staring, not knowing.
Not allowed to know.
This was all a mistake. A combination of oversights from all three of you, until you’ve reached this point of pain that was so, so preventable.
Johnny leans towards you as you pull your hand away from his. “Hungry?”
The line for the concession stand is annoyingly long. You’re waiting here by yourself because you really needed some space to clear your head. You mentally repeat your food order to yourself, as if it won’t evaporate out of your brain the second you step up to the window.
Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any hot tea?
You’re being idiotic about Johnny. Look at them over there, holding a conference at the picnic table with two stuffies propped up next to each of them. How could you dare be jealous of the most important friendship Simon’s ever had? You’d have to be some kind of selfish monster to deny either of them that comfort.
Three pretzels, two cheeses, two hot chocolates, and do you have any tea bags, and packets of sugar?
You just weren’t prepared for how unsatisfying this night would be. You’re giving Johnny space, and Simon’s giving you space, and it all makes you want to cry.
“I hope you’re fucking happy.”
Your heart begins to race, hearing those words spat with such hate from somewhere behind you. Instinctively you twist your face around in search of the threat, hoping it’s just some old person berating a server who will never have to see them again. But no, it’s much worse.
An older man sits across from a boy who looks to be about nine, his lip curled up in contempt as he stares the kid down.
Looking away, the boy mumbles something you don’t catch, but the man doesn’t even let him finish before sneering, “You’re a pansy, is what you are. ‘Fraid of a little roller coaster. Don’t know why I bother taking you anywhere nice like this, when you’ll just wimp out.”
Outrage pushes blood to your face, as you glance back over at Simon. He’s too far away to hear what’s going on, still shooting the shit with Johnny. It’s just you and the couple in front of you who seem to notice, the woman giving you an exasperated look, and the man determinedly staring straight ahead.
You know that tone of voice. That kind of disrespect has been etched into your bones, and you know exactly what it leads to. It’s the voice Simon grew up with, the one he has in his head every day, and has to convince himself to ignore.
Helplessly you take another step forward in line, watching the boy in your peripheral vision when he at last decides that the tirade is over, and raises his head. The direction of the kid’s sad gaze shouldn’t surprise you, but it does, as he peers over at your two soldiers across the way.
You look as well, wondering what he sees. Two large men, built strong enough to hurt anyone who talks down to them? Friends who are comfortable with each other, happily performing for no one? Or maybe he’s seeing the innate self confidence they have, to be able to hold their heads high while lugging around stuffed animals in public. It’s almost a display of power, if you look at it through the boy’s eyes. Or at the very least, it’s freedom.
Maybe it’s because you know about Simon’s childhood. Or maybe it’s your own memories growing up that flood you with righteous anger, the firsthand knowledge of how it is to live in fear. How the wrath of your ‘trusted adult’ is absolutely inescapable at that age. You know that weight. You can see it on that boy’s shoulders, suffocating him.
You know what, you’re going to say something. You’re not going to just turn your head away, like that man in front of you. You’re going to walk right up to that awful dad and chew him out, for your sake and for the sake of every kid who’s ever had to listen to words like that.
Clutching your purse tighter and squaring your shoulders, you’re just mustering up the anger you need to go through with it, when—
“Next in line? Next in line?”
“Oh, uh…” you step forward, trying to remember what you came here for. “Do you have… pretzels?”
The worker gives you a deadpan look and gestures over to the very obvious display of soft pretzels under heat lamps.
“O-okay, yeah, two of those, please. No, wait, three, and cheese.”
“Three pretzels and cheese,” the guy recites, giving you the total.
You’re obviously not going to cuss anyone out while holding a bushel of pretzels, so once you’ve paid, you stuff your wallet back into your purse and head towards your table to unload.
“Can’t believe there’s no smoking here,” the horrible man grumbles as you pass by, fishing into his pocket. “Go get your old man a Coke, and don’t be keeping any change.”
The hatred churns in your chest but you keep walking, certain that you’re about to get your revenge. You’re a marginally attractive person, and you’re here with a couple of meatheads who can squish pretty much anyone. There’s no risk involved, you can just unload, and that man… will… take it out on the kid.
Simon gives you a puzzled expression when your face falls, as soon as you reach them.
It’s useless. There’s not a single thing you can do for that boy. Any way you tear down his father would only result in him getting the punishment for it.
You’re just as stuck as ever, helpless and stupid and no one important, same as you were as a child. You might as well still be that little girl, realizing that nothing you could ever do would make the adults in your life see you as human.
All you are now is taller, with tits.
“What’s wrong?” Simon asks, as you push his pretzel over to him.
“Um…”
They’re both concerned now. Dammit.
Your gaze drops to the sparkly unicorn, its horn twinkling in the lights.
“Johnny?” you prompt, blinking at him while you form your thoughts.
“Hmm?”
You rest your hand on the head of his unicorn, tugging at the ear. “Can I have this? For keeps? Will you give it to me?”
He blinks rapidly in surprise, glancing down at his prized plushie. “Yeah, alright. Sure.”
Before you can second guess yourself, you scoop both animals up into your arms and head straight for the boy’s table.
“Excuse me,” you chirp, giving that disgusting man your most sunshiny smile. “I got these prizes here, and I just can’t take them home. They won’t fit in my car. Would you like to have these?” You turn your eyes on the boy for the last question, hopeful.
He doesn’t look at your face, just darts his eyes to his dad, and then to the unicorn.
“Tryin’ to run a hustle?” The man asks suspiciously.
“Nope, they’re free! Just hoping you could help me out.”
The boy glances over at Simon and Johnny, and the man says, “Aww, why not. We’ll take the brown one, don’t need no girl stuff.”
“Oh, come on,” you practically flirt, setting both animals on the bench. “Can’t you take both? I’d really appreciate it.”
Yeah, you’re laying on the charm for the old guy. You’re crooking your shoulder up and smiling a little saucy, and you don’t even feel bad about it. You have tits now.
“Well, alright,” he allows, seeming pleased to have you begging him.
“Thank you so much.” You finally bend down a little towards the boy, who hasn’t looked at you at all. His brown eyes lift hesitantly to yours.
“I’m very happy,” you tell him honestly, “that these guys got to go to someone really special.”
You leave before anyone can change their mind. You just turn right around and prepare to explain why you just Robin Hooded Johnny’s special—
Smack, slosh.
Instead of the clear path back that you thought you had, you run right into someone’s body, and frigid wet instantly coats your thighs.
“I’m so sorry!” the girl gasps, as you both stare down at your legs, completely saturated in some cold, fizzy drink.
“I— it was my fault,” you stammer, brushing droplets off the bottom of your coat. “I’m sorry.”
You’re so frozen in shock that it’s not until Simon materializes next to you that you even think to move away from the puddle.
“Come on,” he murmurs, “let’s get you home.”
What? Home?
A breeze runs through the place then, and you shiver violently at how frigid it feels when your leggings are soaked. You do have to go home. That’s the only option.
“I’m sorry,” you tell Johnny, when Simon’s hand on your elbow urges you to start walking. “I didn’t mean to… for it to be like this.”
“Ehh, it’s alright.” He offers you one of the pretzels he’s carrying. “There’ll be other times.”
No, there won’t. You had this one opportunity to prove to him that you should be in his life, and instead of doing what you needed to do to secure that, you were awkward and you stole his unicorn and you made everyone leave early. This was a disaster.
Fuck, don’t cry. You cannot cry right now.
You stop up your tear ducts through sheer stubbornness, numbly traversing the park and passing all the things you never got to do.
You’re a ruiner, you didn’t even get to talk with Simon tonight, just made him stand around everywhere you went and not have any fun.
Don’t cry.
By the time you make it back to your car, the only thing keeping the tears at bay is the surface tension on your eyeballs. You’ve got patches of frostbite on the front of each thigh, and even your hair feels a little sticky from stray droplets of soda. It’s the most you can do to just mutter an excuse to Simon, and escape into the back seat of your car to strip off your leggings.
As soon as you’re alone in that quiet, frozen car, the tears come. Silently they stream down your face, bringing with them the rising tide of your own inadequacy. The guys’ voices are a low hum from somewhere outside while you yank your shoelaces undone and fail to come up with a single glimmer of hope.
There’s nothing you can do. You did your best, and it wasn’t enough.
One shoe off, you’re forced to stifle a sob with your hands, as you come to the painful realization that you have to say goodbye to Johnny. Not just tonight, but in your heart. You’ve been clinging to that control, the idea that if you just perform everything perfectly, you can decide the outcome of the relationship.
But that’s false, you know it now. No amount of flawless behavior will make him love you, if it’s not meant to be.
The side door opens before you've managed to make progress on the second shoe, the task of removing your leggings now utterly cast to the side with the flood of emotion.
You already know it’s Johnny, even before he scoots himself into the backseat with you and wraps you up in his warm arms. Somehow you can tell even without looking, but you know it for sure when you bury your wet face into his shoulder and get a lungful of his scent.
“I missed you,” he says.