#when i talk about gay/lesbian solidarity i am specifically referencing simeon sommerfeld and august sirin tbh

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FOR AS EFFECTIVE AS HIS PUBLIC PERSONA TYPICALLY IS, SIMEON CANNOT ALWAYS HIDE HIS INHERENT MELANCHOLY, specifically from those who know him well. he exists in the world with a glow from within, the sort of person who draws the eyes of everyone in the room when he enters it, who charms and disarms and fascinates almost habitually - yet from that image is wiped clean the far more complicated reality that exists beneath the surface, humming under his skin as though constantly attempting to break through and saturate the fabric of his life with that much more chaos. for as often as he shimmers and shines, he falls almost equally often into his own personal pit of despair, unable as he is to consistently maintain an appropriate balance in the way he feels his own emotions. he's been worse, certainly, but at times he feels he will never quite be well in the way that others are. for the moment, it's as though the pit of his chest has turned to ice and he holds a fleece blanket tightly around his shoulders to stave off the chill, despite the fact that it's coming from within him.

it must look awfully strange, the way he elects to sit in the dark alone, practically motionless but for the very slight rocking back and forth on the sofa. he senses @rosenvale's august before he sees her silhouette out of the corner of his eye. her voice settles over his restless mind like a swath of silk, cool and gentle and soothing. “ did you want to be alone? ” 

he clutches the blanket closer, pulling it more tightly against his broad shoulders, drawing his knees that much closer to his chest. he never knows how to explain the feeling that envelops him when he gets here, the way it festers in the depths of him, a sickness for which he has never been able to find a cure. years of therapy have again and again reiterated to him that there is nothing inherently wrong with him, that his unique challenges simply help to make up the constellation of who he is, who he has become despite all he's been through.

❝ uh ... no, ❞ he admits softly, his voice strained, pressed, as though he dances close to tears - although he cannot point to a single reason why he would be. he feels her drift closer, but still, he does not look at her ; it is not in his nature to seek to overwhelm when his tumultuous emotions drive him into such a dismal corner. rather, he seeks to be loved, pushes toward it fiercely with both the ambition of an olympian and the petulance of a small child, as though he can force it upon others, force them to adore him - and in his most basic and charming form, he has grown quite good at it. it is only when the rot begins to show itself that people begin to scatter, and for that, simeon cannot truly blame them. a pit rises in his throat, forcing the sting of moisture to his eyes, and he continues to stare pointedly at his own knees. ❝ would you ... I mean, could you stay with me? just for a bit, I - um ... please? ❞