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It all starts in French class. Simon has never been particularly skilled at learning other languages and he can barely understand a word from the text they’re supposed to be reading. Seated next to him is Edwin Payne, quietly mouthing some of the words as he reads. Truth be told, Simon has never paid much attention to Edwin before, as the boy mostly keeps to himself.
And so it takes him by surprise when he finds himself staring at Edwin’s lips when they move, wanting to kiss them. He expels the thought from his head as soon as it appears. Boys didn’t think about kissing other boys. It is wrong and Simon isn’t some deviant. He wonders if Edwin is. Doesn’t matter, he tells himself. What do I care?
No matter how hard he tries to push them away, the thoughts about Edwin keep creeping back into his mind. He wonders what it would be like to hold Edwin’s hand; would it be as soft as he imagines? He thinks about the dimples in Edwin’s cheeks when he smiles. But Edwin hardly ever smiles and, most devastatingly, never at Simon.
It is not for a lack of effort on Simon’s part, but whenever he tries to say anything to him, Edwin just walks away. He reminds himself that it’s better this way. What he wants is a sin and he cannot allow himself to give in to temptation.
***
He finds Edwin in the courtyard after class. He’s sitting cross-legged on the grass, reading a novel as Simon walks up to him. Simon inspects the cover.
“Doyle’s quite a clever writer, isn’t he?”
Edwin jolts and scrambles to get up, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Excuse me,” he mutters. He tries to walk away, but Simon stops him, grabbing his arm. “Let go!”
Simon apologetically releases him. “I was just trying to make conversation,” he admits. “You’re not the only one in this school who reads, you know.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow. “ You have read Sherlock Holmes?”
Simon scoffs, only somewhat offended. “As a matter of fact, I have.” It’s true. He has read every Sherlock Holmes novel he could get his hands on, ever since he had found out they were Edwin’s favourite.”We could discuss it sometime, if you’d like.” He tries to sound as nonchalant as possible, while his heart pounds in his chest.
Edwin bites his lip and, oh, Simon wishes he could too.
Say yes, a voice in his head screams that Simon recognizes as his own. Say yes, so we can be the best kept secret St. Hilarions has ever known.
Say no, another voice demands and Simon isn’t entirely sure who it belongs to. Say no and save my soul.
Then Edwin opens his mouth to speak. “I-,” there’s a pause. “I really have to go right now,” he nervously chokes out as he brushes past Simon.
Edwin seems to avoid him even harder after that. Simon seeks him out in between classes, but the other boy is quick to gather his things and walk out the moment he sees him. There is a hollow feeling in his chest that he cannot name. Perhaps it’s relief. Or maybe it’s heartbreak. Are they not the same for people like him?
***
On the weekends, Simon likes to smoke his cigarettes by the pond and watch the birds. In his opinion, the birds have it easy. They don’t know about the war, or about God. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t know. If he were a bird, he’d fly far, far away from here and never look back. He’d go-
His train of thought is interrupted by the sound of crunching leaves.
“I apologise,” Edwin says, fidgeting with his hands. “I did not know you were here. I’ll be on my way.”
“Stay,” Simon says softly. He offers his pack of cigarettes to Edwin, who politely declines.
“I don’t smoke.”
“You could start,” Simon shrugs.
Edwin stares at him for a moment, then takes one out of the cigarettes. “Do you have light?” he asks as he puts it between his teeth.
Simon takes a step towards him. He has never been this close to Edwin before. He has lit his friends’ cigarettes plenty of times, but now the whole ordeal seems oddly intimate. He watches Edwin take a drag and for a moment Edwin meets his gaze. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, his beautiful green eyes, as he blows out the smoke into Simon’s face.
“It is rude to stare,” Edwin says, sounding offended. He smiles at Simon anyway.
***
Inevitably, Simon screws up. He blames that damned blue cap Edwin got during the holidays. He wears it all the time now and Simon thinks it really suits him. He tries to tell him so.
He snatches the thing off of Edwin’s head during dinner. As expected, Edwin angrily gets up from his seat.
“Give that back,” he hisses, while he reaches for his cap.
“What, this?” Simon teases, taking a step back so Edwin cannot take it. “Come and get it, pretty boy .” He truly means it as a compliment; Edwin is by far the prettiest boy Simon has ever seen.
Everyone else, however, does not take it this way. The boys around them laugh and Edwin just looks at Simon for a moment, hurt. Then he walks out, not even bothering to try and get his beloved cap back.
One of the other boys pats Simon on the back. “Good one, Simon. I think you made that Mary-Ann cry.” He chuckles and Simon laughs with him. On the inside, he feels as though something is tearing him apart.
***
In Simon’s dreams they lie together under the stars, wrapped up in a loving embrace. Only here, in this fabricated reality does he get to kiss Edwin, to touch him.
“I love you, Simon,” the Edwin in his dream whispers, as Simon caresses his cheek. That is how he knows that he’s still dreaming. Because Edwin, the real Edwin, doesn’t love him.
He wakes up in tears.