Implications of Mortality (Nathan x Simon)
Read on AO3
ACT I
Nathan has never much cared for the supposed cosmic meaning of life. While others have driven themselves mad with the philosophical idea of what life really is and how best to live it, Nathan has spared himself the headache. Rather than analysing, he's tackled the issue on a more practical level; experiencing life rather than defining it. And by experiencing, he very much is referring to snorting coke off of a couple of bare tits, among other things. Nathan reasons it's a much more valuable use of his time than "thinking" or whatever it is boring people do.
Whenever Nathan does think about life, his own more specifically, it never ends well. He feels nauseous, his head filled with voices he can't recognise as his own, taunting him until he’s forced to drink himself to sleep. He has always maintained that immortality is the superior superpower, no doubt from the A-list, but sometimes he can't help but feel like it's a curse more than it is a blessing. He should do something with this, should he not? Solve world hunger or cure cancer? Do something extraordinary with all that time, with the infinity he possesses. The universe sure has a sick sense of humour, giving immortality to the one person who's sure to waste it.
Kelly is worried about him. It's been about a year since community service ended and she technically has no obligation to give a shit about him anymore. And yet, with steady intervals she makes sure to visit him, usually bringing stale sandwiches or cold french fries. It's nice in its own way, but he suspects Kelly has been noticing the way he's constantly hiding a hangover whenever she's over and he hates the idea of her pitying him.
You don't need to be a mind reader to notice the way Nathan's cheeks have sunken in, the dark bags under his eyes defining his face in a way they never used to. He barely recognises himself anymore. When he looks at himself in the mirror the creature looking back seems more helpless and tragic than Nathan cares to admit. It has these sad eyes, questioning, as if it too is wondering who is looking back. Maybe Kelly is right to worry.
At least he's not homeless anymore. He's found himself a shaggy flat in the outskirts of Thamesmead, sharing it with Greg, proud Reddit monitor and probable cyberbully, his beard perpetually greasy and his look bored. Nathan has a twisted liking for the bastard, his lack of personal hygiene and social life making Nathan out to be a functioning member of society in contrast. His radiating loser vibes are so strong they cancel out Nathan's own ones, and he couldn't be more grateful. They usually communicate in nods of acknowledgement and the occasional knock on the wall if Nathan’s being too loud with whatever girl he’s brought home. It’s not ideal but it's better than the streets, better than the community service building even if he admittedly misses it sometimes. He often thinks about those early community service showers, irregular water pressure and shit temperature but a peaceful quiet surrounding him. To be alone in a big room like that, it was freeing somehow. Very different to the claustrophobic shower in the apartment, Greg knocking on the door as soon as he thinks Nathan’s wasting the warm water.
He's on his fifth job since community service ended, sorting mail four days a week. The repetitive motions of the machines, the mail moving forward in an endless loop, is calming but it also makes Nathan want to die a little bit. Not in a tragically suicidal “too good for this world”, Virginia Wolf, makeup running down his face, sort of way. He feels more like a fat hamster pressing its skull against the bars of its cage harder and harder until it splits open like a balloon. But other than that he’s doing great, he's fine.
Nathan is lying down in his bed waiting for the three ibuprofens he just swallowed to take effect when he hears a gentle knock on the door in the hallway. He curses quietly to himself. It’s not that he doesn't want Kelly to visit, he loves her visits, but he feels like he's one second away from puking up his brains and his entire head is pounding like that fat suicidal hamster has trapped itself behind his cranium, trying to gnaw its way out to freedom. It takes another knock for Nathan to force himself out of bed, slapping himself in the face in a sad attempt to wake up. He opens the door and his artificial smile reserved for Kelly is replaced by a look of stupid surprise.
“Hello, Nathan.”
Nathan wonders if Simon's voice has always been that deep or if the boy’s gone through a second puberty. Can that even happen?
“Barry, fancy seeing you here.”
Simon smiles at that and Nathan feels that familiar sting of nostalgia. He remembers now, Simon’s always had one of those shy smiles, like he’s afraid of smiling too loudly, too dramatically. He’s dressed in a black, slim coat which Nathan thinks has the potential to be the basis for a nice flasher joke. Something, something, nice jacket, I bet you show your weiner to little kids (pause for laughter). But instead, he settles on an awkward smile, taking a step away from the door to let Simon into the apartment.
“This apartment is- it’s great that you have your own place,” Simon says once he's inside, neatly putting his shoes aside, “you should be proud.”
Nathan doesn't have the energy to give that a dignified answer so Simon continues, “I haven’t seen you in a while so I thought I’d..” he shrugs, looks away, “say hello.”
“Well…” Nathan tries to think of something clever to say but that pounding headache is making it impossible to produce a single coherent thought.
“It’s good to see you,” he settles on and he thinks it sounds a little too friendly for his liking but decides not to think about it too hard.
He leaves Simon in the hallway, escaping the awkwardness in hopes of finding something to offer from the kitchen that preferably hasn't gone out of date yet. His mission is however sidelined by the mountain of dishes that greets him by the sink. Neither he nor Greg acknowledge the dish-pile most days but suddenly, Nathan feels a wave of unfamiliar embarrassment in the presence of it so he does the sensible thing and opens the dishwasher, throwing everything inside, somehow without breaking anything.
“You want help?”
Nathan has forgotten how quiet Simon can be. Jesus, that guy is a creep sometimes.
"What have I told you about walking up on me," he scolds, slamming the dishwasher shut, effectively cleaning up the mess, or at least making it a mess for later.
He rattles through the cabinet, finding a couple of saggy bags of camomile.
"Tea?" He offers, feeling very mature with the suggestion. In this moment he’s the definition of a British gentleman, in fact, he's gonna knock Barry's fucking socks off with all his matureness.
"Sure," Simon shrugs, his socks un-knocked.
Nathan ignores the lack of praise, instead putting on the kettle, the obnoxious bubbling sound like tiny knives against his temple.
"Are you alright?" Simon asks, "you look a little pale."
Briefly, Nathan wonders if he should take another ibuprofen but decides against it. Simon looks worried as it is, no need to fuel his anxieties. Nathan guesses this is all Kelly’s doing. Evidently, she doesn't think that her constant checking-up on him is enough and now she’s forcing poor Simon to participate as well. Do I really seem that fucked up? he wonders briefly to himself.
"Just a headache, I was working late last night," Nathan lies.
Sure, if you could call doing repeated body shots and snorting coke off someone's boobs in the bathroom “work”, then Nathan certainly earned himself a promotion last night. He shivers a little as scenes from the party flash past in his mind- pulsing lights, deafening music, strangers in the dark. Why was he embarrassed in front of Simon, again? He was living the rockstar life while Simon probably spent his days jerking off under some office desk.
“Right, Kelly told me,” Simon remembers, “the second-hand store.”
“Sure.”
Nathan doesn't have the energy to correct him. The second-hand store was actually job number four in an increasing list of jobs he’s been fired from. That time it was due to a “poor sense of customer service” which was a translation for not letting every single know-it-all bastard who walked into the store have the satisfaction of completely butt-fucking him with their ridiculous demands. Nathan has learned the hard way that he did not do well in jobs where you had to talk to people, obey authority, take instructions or do anything even mildly challenging. Sadly he had the soul of a rockstar, just none of the talent to go along with it.
“Nathan?”
Simon looks concerned, he has that worried little wrinkle between his brows and Nathan can’t help but smile at its familiarity. Simon might have upgraded his hairstyle from a sad mop to a sexy mop and he’d learned that there were other clothing options than button-up shirts, but he was still the same old Simon.
“I missed you,” Nathan blurts out, then, hastily adding, “you little freak.”
He blames the headache, it's insistent pounding not doing any favours for his already distracted nature.
Simon looks a little uncomfortable at the admission, his pale cheeks turning an embarrassed shade of pink.
“You too,” he mumbles.
The water is finally done boiling and Nathan pours them some tea, praying that the cups have been cleaned at least sometime in the last decade. Simon seems to relax when he gets something to do with his hands, gently holding the sides of the cup even when he’s not drinking from it.
“You remember that girl you lost your V-card to?” Nathan reminisces fondly. He figures that's what normal people do when they meet up after not having seen each other for a year. Talk about treasured memories and whatnot.
“What was her name again… Josy, Jessy, Jelinda-”
“Jessica?”
“Yes, sweet sweet Jessica!” Nathan confirms, “she was a little prude-ish if my memory serves me correct, but I guess that's a good thing. If she’d been a slag she would have probably shagged me instead.”
“We did it in the bathroom so at least she wasn't that much of a prude.”
“Barry!” Nathan gasps scandalously, unable to hide his proud grin, “you know you can catch some nasty stuff from those toilet seats, I hope you got tested.”
Simon gives him that shy smile again and shrugs sheepishly.
“What happened with her anyway, your toilet-fuck?”
“Jessica.”
“The virgin destroyer,” Nathan whispers dramatically.
Simon shrugs again, tapping nervously with his fingers against his teacup, “we were supposed to go on a date,” he says, “but she changed her mind, I guess.”
“Girls,” Nathan complains in lack of anything better to say, “who knows what they’re thinking.”
Simon gives him a weird look, “I don’t think that's exclusive to girls.”
“I guess it’s not.”
--
Later, once Nathan has sobered up and is sorting mail with music blaring through his headphones, he thinks of Simon. He doesn't remember asking Simon much about his life, if he still lived at home, where he was working, if he ever hung out with the rest of the gang, but now he finds himself desperately wondering. Why had he not taken two seconds to just ask? Maybe it had been the hangover or maybe he was just a narcissistic prick. Either way, he damns his past self.
The sorting station is Nathan’s favourite. Everyone has their own little section to work on, sorting the mail according to the different postal numbers and putting them in different compartments depending on where they were to be sent next. You were technically only allowed to work with one headphone in (something about bullshit safety concerns) but during the one month that Nathan had worked there, no one had complained at his breaking of procedure. People didn't bother him much in general actually and Nathan found that he appreciated that.
He continues to think about Simon and he hates to admit it, but the weird kid really did look great. The sexy mop was working in his favour and the black coat, no matter the connotation to flashers, suited him. He looked like a detective in one of those predictable crime shows. Nathan can picture his cold eyes as he studies the latest victim lying in a pool of blood, their lips pale and eyes glazed over. He can almost hear Simon's apathetic, dark voice saying something cliche like “we were too late”, crouching down and closing the victim's eyes to honour them. He’d be a noble detective, a good guy, at least Nathan would like to think so. He knows Simon has done some less than legal stuff, but the weird kid has a good heart, if he didn't Kelly wouldn't be so protective of him.
--
When Nathan gets home, he’s already longing for tomorrow to be over and for the weekend to start. There’s supposed to be a birthday party and Nathan doesn't exactly know who is being celebrated, he just knows there will be lots of drugs and booze and that's good enough for him.
“Nathan,” Greg says when he opens the door and it instantly puts Nathan on edge because they don't talk to each other, especially using first names.
“Your boyfriend came looking for you, left you some soup.”
Nathan feels his ears going warm and his physical reaction is even more embarrassing than the fact that he doesn't need to ask who the boyfriend in question is. There is only one person who'd be weird enough to leave him soup of all things. Unfortunately, Simon really does have a good heart and Nathan wishes he’d waste it on someone else.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Nathan mutters and walks to the kitchen in order to inspect this aforementioned soup.
It’s a brown mushroom soup decorated with fresh parsley and it's turned cold so Nathan guesses Simon must have come over just after Nathan left for work. There is a post-it note attached to the container reading:
“You seemed sick and I saw that you had no food in the fridge so I brought you some soup. Hope you feel better soon. /Simon.”
Nathan changes his mind, Simon isn't a good-hearted hero type, he is a full-blooded psychopath. What other explanation is there for such a bizarre action as bringing random soup to someone just because they look a little pale? The soup is probably poisoned or filled with the meat of his murder victims. Simon is probably Hannibal-ing him right now, that fucker.
He eats the soup anyway, and of course, it's delicious even if it's cold. He puts the container with the rest of the hidden dirty dishes and sneaks off to Greg's room. He knows there is a slight chance Greg might piss his pants at being interrupted in the middle of gaming but Nathan needs answers and his roommate is, unfortunately, the only witness to Simon's strange gesture.
"So, did he say anything? The kid who came with the soup?"
Greg doesn't look up from his computer screen but he doesn't sigh or groan out in irritation either which is a good sign.
"I don't know, mate, he didn't talk much," he says "just asked if you were home and when I said you weren't he asked if he could leave the soup in the kitchen."
"Then what?" Nathan presses on.
"Then nothing, he left," Greg shrugs, "ahhh, you bitch," he mumbles and Nathan assumes it's directed at the game and not him.
--
Two days later Nathan wakes up cold in a bed that definitely isn't his own. He’s not sure, but he suspects he has accidentally died at some time during the previous night. His limbs are uncomfortably stiff, his throat sore, and the throw up over his neck and pillow indicates that he probably suffocated choking on his own puke. He leaves before anyone forces him to clean it up.
On his way home, hands far down in his pockets to preserve some warmth in the unforgiving fall weather, he tries to remember anything from the night before. He knows the music was loud and the alcohol infinite, a small studio apartment filled with artistic hedge fund kids, many potential prey for a little drunken intimacy. Nathan also remembers being handed a pink pill and after that things turn blurry, like his memory is a roll of film someone has spilt acid over.
He smells awful and he's sure he came over to the party with more clothes than he's leaving in. If Simon comes over again, maybe he could convince him to use his invisibility to shoplift him a new jacket. “It doesn't work like that” would probably be his apathetic answer. Lame.
A shower and half a day of napping later, Greg shakes him awake.
“Fuck off,” he mumbles, trying to hide under the blanket, the harsh light from the window a rude reminder of the existence of time.
“Your boyfriend is here,” Greg says and that wakes up Nathan more than any shaking could.
“Barry?”
“No, Simon.”
“Shit,” Nathan pushes away the blanket from his body and nearly trips trying to step out of the bed, “distract him while I find some clothes.”
Greg gives him an unimpressed look, “I’m not your little maid, mate, entertain him yourself.”
Nathan groans, “if you do this little thing for me, I promise I’ll clean those stupid dishes.”
Greg, somehow, looks even more unimpressed, “you should already be doing that.”
“What do you want then?” Nathan spits, “you need me to blow you? Comb your beard? Sit in your lap and pretend to be an anime girl?”
“You could have just said please,” Greg mutters, but he walks out of the room and soon after that, Nathan hears awkward conversation coming from the kitchen. Perfect.
He hastily looks through his sad excuse of a wardrobe, picking out a couple of ripped jeans and a thin band tee, trying to channel a little bit of that rock-star essence. He double-checks himself in the mirror. Hair, beautiful. Cock, in. Fly's up.
As soon as Greg spots him in the kitchen opening he rolls his eyes and leaves, not even properly finishing the conversation with poor Simon who is left looking a little confused. He smiles when he sees Nathan however, and Nathan thinks he might still be a little hungover because the insides of his stomach do a cartwheel.
“Are you stalking me, Barry?” he teases.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” Simon responds lamely, “you still look sick, are you feeling any better?”
Nathan sits down on the opposite side of the little table, his tall legs accidentally bumping into Simon’s knees.
“Did Kelly put you up to this, all this checking in on me?” he accuses and Simon instantly averts his gaze.
“No- well, no, but-” he stumbles, “she did tell me she was worried you weren't feeling well.”
“That bitch,” Nathan mumbles and Simon actually looks offended.
“She’s just worried,” he says defensively, “I am too,” he adds.
Nathan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly he feels less like an untouchable rock star and more like a teenage alcoholic with an endless future of no prospects.
“Did you people forget I am literally immortal,” he objects, “I could throw myself out that window and wake up the next day without a scratch.”
Nathan gestures towards the kitchen window for emphasis and Simon follows his finger, scanning over the parking lot outside. Perhaps he's picturing Nathan's lifeless body on the pavement, blood pooling below him, lips pale and eyes glazed over. We were too late.
“But you wouldn’t, right?”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Throw yourself out the window.”
Nathan thinks he's kidding at first but is disappointed to be met with that same unfazed, apathetic look.
“Jesus, Barry,” he laughs hopelessly, “you really think I’m some tragic soul who just goes around dying for the fun of it?”
Simon doesn't answer, but his eyes move back to the window. Nathan sighs. This wasn't how he wanted things to go, not that he wanted them to go in any particular way or anything, but still.
“You don’t need to call me that anymore,” Simon says after a while and Nathan answers with a questioning hum.
“Barry,” Simon clarifies, “we’re not in community service anymore, you can call me by my real name.”
“Whatever you say, Barry.”
--
The next time Simon comes to visit, he's not alone. It’s a workday but Nathan doesn't start until 6.00 p.m. and he has spent the day numbly listening to the old records he managed to steal from the second-hand shop before he got fired. It's a confusing mix of 80’s rock and 60’s jazz, perfect for someone who’s only half-listening rather than actually enjoying the music. For once, he hasn't been drinking, but it has more to do with being too lazy to buy more alcohol and less to do with a wish for a sober and healthy lifestyle.
Nathan doesn't get any warning from Greg this time, his door is just rudely ripped open to reveal Kelly and Simon in the doorframe. Kelly doesn't waste time on pleasantries and instead just walks in like it is, and always has been, her room.
“What is wrong with you two,” Nathan protests, “I could have been wanking in here, at least knock.”
Kelly rolls her eyes and pushes Nathan’s feet aside to give herself room to sit down on the bed.
“Hi Nathan,” Simon gives him an awkward little wave before sitting down on the IKEA garden chair Nathan found in a pile of thrown away rubbish.
“I suppose you were just in the neighbourhood,” Nathan comments, giving them both a sour look that he doesn't really mean.
Simon blushes slightly but Kelly just huffs, annoyed.
"No, you dick, we came to cheer you up."
"Cheer me up?!" Nathan huffs, offended, “well I'm not in need of your services."
Simon pulls out a big chocolate bar, offering it to Nathan almost apologetically.
“We brought snacks."
"Correction- you brought a snack," Nathan mutters but accepts the chocolate anyway.
"So," Nathan says, taking a bite of the chocolate before passing it on to Kelly, "since you're here to cheer me up, tell me something cheery. Preferably involving nudity."
"Simon went on a date," Kelly offers and Simon blushes again.
"It's nothing serious," he dismisses but from the way he's avoiding Nathan's look, Nathan figures he's lying out of his ass.
He tries to, for once, not be a selfish arsehole and actually find joy in someone else's success, but there is nothing. It's like he's empty, devoid of anything human. That creature in the mirror is wearing his skin like an ill-fitted dress, speaking for him because it wants to practice being human. No one seems to notice, not even Nathan can tell them apart anymore.
“Well, don’t spare any details, loverboy,” he encourages. He's almost proud of himself for sounding so much like himself.
“Have you pissed on her tits yet?”
“Please spare some details,” Kelly half laughs, half groans, “the pissing thing is dead disgusting.”
Simon’s shy blush has now turned his entire face completely red. Nathan almost feels bad for him.
“I’m not pissing on anyone!” He reassures them, “we’ve only been on two dates.”
“Well, you know what they say,” Nathan murmurs, wiggling his eyebrows, “third date’s the sex date.”
“Shut up, Nathan,” Kelly says, giving Simon a pitying look, “he’s just being a prick, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Nathan makes a doubtful sound, earning himself a glare from Kelly.
“What,” he defends, “I just think if you don’t make a move by the third date, you send the signal that you're a pussy.”
“Dickhead,” Kelly shoves him, hard, then turns to Simon, “seriously, don’t listen to him, I don't think he’s ever even been on a real date.”
Nathan wonders who this mysterious girl is, he wants to ask but he's not sure if he’s really himself at the moment. Maybe this is what it means to be immortal, slowly having your life taken from you until you're observing every moment from the outside. Like an actor desperately wishing he could change his lines only to be spit in the eye by some sadistic director just for having an opinion. Forced to keep living but unable to take any part in it.
Kelly glances at him and Nathan reminds himself to not sound so depressed when he has mental monologues.
“She's right,” Nathan admits, “not about the dating stuff, I’ve been on plenty of dates, ask Greg, he can confirm it gets nasty in here.”
Kelly makes a grossed out sound but Nathan continues like he can't hear her.
“But you don’t have to have sweet, sexy intercourse with anyone you don't want to,” he says and he sort of feels like a lame sex ed infomercial.
Simon looks relieved however, and Kelly gives him an approving smile.
They sit like that for a while, passing the chocolate bar between themselves and talking shite. They speculate about whatever happened to Shaun, if he’s still a complete dick terrorizing teenage criminals or if he's run off to Brazil indefinitely. They argue about whether it's crazier to fuck a monkey or a grannie, Simon voting against Kelly, much to her disappointment.
“In my defence, he was really nice,” she pouts.
Kelly leaves around the time Nathan is supposed to go to work, leaving him and Simon alone in his room. Nathan knows he should do the responsible thing, tell his guests he appreciated their visit and excuse himself. But he doesn't. Instead, he gives Simon a meaningful look.
“Now that it's just us manly men in the room," he leans forward, "who is this new girl?"
Simon clears his throat, looking mildly uncomfortable.
"You're gonna laugh," he mumbles.
Nathan actually feels a little hurt by that. Once again, why he cares about Barry's loser-opinion of him is… weird. But there's no time to analyse that, instead he puts on a wounded face.
"Barry, when have I ever judged you?" he says seriously.
"Many many times," Simon answers, deadpanned.
"Well," Nathan argues, "I'm a changed man, my friend."
Simon gives him a doubtful frown but Nathan can see the gears in his head turning. Right now he's formulating whatever he's gonna say next, planning the exact word choice to best convey whatever it is he finds so hard to say.
"Let's just start with something easy. What's her name?" Nathan tries to help.
Simon hesitates a moment, then forces out a “Levi.”
“Huh,” Nathan raises an eyebrow, “your girl’s got kind of a masculine name, not judging though.”
“Nathan,” Simon says very seriously, “Levi is a man. I’m dating a man.”
Oh. Nathan feels like an idiot. To his credit though, he doesn't spew out any inappropriate comments, just makes a stupid looking o-shape with his mouth while staring at Simon with wide eyes.
“I was trying to tell you,” Simon stumbles, “I mean I was going to- I- I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”
Nathan nods. He tries to think of a funny joke but nothing pops up. Instead he feels gross, like his skin is turned inside out and everyone can see how nasty he is on the inside. He supposes this is what normal people call shame. Nathan can’t say he’s a fan.
“Considering I stuck my tongue in your throat that one time, I don’t think it’s fair to make fun of you, at least not about this,” he finally says and he can practically hear Simon exhale all that built-up anxiety.
“Besides,” he adds, “I might be an arse, allegedly , but I’m not a homophobic arse.”
Simon smiles at him and it's not one of his shy smiles, it's a proper, big one. Teeth and all.
“Thanks,” he says.
--
Nathan dreams of community service that night. They’re all there, the old gang back together, wearing their ill-fitted orange jumpsuits and wishing they could be anywhere else. They’re standing outside of the community service building and Nathan is being a prick like usual.
“Do you ever get depressed when you think about how useless your powers are?” He innocently asks Curtis whose face remains stoic, not taking the bait.
“I mean, sure, you can go back in time but not when you actually want to. It’s more inconvenient than useful actually,” he continues. He doesn't know exactly why it’s so important to get a rise from the other man, but he knows he has to. It’s a dickhead instinct he simply can’t ignore.
Kelly rolls her eyes while Alisha raises a curious eyebrow, wondering if the one-sided berating will turn into a fight. Probably hoping it will.
“It’s sort of sad,” Nathan says, faking sympathy, “you have this incredible gift but in your hands, it just becomes wasted. All that potential- for nothing… Kind of like how you ruined the potential to be in the Olympics. Ironic, innit?”
“I’ll show you ironic,” Curtis bites out.
He pushes Nathan forward, hard, and the world turns into static. Nathan feels his body floating between time and space, the nothingness around him engulfing his very soul. The atoms in the air change and Nathan wonders briefly if this is what Curtis feels every time he goes back in time.
Light returns and the world turns back to normal, Nathan standing in the exact spot he did a couple of seconds ago. He doesn't know how he knows, (in hindsight he guesses it's just one of those dream things), but he’s sure Curtis, that bastard, has pushed him forward in time.
“Guys?” He shouts when he realises none of them are where they should be.
He's completely alone. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, the water still, untouched, and the building behind him quiet like death. Just when he begins to panic he spots a familiar, short frame, and Nathan instantly runs in his direction.
Simon is sitting with his legs in the water, looking out towards the grey apartment buildings on the other side of the lake. He ignores Nathan when he sits down beside him, his eyes fixated on that unmoving lake and those stupid blocks of cement.
“Barry,” Nathan exhales, “thank God, I was starting to think I was alone.”
Simon doesn't look at him when he answers.
“I’m sorry, Nathan.”
“No worries, man. I found you, didn’t I?”
He reaches out to give the other man a friendly pat on the shoulder but freezes as he feels no resistance, his hand practically moving through air. Simon finally looks at him, his eyes big and tragic.
“I’m sorry,” he says again and Nathan finally gets it. The emptiness, the quiet, the complete lack of anything living.
“So,” he says, trying his best to sound unaffected, “we're in the future and everyone is dead. Brilliant. Love that for me.”
Simon turns back to the unmoving water and they sit still in the quiet. For a while it's almost pleasant, but then the panic creeps in and Nathan feels the longer he spends in this infinite silence, the closer this world gets to turning him into one of its quiet, unmoving pieces.
“Why can I only see you?” He finally asks, “if they’re all dead, where are they?”
“The reason you can see me and no one else is the same reason you can see anyone who’s passed on.”
“Way to be a smartass,” Nathan mutters and Simon actually laughs at that. He looks at Nathan like he knows the punchline to a joke Nathan is too stupid to get. He looks at him like can’t decide to pity him or make fun of him.
“The people you see are those whose deaths you are responsible for.”
“I’ve never killed anyone,” Nathan protests.
“You don’t have to kill anyone to be responsible for their death.”
Nathan thinks back. Jamie, annoying hippie guy, sure they fit the pattern but wouldn’t that mean-
“I killed you?”
Simon smiles but it is neither shy nor big and proud. It's a sad smile that says the same thing Simon’s been repeating all throughout this stupid dream. “I’m sorry.”
“But how-” Nathan feels that panic closing in on him again, “sure, I can be an arse, but I wouldn’t do that, you’re my friend.”
He feels stupid for admitting that last fact but it’s true. He doesn't really know how it happened, their friendship, but it did, and now he's stuck with the consequences, the responsibility of it.
“No,” Nathan stands up. He can’t accept this, this impossible burden, this curse. It’s a lie, it has to be. Jamie said it wasn't his fault, didn’t he? And sure, it had felt too easy, but he had chosen to believe it, not knowing how to live with himself if he didn't. But maybe Simon is right. Maybe this is another cruel joke of the universe, to allow him the company of the dead, but only with the knowledge he is the reason for their misery. It is all his fault.
“You’re lying,” Nathan accuses, desperately clinging on to his own innocence, “you’re winding me up, this is you getting back at me for calling you a melonfucker all those times, isn’t it? I said I was sorry, what more do you want?!”
Simon smiles again, shaking his head like a parent does to a child who keeps asking braindead questions like “why is the sky blue and why won’t anyone tell me what happens when you die?”
He stands up beside Nathan, and the orange legs of his pants remain dry despite having been soaked in water mere seconds ago. Nathan wonders if it's easier being dead. You don’t have to worry about your clothes getting wet, about accidentally killing your brother, about saying the wrong things or falling for the wrong person.
“You don’t care about a single person but yourself,” Simon says simply, “you killed me with your selfishness and now you’re the only person you have left.”
Nathan doesn't know if Simon pushes him into the water or if he falls forward voluntarily, if somewhere in his mind he knows he deserves this. In the water he is back in the darkness. He can’t breathe and his body struggles to stay afloat, trying to swim back to the surface but not knowing which direction is the right one. He thinks he's sinking. Panic takes over completely as the darkness, the stillness, the quiet, captures him in its arms, possesses him completely.
Then he wakes up.
--
The next day Nathan has an early shift at work and maybe the universe has decided to be kinder to him than usual because no one seems to have made note of the fact that he didn't show up the day before. Maybe it’s one of those things where you’re silently observed on your mistakes until one day, out of the blue, you’re fired with no warning. Nathan supposes it doesn’t matter, he has an eternity to worry about boring jobs. What's the worst that could happen? He gets fired, he ends up on the street, he starves to death only to be resurrected the very next day. In the end it holds no lasting meaning, none of it does.
He keeps to himself, sorting those endless letters while blasting music in his ears and thinking about the dream. He can still see Simon before him, those tragic dead eyes, that pitying laugh. He’s not sure if he’s being stupid even considering the words of a ghost in a dream, but for some reason what Simon said has stuck with him. If Nathan can, supposedly, see dead people, why isn’t he seeing them constantly? Why has he only ever seen his little brother- the person he was supposed to protect. And that activist with the rattail who he might have let die because he momentarily forgot that he was immortal. On a technicality, ghost-Simons theory holds up and Nathan feels himself going a little crazy even considering it. God, he needs a drink.
After work he heads to the bar, hoping for some answers and to get rid of this torturous soberness. He relaxes as he sees a familiar face by the bar and Curtis gives him a lukewarm smile in return once he spots him.
“You come here for free drinks?” He asks and Nathan scoffs.
“Of course not, I wouldn’t use my friends like that,” he says, “besides, I’m economically independent now.”
Curtis rolls his eyes and gives him a free beer anyway.
“So,” he says, weirdly polite considering he never really liked Nathan, “what's new with you then?”
Curtis looks pretty much the same since Nathan last saw him. Same lanky runners-bod, same annoyed look on his face. He has a slight stubble now and a discrete silver ear piercing that matches his cross necklace. Nathan wonders if it's some sort of statement, if their little group is getting slightly gayer by the day. First Simon with his little boy-toy and now Curtis with this fierce rejection of traditional masculinity. What's next? Kelly and Alisha start a lesbian book club together while Nathan goes to watch a musical, voluntarily .
“Not much,” Nathan responds, refraining from mentioning anything about the piercing, knowing he won't get many answers from Curtis if he’s all riled up.
“Actually, I came to ask you about something,” Nathan admits.
Curtis smirks, knowingly, “somehow I knew you didn’t just come here for a drink and a chat,” he says.
“It’s about your special…” Nathan lowers his voice to prevent any of the other drunks in the bar from hearing them, “powers.”
“Sure,” Curtis shrugs, “ask away.”
“So,” Nathan starts, “the whole rewind thing- does it work the other way around too? Have you ever been to the future or anything like that?”
Curtis gives him a weird look. He leans forward over the bar, lowering his voice as well.
“Why are you asking me about this, Nathan?”
“Can’t a fella just be a little curious?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” he warns.
“Alright, alright,” Nathan surrenders, “so I had this dream where you pushed me into the future, and I don’t know- I guess I wanted reassurance that it was just a dream and not some weird vision or something.”
Curtis fixates his eyes on Nathan, his dark eyes like lasers. “What did you see?”
“Nothing, mate,” Nathan says, leaning back to avoid his inquisitive eyes, “just the community centre and uh- Barry was there, but as a ghost I guess, it was sorta creepy.”
Curtis leans back too, “so this is about Simon?”
“No,” Nathan protests, “it's not about anyone. I just thought you might have known if it like… meant something.”
Nathan takes a big swig of his beer and Curtis pours up another one, "it doesn't mean anything," he says, "going to the future is impossible, at least with my powers."
He hands the beer over to Nathan who accepts it silently, setting the now empty glass to the side.
"I started running again by the way," Curtis continues. He says it like it's no big deal, like he doesn't care either way, but Nathan knows that's when you actually care the most. He wonders why he’s telling Nathan this, of all people. Maybe they don’t actually hate one another.
"I'm still on probation but I'm just doing it for fun," Curtis continues.
Nathan gives him an earnest smile, "hey, man, I'm proud of you,” he says, and, for once, he’s being genuine.
--
Nathan keeps himself moderately drunk after that, making sure he's at least intoxicated enough to avoid more weird dreams about ghost-Simon and his own inevitable, lonely future. When Nathan's drunk, he only ever has wet dreams or dreams he can't remember, neither of which he minds.
He goes to work on time and all hours he's not working he wastes his money on drugs and alcohol. It's a miracle he doesn't die again but his destructive behaviour has somehow alerted Greg who usually can't see beyond his own butthole. One day when Nathan is suffering from an especially nasty hangover, he asks him “you good, mate?” and if that's not a sign things are going downhill, Nathan doesn't know what is.
Simon tries to visit him but Nathan forces Greg to tell him he’s sick with some sort of highly contagious influenza that prohibits him from even saying hi. This earns Nathan more dish cleaning-duty as well as homemade mushroom soup. It’s not that he doesn't want to see him, of course he does. But for some reason he’s not feeling very keen to hear more about Simon and this new bloke he’s going out with. He’s gonna hear about it eventually, and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from asking about it either, his impulsive curiosity trumping his sense of self-preservation. But he truly dreads it.
Nathan isn’t homophobic, that's not what it's about. It's just that people who are in relationships, no matter gay or straight ones, are absolutely insufferable. The only thing they talk about is their partner, all the amazing things they do, and inevitably, all the shitty things they do. And as soon as things aren't going perfect they demand sympathy and advice from people like Nathan, never actually intending to take that advice to heart. It makes Nathan nauseous just thinking about, Simon taking cheesy pictures with this Levi, holding hands around town and giggling at some stupid inside joke. What kind of name is Levi anyway?
--
Two weeks pass before he gets a call from Curtis of all people.
“Come to the bar this weekend,” he says, “we were gonna meet up for drinks, you should be there too.”
Nathan thinks it over. On the one hand, it's been almost a year since he last saw the ASBO-five as a group and things might be painfully awkward, on the other hand, he feels like Curtis wouldn't call him unless he really did want him to come.
“Maybe I can swing by,” he settles on, “grace you people with my presence for a little while.”
“Sure,” Curtis says and Nathan can practically hear the eye-roll through the phone.
--
The rest of the gang is already halfway through their first drinks when Nathan arrives. He can tell even from a distance that Alisha is in the middle of a passionate retelling of something scandalous and possibly sexual. She's doing hand motions that sort of looks like she's cupping two boobs and Nathan adds this as evidence to his growing theory that their old gang is slowly getting gayer. She lights up when she spots Nathan and Nathan feels himself matching her big smile without even thinking about it. Last time they met they didn't even really say goodbye, just gave one another a nod in acknowledgement. He’s always liked her even though she's positively the most annoying person in the group (well, not counting himself of course). But they've never been friends, Alisha's made that very clear on numerous occasions, and yet here she is, smiling at him like she's actually happy to see him. She jumps off her seat and Nathan freezes as he suddenly feels himself embraced in her arms. Without thinking, he pushes her off like she's a blob of radiation, straight outta Chernobyl.
"What the-" he takes a step back to make sure her skin doesn't accidentally touch his. Nathan declaring he wants to piss on her tits or something equally embarrassing isn't exactly how he wants to start the evening.
"Nathan," she laughs, reaching out to touch his arm, "it's okay, look."
On instinct, he pulls back when he feels her fingertips against his skin but when nothing happens, no inappropriate comments, no half-hard cock in his jeans, he relaxes. Then confusion washes over him.
"What the fuck?"
--
Alisha explains it all, and despite all the detours and excessive details in her story, he thinks he's gotten the gist of it. Apparently there's some sort of shady dealer who trades in superpowers and thanks to him, Alisha is more or less normal. Well, she's clairvoyant now, and Nathan doesn't really get how that works but anything must be better than her previous powers.
"So technically we could all get new powers?" He says, an innocent idea that earns him a hard smack from Kelly who's on her second drink now and is starting to underestimate her own strength.
"You’re not trading your powers, you'd be dead in a week," she says.
"Kelly's right," Simon agrees, still on his first beer and much more sensible, "besides, we know nothing about the people on the receiving end of the trade or what they intend to do with the new powers. It could be dangerous.”
“Whatever. Whoever buys my old powers is a fucking idiot anyway,” Alisha says, emptying her beer and standing up to get another one.
Nathan follows her to the bar to get another beer, maybe a shot. The revelation that he could trade himself something else than eternal loneliness is filling him with dread and hope at the same time. Kelly and Simon are right, even Nathan can’t deny that. He’s lost count on how many times he’s died and there is no doubt that without his powers he won't last long. And yet he can't help but wonder if things would be different, better, less… this. He can’t help but wonder if he’d actually start caring about his own life, knowing he’ll lose it one day. He can’t help wondering if death might be the answer to that gaping hole inside him, if its presence might scare away the emptiness. Usually, death paralyses people, turns them into scared children, but Nathan’s never been scared of death, not even before the storm. He knows what it's like to die. He’s felt the life draining out of him, felt his cranium crush into pieces and his heart stop and he’s never been scared. Fear itself is what fascinates him more. He wonders what it would be like if he could feel true fear, if he could care more.
“Just out of curiosity, where did you find this dealer guy anyway?” Nathan asks Alisha once they're standing by the bar, out of reach of Kelly’s aggressive hands and Simon's annoyingly persistent maturity.
“You really shouldn’t, you know,” she says and Nathan suspects she too is getting a little tipsy because she's making no sense.
“I trust Kelly and Simon with my life,” she continues, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder just because she can, just because she's finally free now, “and if they say you shouldn’t trade your powers, you probably shouldn't.”
“Well,” Nathan sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, “I wish I could say the same thing but I doubt my life would be worth much.”
Alisha gives his cheek a little pat-pat, her eyes uncharacteristically sympathetic, “you’re a lot more depressing than I remember,” she states simply.
When they return to the table, Simon is talking about some Jesus freak by the community centre that has him worried, Kelly and Curtis occasionally humming along to show they’re still listening. They know just as well as Nathan that even if Simon usually is the one to save all their asses in the end, his constant worrying and excessive observations are tiring.
“Even if this guy has powers,” Curtis says, “It’s not really our problem, is it.”
“But he’s clearly scamming his followers,” Simon interjects, “he’s using his powers to manipulate people for their money.”
“Isn’t that the entire point of religion?” Kelly mutters, Curtis giving her an irritated glance. Maybe it's a touchy subject, Nathan notes.
“Who’s manipulating who?” Alisha chirps, sitting down with a smile despite the tension at the table. She leans her head against Kelly’s shoulder and Kelly instantly leans into the touch, relaxing. Apparently, they’ve grown closer without Nathan even noticing. He wonders exactly how much he’s missed in just a year.
“Nothing,” Kelly says, “Simon is just worried about some douchebag with powers.”
“But that's not really our problem anymore, is it?” Alisha raises a critical eyebrow and Curtis instantly breaks out in a rare smile.
“Exactly what I said!” he exclaims, “I’m so done with all the power-bullshit anyway.”
Simon sighs and Nathan sits down beside him, giving him a friendly pat on the back, “don’t be all depressed, Barry” he comforts, “I’m sure you’ll get to play hero again at some point.”
Simon looks up at him and Nathan can’t tell if it's a look of annoyance or gratitude. He has one of those unreadable faces, his lines of soft muscle unmoving and his grey eyes vacant. He’d make a good torture victim Nathan reflects, or a poker player. Either way, Simon’s face doesn't reveal a single secret if it doesn't want to and Nathan finds himself suddenly sick with the want to decipher it.
“What are you thinking, pretty boy?” he asks casually, ignoring Kelly’s little smirk.
Simon gives him a pointed, icy stare and Nathan is almost sure now that he is in fact annoyed and not grateful.
“If something happens to those people-” Simon pauses, moving his face closer to make sure Nathan hears every single word, “the blood will be on our hands.”
Nathan gulps audibly, moving back in his seat to find some distance between the two of them. Kelly gives him another smirk. Her know-it-all mind-reading tendencies are apparently much much more annoying when she’s drunk and Nathan has to think of something to get her off her game.
“I’m sure those people will be fine, besides, everyone knows cults are just harmless fun.”
He dismisses Simon with another friendly pat, then, turning to the rest of the gang, “hey, do you guys remember the time Kelly shagged a monkey?”
The comment has the desired effect of erupting the table into chaos, Alisha finding herself in a laughing fit while Kelly aggressively defends herself from Curtis’s sarcastic comments.
Simon watches the whole thing with even more unreadable staring.
“We can’t just be thinking of ourselves,” Simon mumbles, quiet enough for Nathan to be the only one who hears it, “we’ll kill them with our selfishness.”
Something about that phrase has Nathan on edge. He moves back in his seat, back into Simon’s personal space, the air around them narrow and tense now.
“Selfishness is how we survive,” Nathan says earnestly.
People like Simon, people who insist on practising kindness and hallelujah-peace are the same people that end up getting trampled on, end up getting used. This world is a sadistic bitch with a ten-inch strap on and she will fuck you raw. This world isn’t made for heroes.
“And you might not believe this, Barry, but I do want you to survive this cruel world,” he says.
“There's simply no one else who I like bullying more,” he adds when he hears how disgustingly sentimental he sounds.
Simon doesn't answer but he does give Nathan a small half-smile. Nathan finds himself staring at him, the ways his lips curl slightly, the way his eyes seem a little warmer than before. Maybe Simon’s face isn’t unreadable at all, maybe Nathan just isn't reliable in his translations. He wishes Simon would never stop smiling like that, the look suits him, makes him seem a little more human.
Shit, Nathan thinks, I need another drink. Preferably ten.
--
The next morning Nathan truly did wish he was dead, at least then he wouldn’t have to live through this torture of a hangover. He remembers bits and pieces of the night before. He remembers Alisha giving him a hug for the first time, he remembers them all talking about the dealer. Then he remembers that heated sting in his throat as he swallows drink after drink, Simon observing him with caution. Then he remembers Simon, the shade of blue in his shirt and the way he taps on the beer glass whenever he gets nervous.
He hears the door to his bedroom open and lets out a low groan.
“Fuck off, Greg,” he mutters, face down against the pillow, “I’m not in the mood for dishes right now, I’m on the verge of death if you can’t tell.”
Greg doesn't answer, instead he just walks into the room, stopping by the bed, probably to make a point. Bastard.
“Let a man sleep, will ya?”
Nathan moves to his side, forcing his face off the pillow to give Greg his best impression of a bitchy mean-girl face, hoping it will trigger flashbacks of childhood bullies and scare him off. But it’s not Greg staring down at him, instead Nathan finds himself holding his breath as a pair of cold, blue eyes locks his gaze in his.
“Morning,” Simon says, “or… well, afternoon.”
“Shit,” Nathan groans again, “what time is it? I need to-”
“I borrowed your phone and texted your work,” Simon calms him down, “said you were sick.”
Nathan gives him a puzzled look.
“I never gave you my password.”
“Actually you did,” he smiles, “Monkeyslut, I remembered.”
Nathan scoffs. This whole thing is making him out to be more nostalgic than he’s entirely comfortable with. He leans back in his bed and Simon walks over to the old garden chair. His chair, Nathan thinks.
“Why are you here anyway?” he asks, “don’t tell me we got drunk and had sex.”
Simon turns hilariously red at that and Nathan can’t help but laugh, “relax, weird-kid, I’m just pulling your balls.”
“I don’t think that's a phrase,” Simon mutters.
Nathan pushes the blanket off of him, immediately regretting it as cold air hits his skin. He tries to force himself up to a sitting position but feels dizzy, like his body is not his own, like he truly is on the verge of death.
“Don’t-” Simon warns him, suddenly by his side at the bed, putting the blanket over him again.
“You don’t need to baby me,” Nathan protests but his voice exudes all but confidence and health. He sounds just as pathetic as he feels.
“Actually I do,” Simon says sternly, “your pulse is weak and you’re pale which are both signs of alcohol poisoning,” he explains.
Nathan can’t help but laugh again, “alcohol poisoning?” he giggles, “Jesus, I really have become my dad.”
Simon doesn't answer that, just gives him that same pitying look as in the dream. He disappears out of the room only to come back with a glass of water and an ibuprofen. He kneels down by the bed and Nathan allows Simon to help him up to a sitting position. A part of him rejects this, rejects Simon's hands at his side, steadying him. Rejects the water he offers, the way he carefully lifts the glass to Nathan's dry lips. A part of him would rather die than let Simon take care of him like this.
Nathan tries to take the glass in his own hand but he feels his heart stop as his cold hand meets Simon's warmth. Simon looks at him, apologetic, awkward, and lets go of the glass, moves his hand away from Nathan’s. But Nathan doesn't move a muscle. It’s like something has reset within him and he can’t tell if he's dying or if, for the first time in forever, he actually feels alive. His whole world is spinning, that depressed hamster in his brain having taken coke or something, dancing around like a maniac. There is no fucking way his pulse is weak, he thinks, his chest is beating like an angry warrior drum before battle.
The glass slips out of Nathan's grip and drops to the floor, the water splashing out over the wooden panels, staining Simon’s cotton pants.
“Shit,” Nathan mumbles, but he’s not sure if he’s referring to the broken glass or his heart that has suddenly decided to feel alive again. What a traitorous thing.
“Don’t get up,” Simon warns. He crouches down and carefully picks up each piece of glass off the floor, placing them delicately in his own hand, like he’s afraid of breaking them even more.
“So…” Nathan tries to think of something clever and distracting to say before the atmosphere in the room gets even more tense, “did anything fun happen yesterday, I don’t exactly remember much.”
Simon doesn't look up, “you called Curtis’s earring gay,” he says.
“Oh,” Nathan wants to go back in time and punch his drunk self, “it might not have come across that way, but I definitely meant it as a compliment.”
Simon still doesn't look up, wiping the floor with the tip of his finger to make sure there are no small shards of glass that he’s missing.
“I’m guessing he didn’t take it as a compliment though,” Nathan continues, “but that says more about him than about me.”
Simon ignores him and Nathan takes the opportunity to keep his stupid mouth running.
“You should know I’m really into all that activism stuff,” he says, ”I’m an ally, really.”
“ You’re an ally?” Simon lifts a doubtful eyebrow his way and Nathan tries giving him an earnest smile back.
“Sure I am,” he says, “that’s what they call me- the gays I mean. A fierce ally of the community.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Well, maybe not,” Nathan admits, “but I’m not some bigot. I think it’s cool that you’re all gay and stuff now. Gay-Barry is great, go Gay-Barry.”
“I’m not gay,” Simon says and Nathan wonders if it's the hangover making him confused or if Simon is picking a bad day to try out his comedy skills.
“Well,” Nathan says, “don’t tell your boyfriend that.”
Simon actually rolls his eyes and a part of Nathan is delighted. He’s missed this, having someone to annoy on a regular basis. He’s missed annoying Simon specifically, getting under that hard exterior and finding a sensitive spot to poke.
“I like both men and women,” Simon explains, “I’m bisexual, Nathan. As an ally, you should probably know what that is.”
“I know what it is,” Nathan huffs, offended, “I read books.”
Simon gets back up from the floor, putting the little shards of glass in a neat pile on the desk. It glimmers in the light coming in from the window, leaving reflections against the surface of the table.
“Did you always know?” Nathan asks, his eyes following the lines of the broken glass, avoiding the strange way Simon looks at him.
“In a way I did,” he finally says, “but I just assumed everyone felt that way, that they just didn’t talk about it.”
“Makes sense,” Nathan mumbles to himself.
Suddenly he feels tired again, his eyelids heavy and his heartbeat back to alcohol poisoning levels of sedation. He looks back at Simon and freezes up as he sees the red, thin streak of blood running down his left hand. Simon follows his gaze and for a moment he just looks at it, lets it bleed down his wrist, a small drop of it landing on the floor. Then he looks up again, his eyes unreadable and stuck on Nathan.
--
When Curtis calls him, Nathan almost doesn't answer. Usually he doesn't mind Curtis’s rants about what a prick he is or how he owes him money for free beer, but he still feels like shit. His muscles feel sore and awkward and his throat is dry no matter how much water Simon brings him.
“Nathan,” Curtis says when Nathan finally picks up, “I did it.”
He sounds rushed, like he’s just been running.
“I went forward in time-” he explains, taking shallow breaths between each word.
“I thought you said it was impossible.”
“I lied, obviously.”
Nathan’s almost impressed, he should probably be offended or hurt, but something about Curtis lyingto right to his face is a little exciting. People usually don’t care enough to lie to him, they usually just tell him to fuck off.
“Alright, well, apology accepted,” Nathan says even though Curtis probably wasn't intending to say sorry in the first place.
“Now tell me what you saw.”
Nathan can hear Curtis take a deep breath on the other side and he feels a pang of fear in the back of his mind. The image of an empty community service building, the still water, the quiet, it still haunts him. If that future truly exists then maybe Simon’s accusation rings true, maybe he really is cursed.
“It’s a little hard to make sense of,” Curtis stalls, “I don’t know where exactly I ended up, It’s not like I have much control over it.”
“Did you see anyone?” Nathan presses on. He needs to know he’s not the only one left.
“Yes, Nathan, everyone was there. You, Kelly, Alisha, Simon,” he says, “it was snowing outside I think.”
“Jesus,” Curtis mumbles, “I think I’m still high.”
“Focus,” Nathan says. He’s definitely gonna make a note of that “high” comment but now is not the time. Now he needs to know what actually happened, what Curtis saw.
“Right,” Curtis snaps himself out of his daze, “you were talking to Kelly and- we were at Kelly’s place! We were drinking mulled wine and that stupid Christmas song was playing and I think your nose was bleeding.”
Nathan can practically hear the cogs in Curtis’s brain turn, the way he’s trying to recall every single detail as vividly as possible.
“She said something to you, but I couldn’t hear any of it, I was standing too far away. Alisha was telling me something about a modelling job and she was really excited-”
“What about Simon?” Nathan interrupts.
Curtis sighs again, “Simon was just sitting there I think, why does it matter anyway?”
“I guess it doesn't.”
--
Simon has visited almost every day since that day at the bar. He’s convinced Nathan is still at the risk of falling ill and Nathan doesn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. He likes having him there, likes when he talks about his favourite movies and the strange customers he meets at the pharmacy he works at.
Sometimes he sleeps over, not that Nathan ever outright asks him to. But he has this strategy of distracting Simon long enough with food and idle small talk to the point where it's too late for him to go home. Then he casually suggests that Simon use the spare mattress in the closet and sleep in his room. Just for tonight, just because it's easy, simple, uncomplicated. He hopes Simon doesn't think about it too hard.
They talk about everything and nothing. The strange stories of the past, possible undiscovered superpowers that they’ll have to deal with in the future. They talk about the horrid pranks Nathan used to pull at church while his parents still had hope he’d be the perfect altar boy. They talk about Matt, Simon’s old bully, buying haemorrhoid cream at the pharmacy and his horrified face as he meets Simon at the register. They talk about their families, all their failures, all the ways they’ve fucked the both of them up. Simon’s parents never cared about the bullying, instead insisting that Simon wasn't doing enough to fit in, that just by being himself he was practically inviting people to treat him poorly. They were never on his side, Nathan realises, and for a brief moment he contemplates doing something irrational like shitting in their bed or burning down their house. No wonder Simon is so fucked up.
Simon asks him about the divorce, when it happened, if it broke Nathan’s heart, and Nathan finds himself not being able to give a satisfying answer. He’s never fit in with that image of the sorrowful child, grieving the loss of what he once knew to be family. Nathan doesn't remember much of how it happened, he just knows he was relieved. His mom and dad had never been a good match and the more they tried to be, the more they drove each other insane. The more they drove Nathan further apart from both of them.
The only thing they never talk about is that dream and Nathan never shares his suspicion that he might be the reason for both his brother's as well as Simon's eventual downfall. They don’t talk about Levi either, but it’s obvious him and Simon are still going steady. Nathan can see his stupid name on the display when Simon’s phone buzzes with a text or call and sometimes he’s even horrified to find a hickey or two on Simon’s pale neck. Apparently, Simon doesn't need his help in the intimacy department, or maybe being gay is just easier. Either way, he's relieved Simon never mentions Levi, it makes his existence exponentially easier to forget.
Greg has made it very clear he likes having Simon over, “he’s the only reason anything gets cleaned here,” he reasons, “besides, he actually knows something about video games unlike you.”
He even offers Simon naan bread when he orders home Indian food and Nathan would be much more irritated by that if Simon didn't always split it with him. But he does, and usually they end up watching some stupid reality TV show, cooped up on the sofa while talking shite about all the contestants. Nathan does most of the shite-talking but finds himself immensely proud whenever Simon too gets in a sarcastic comment or mean spirited observation.
Nathan doesn't drink anymore. Well, he hasn't since that horrid hangover at least. Simon’s made sure to get rid of all his bottles at home and he’s pretty sure he’s convinced the rest of the gang to meet up somewhere else than a bar so as to not “trigger” Nathan. At least Nathan thinks that's why the next time all of them meet up, it's at a cafe, talking over a couple of coffees like they are in an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. or something. Secretly he thinks it's ridiculous, Simon is treating him like an alcoholic in recovery, with delicate yet firm care. But if Nathans supposed alcoholism is the only reason he’s hanging around, Nathan won’t do anything to break the delusion. In fact, he’ll refrain from drinking if that convinces Simon he’s doing good, that he’s making progress just by staying at his side, just by being his friend. And as much as Nathan loves drinking, he finds he craves it less and less the more he’s around Simon. It’s only at work where he misses that steady buzz alcohol brings, that loosening of the harsh edges of the world. That escape.
--
Tonight the universe is working alongside Nathan for once. The wind outside is scratching and the air is almost cold enough to turn the pouring rain into sharp pieces of ice. It’s not a weather you want to walk through without the protection of thick gloves and a sturdy umbrella. Nathan doesn't hesitate a second to use it to his advantage.
“Don’t be daft, Barry,” he says, “if you go home now the wind will blow you away like a little leaf, just stay here for the night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” Nathan smiles, unable to hide how delighted he is at his own conniving ways. He gets what he wants and appears as a hero on top of it all. Damn, he’s good.
Simon sighs, “Wednesdays are my early shifts,” he says, “I don’t know if I’ll have time to get home and change.”
Nathan rolls his eyes, walking past Simon over to his closet, “just borrow something,” he says.
Nathan looks through his sparse collection of clothes, trying to find anything that might be at least half-decent in Simon’s mind. He fishes out a white cotton shirt reserved for funerals and weddings and tosses it to Simon.
“Try it on.”
Simon obliges, taking off his knitted sweater and letting it fall to the floor. Nathan steals a quick glance and makes note of the way Simon's abs are softly defined and how his happy trail is slightly darker than his natural hair. He has a V-line thing going on and Nathan is infinitely jealous. He’s always been on the more lanky side and he suspects even if he had the dedication to drag himself to a gym on a regular basis, he’d still remain bony looking.
Simon pulls the shirt on and closes each button carefully. It's small over the chest while the arms are too long, Simon having to fold them to get them to fit perfectly.
"It works," he assesses, buttoning it up again to change back into his own shirt.
Nathan looks away this time, letting Simon have his privacy like the true, good friend he is.
"Obviously, it looks better on me," Nathan lies, "but you pull it off."
He can't see it, but he imagines a small smile on the other man's face, secretly amused by Nathan's Nathan-ness.
Nathan has known for a while now that Simon fancies him.
Maybe he's not head over heels and maybe he doesn't realise it himself yet, but there's something there. Something almost solid enough for Nathan to reach out and touch. It amuses him. Nathan has always loved it when other people crush on him. They're so cute, fumbling around with their words and blushing every ten minutes. It fills him with confidence like nothing else, the power to make someone weak in the knees with just a look or fill them with overflowing jealousy when he gets bored and wants a reaction. Nathan loves to push people's buttons and someone with a crush has a whole new set of buttons to push. They're filled with spots of vulnerability that are just waiting to be exploited. Besides, Simon’s not too bad looking even if he's undeniably still a weirdo, and his crush is harmless so far. Nothing wrong with having a little fun.
He groans loudly, stretching his arms as far up as he reaches, making sure his t-shirt rises up on his stomach, teasing Simon with the exposed skin. He grins as Simon's eyes follow the movement of his body, not so discreetly checking him out. This is his favourite game, a game he'll never grow tired of.
The sound of Simon's phone interrupts Nathan's plans of slow seduction and Simon practically jumps at the sound. Lost in thoughts, are we? Nathan thinks to himself smugly.
"Hi, Levi," Simon answers the phone and Nathan's confidence instantly falters.
Maybe he’s wrong, clouded by narcissism and that constant need to fill the boredom. Simon doesn't have a crush on him, Simon is in a happy healthy relationship and the only reason he stays is because of some warped sense of obligation and the fact that he might be the only truly decent person left on the planet.
--
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
Nathan gives Curtis a big, toothy grin, “Oh, come on. I know Barry has this idea that my drinking is somehow excessive,” he says, “but you know what a drama queen he is.”
Curtis huffs and turns his back on Nathan in favour of cleaning off the liquor bottles on the shelf behind him. He’s precise and efficient and Nathan wonders exactly how many times he’s done that, how long this took to become second nature.
“I just came to talk,” Nathan reassures him, “I’m not planning on having any fun.”
“Last time you were here you puked all over the bathroom,” Curtis says, still turned away, “so excuse me for not being all that fucking excited to see you.”
He crouches down and fishes out a coke bottle from the minifridge that he places in front of Nathan with a pointed glare. Reluctantly, Nathan opens it and takes a sip. Better than nothing, he thinks.
“So-” he says, skipping the small talk since Curtis doesn't seem to be much in the mood, “you never told me how you took that little trip to the future.”
Curtis sighs and Nathan almost thinks he’s gonna go back to cleaning liquor bottles. But he doesn't, instead he pours himself a glass of beer.
“Remember that time we all took E and our powers got completely fucked?”
The night his brother died.
“I remember,” Nathan says.
“Well,” Curtis continues, “I sort of went forward in time.”
Nathan considers it, taking another sip of that carbonated sugar. It’s actually growing on him. Maybe he can go through life without ever drinking again.
“That’s just ridiculously unfair,” he finally decides, “you get to take a vacation to the future while I just turn… normal.”
“It’s not like the future is that special anyway.”
Their conversation is cut short by a customer, a regular it seems because Curtis doesn't even ask what he wants, just pours up a big beer. The customer gives a half-hearted nod of appreciation in response.
“Can you do it again?” Nathan asks as soon as the regular has left the two of them alone again.
Curtis gives him another irritated groan, “is it really that important to you?” he asks, “I thought you were like a cat, never looking back, never thinking about tomorrow.”
“I’m like a cat?”
“That’s what I said. You have no concept of time.”
Curtis finishes his glass of beer and Nathan figures he should finish his coke too. Their conversation is nearing an end and Nathan hasn't made any progress with what he came here for.
“Come on, big man,” he pleads, trying to turn on that natural charm of his, giving Curtis his best attempt at puppy dog eyes, “I have this funky feeling in my balls that something’s gonna go wrong.”
Curtis rolls his eyes, “are you a medium now too?”
“Can’t you do me this little favour?”
Curtis considers it for a moment before answering.
“Fine,” he decides, “If- and only if- I go forward in time again, you’ll be the first one I tell.”
Good enough, Nathan supposes.
--
Nathan has another nightmare, this time, however, he isn’t alone when he wakes up.
“You’re okay, you’re safe.”
Nathan wakes up in a confused daze. He doesn't even realise that Simon’s holding him, let alone talking to him.
“Nathan,” he says in a hushed plea, “you’re okay, please wake up.”
Nathan’s still shaking and his breathing is rushed and desperate. He can’t remember the dream anymore, but has a sense it might have ended with him not breathing one way or the other. Maybe he ended up under water again or maybe it’s one of his incessant “falling off the community centre building and getting impaled on a fence” dreams that his subconscious seems to be so fond of.
“Simon?” he whispers when he has come to his senses, catching his breath.
Slowly, his eyes adjust to the darkness and he can make out the outline of Simon’s figure leaning over him, his hands clasping at Nathan’s shoulders to shake him awake. His look is scared and Nathan wonders what exactly he could have said or done to elicit such a reaction. Maybe Simon really is a drama queen or maybe Nathan is more haunted than he realises.
“What happened?” He asks.
Simon’s grip around him loosens and he moves away, sitting down by the end of the bed to give Nathan some space. Nathan wishes he could tell him he doesn't want any space. He wants Simon to stay close, wants his hands gripping at his shoulders even if it's hard enough to hurt. He wants Simon to ground him, to make him feel real in the still darkness that surrounds them both.
“You started screaming my name,” Simon whispers and there’s a clear note of hesitance in his voice.
“You sounded scared so I tried to wake you up,” he continues.
“Shit,” Nathan mumbles.
He forces his body upright, scooting himself down next to Simon on the bed.
“Sorry about that.”
He forces a smile but Simon doesn't look reassured in the least. There's a worried line between his eyebrows and he’s staring Nathan down like he expects him to talk, tell him what happened, tell him the truth. But Nathan doesn't remember his own nightmare and he doesn't know the truth well enough to tell it. They’ve always had a complicated relationship, Nathan and truth. Something true can turn untrue in mere seconds and sometimes you don’t even know the difference between the two.
Is he scared? Is he miserable? Is he in love? How is he supposed to know? Is one thing truer than the next or can all things be true and false at the same time? He knows he’s a liar but sometimes he worries he can’t tell where the truth ends and the lies start. If he’s begun lying to himself without even realising.
“I’m worried about you,” Simon admits and the pity in his eyes makes Nathan sick.
“Worried?” Nathan scoffs, his voice weak and unsure and his head still trying to adjust itself to reality, “is that why you’re over all the time? Because you wanna play hero, because you wanna save me?”
Realistically, he knows he shouldn't ask, self-preservation and all that, but in his dazed state, he can’t help it. In the shielding darkness he knows Simon can’t see the genuine worry on his face. He doesn't know that he holds Nathan’s heart in his hand with that question, that he can squeeze the life out of him like a little grape with just one word.
“I don’t need to be saved, Barry,” he continues, anger starting to build up, “I don’t need you to wake me up from nightmares or fetch me fucking water when I have a hangover, I can manage on my own. I don’t need you to be here.”
“Is that what you think?”
Nathan finally looks up at Simon, meets his eyes through the thick darkness and holds it steady. Despite everything, he wants to take this rejection with some sort of dignity.
“I’m not here because I pity you,” Simon says, his voice clear and unwavering, “I just wanna be your friend.”
Maybe Nathan has finally learned how to read Simon because despite the darkness, he can map out every emotion in the other man’s face. The line of worry between his eyebrows, the sincerity in his eyes, the short, anxious, inhale of breath. Simon is afraid too, he realises. He wants to be his friend, implying he doesn't know they already are. After everything they’ve been through he still doesn't know, he still isn't sure.
Nathan feels himself soften, letting his head rest against the wall, exposing his neck to the cool, night air. He exhales and closes his eyes because he can't focus for the life of him while looking at Simon.
“Okay,” he says simply.
They stay like that for a while, quiet in the darkness. The only thing Nathan can make out in the silence is Simon's steady breathing and his own heartbeat, still a little jumpy after the dream.
He opens his eyes again and finds that Simon is already looking at him. Nathan responds with an unwavering look of his own, staring Simon down, wanting answers to questions he can't articulate yet.
Simon smiles at him, that small, shy smile, and suddenly it all feels so simple. When Nathan leans over to kiss Simon he doesn't even think about it, he simply does it because he wants to. Because there's nothing else he’d rather do, no one else he’d rather kiss.
For a moment, Nathan kisses Simon. For a moment, that quiet darkness feels so loud and radiating and the cold air in the room turns hot at the heat of their lips. For a moment, Nathan is content, free.
For a moment Simon kisses him back. Then he doesn't.
“Nathan,” he breathes, pulling back.
The moment is gone, abruptly so, and Nathan exhales sharply at the loss of contact. He can still feel heat and wetness on his lips, the ghost of Simon lingering on, the taste of his mouth haunting him. Nathan tries to look at the other man but Simon turns away, and moves off the bed swiftly, like if he stays for even one more second he’ll catch on fire.
“I need to sleep,” he mumbles, laying back down on the mattress, positioning himself as far away from Nathan as possible, “early shift.”
His back is towards Nathan and he can’t see his face, can’t even get a clue of what he’s thinking, how much he's freaking out on a scale of one to ten.
They lay there for what feels like hours. Quiet, pretending to sleep while listening to the sound of each other's shallow breathing.
At some point, Nathan watches the snow cry down the sky, furiously throwing itself against his window. The first snow of the year, he thinks. The beginning of winter.
24 notes
·
View notes