Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simon wiped the sweat from his brow as he threw himself into the driver's seat, car groaning beneath his sudden weight. He pulled at his shirt, unsticking the damp fabric and puffing a column of air up his chest. The heat was already unbearable, hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but it was suffocating inside the car, amplified by the mid-afternoon sun piercing through the windshield. Muttering under his breath, he fiddled with the air conditioning and flipped on the radio before pulling out onto the street. 

Simon angled the vents as the air finally kicked in, directing one up the inside of his shirt, another against his sweat-dripped face. A sigh of relief. With his brain still halfway scrambled from the heat, he struggled to make sense of what the fuck just happened. He shouldn’t have walked out of that one at all, let alone with Patty still, invited to dinner again, and somehow in better standing with her mom than when he initially "left" the night before. Shit, Connie even thanked him at one point. He snorted. 

That simple stream of air huffed out his nose was a tipped domino, the slight chuckle morphing into uncontainable giggles that bubbled up and out of him until he was guffawing like a madman. He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he got a simple slap on the wrist, the way Connie took his side, the way she believed him, the way she insisted he was good for Patty—and that was after she got him to open up.

And then there was that. How she got him to talk about shit he hadn't talked about with anyone, hadn't even thought about in years, how all that chatter resurfaced memories he had forgotten about for his own sanity. The maniacal laughter died on his lips in exchange for choked, sputtered noises. 

The brief euphoria was gone, leaving him cold and achy and sick, stomach twisting and turning, bitter and acidic much like Connie's choice in coffee. His head was throbbing like he had been drinking all night; a sour aftertaste lingered on his tongue that threatened to gag him if he noticed it for too long. He felt disoriented and floaty, like the tether between his mind and body had been severed, wrung out in the way spending days or weeks on the floor of Don’s place would do to him. But, most of all, he was dog tired. 

Simon clumsily pawed around for his cigarettes, dropping them on the floorboard twice before ripping the top open. It was empty. 

“Fuck!” Tires squealing, he cut a sharp left turn and made a detour for the closest gas station. 

With the much-needed nicotine in hand, he returned to the car and stuck a cigarette in his lip. He gripped the wheel, knuckles white, the sound of blood pulsing incessantly in his ears. 

He glanced up at the payphone sitting no more than ten feet away from him. Stared it down for a good minute before throwing his hands in the air. “God fucking dammit.” 

Simon slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the car and scare the fuck out of some old woman walking out of the store. She jumped away from him, hand clasped over her chest and eyes wide in scrutiny. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at, lady?” 

She tucked her purse closer to her body and scurried past him to her car. 

Grumbling under his breath, he stomped back inside for a different pack of cigarettes, grateful he pocketed Danny's five from the day before. He picked through his last bit of change as he approached the payphone. He looked up at it, back at the car, and made his move. 

Information in hand, he ended the phone call with a satisfying "fuck you" and peeled off onto the main road, following the barely legible directions jotted down on the back of his hand. Car after car was cut off, a symphony of horns and middle fingers left in his wake as he navigated out of the congested streets through bleary vision. 

Simon drove until the decaying suburbs bloomed into forests and overgrown plots of land. And then he drove some more, finding himself surrounded by fields upon fields of corn, only broken up by cow-dotted meadows and humble farmhouses. He rolled down his window, the heat combining with the sweet crop to form a pleasant and nostalgic aroma that brought a faint smile to his face, numbing the ache in his chest if only for a moment. 

Huh, city air must get to his head.  

He'd been driving for nearly an hour when he began to seriously consider the possibility that he may have been sent on a wild goose chase. Had no real way of vouching for the reliability of the directions given to him. On the verge of giving up and turning back around, he finally rolled up to an open-gated pasture tucked off a dusty, gravel road. Looking between the back of his hand and the sign in confirmation, he pushed forward.

The spiderwebbed asphalt guided him up a hill where he was met with a fork in the road. Simon squinted at his scrawled notes once again: lft sd willow/pond. He leaned forward, wheel cutting into his ribs as he scanned over the estate, pressing his foot back down on the gas the moment he located the landmark. 

He parked, eyeing the weeping willow warily. Pretty tree and all, but he found it a touch on-the-nose to plant something like that in a place like this. He shook his head and glanced over the last set of smeared instructions: tree → 10 pond, 2 lft. 

He stuffed his pockets, turned off the car, and peered out the window again. His hand froze on the door handle.

It hit him like a sucker punch, where he was, what he was doing, why he was doing this—like he’d been stuck on autopilot for the last hour. His breath caught in his throat, his stomach churned, and he barely opened the door in time to spew his lunch all over the road. 

Wiping his mouth with a ragged groan, Simon knocked his forehead against the sunbaked steering wheel. He didn’t know if he expected to feel relieved or absolved by any means, but he guessed he was hoping that some of the ever-increasing weight would be lifted off his shoulders. He knew doing the right thing didn't always feel good, but was it supposed to feel this bad? 

The nausea waned eventually, and Simon forced his eyes open, zeroing in on a crumpled receipt paper sitting in the well of the passenger seat. A pleasant snck of his lighter, and the paper was engulfed in flames, enveloping the vehicle in a sickly, sweet scent, heat licking the pads of his fingers as it disintegrated in his hands. A corner of his lip twitched into a half-grin. 

This time when he looked out the window, he didn’t feel sick exactly. No, that wasn't the right way to put it. Felt like stage fright more than anything, and he scoffed at himself. That was about as pathetic as it got, considering he was the one that fucked up in the first place, waiting this long to come see her, to say goodbye to her. 

And yet, he still couldn't bring himself to get the fuck out of the car. Simon wanted to make this right; he really did. But he couldn’t help but think that maybe he didn’t deserve the closure after all these years. Maybe he was meant to suffer, a deep, unhealing wound, bleeding and oozing as a reminder of who he really was. And he didn’t want to forget what he was capable of, didn’t want to forget that the one constant, the one thing he could rely on was that he would inevitably hurt the ones he loved the most. If he made this right now, would it make things wrong elsewhere down the line?  

He reached for the keys to start the car back up, but, before he could bring them to the ignition, Connie's voice barreled through his brain, louder than any other thought buzzing between his ears: “I hope you’re not this walled off with her too.” 

“Fuck.” His head smacked against the seat, and he shoved the keys back in his pocket. She cut him deep with that one. It was a valid concern, read him like an open book really. Not only was he that walled off with Patty, he was worse. So bad that she warped it in her head that she was a bad girlfriend, that it was her fault that she didn't know much about him. Shit, that dinner was probably the longest he’d talked about himself in years, let alone with her. 

Anger was familiar, easier to deal with and a comfort in the sadness, so he was pissed. Briefly at Connie, but mostly at himself. For letting himself get splayed open like that, for not listening to his gut instinct that he should have left after dinner, for giving Connie more of his past than he had with Patty. And she was the one that deserved it. She was the one who had stuck by his side, the one that looked at him like he hung the moon, the one who always handled him with so much care, so much patience, the one that listened to him, validated him, the one who loved him—even if it was ill-advised, even when it was tough. 

Shoulders sagging, his hands loosened around the steering wheel in defeat. Running away was preferable, something he was good at, but leaving would only shove another wall up. And if he wanted to avoid spiraling down the same path that Patty deserved better, so much fucking better than what he had to offer, then the least he could do was try to be better.  

And that’s what she originally asked for, right? She didn’t want him to pretend, didn’t want him to change, liked him as he was, but she wanted him to try.

So he’d fucking try.

Simon stumbled out of the car, narrowly avoiding his own mess. He peeled the soles of his shoes off the searing asphalt, forcing his feet forward slowly, taking the time to glance over each and every marker along the way. Some were legible still, pristine, well-kept, and flower-adorned, while others were so caked in dirt and moss and lichen that the engravings were no longer decipherable. The dichotomy made his heart lurch. He wondered what hers would look like, and there was only one way to find out. 

Swearing under his breath, he situated himself under the willow tree, lit a cigarette, and leaned his head against the bark. It was significantly cooler, an oasis under the long, drooping branches. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind rustling between the leaves. 

The peace didn't last long before his sister’s voice came flooding back in, her nasty tone and the way her words dripped with poison: “Why do you even care, Simon?” Like this was so out of character for him, like he wasn't capable of anything more than destruction, like he wasn’t even human. Fucking bitch. 

Fueled by spite, he counted out ten steps towards the pond, then shuffled two to the left. He hovered, hesitating, looking anywhere but down. In that moment, he’d rather burn his retinas out staring directly into the fucking sun than risk a glance toward his feet. He paced back and forth until the cigarette burned down to the filter. 

Hand over his mouth, he looked down. "Shit."

He dropped to his knees, gazing up at her marker, some big erected thing that was still glossy and fresh, the grass well-trimmed and neat. Her birthdate, her death date stared back at him. Loving mother, grandmother, and friend, an emblem of a sunflower under her name. His vision swam, his heart seized.  

He gently laid his hand in the grass, curling his fingers between the blades. Fuck, she was here, under him, surrounded by dirt and worms, and that was it. She'd been gone so long it shouldn't have felt like an earth-shattering revelation that he'd never be able to see or speak to her again, it shouldn’t have, it shouldn’t have, it shouldn’t have.

But it did anyway.

Knuckles shoved deep into his sockets, he centered his focus onto evening out his stuttered breathing before it got too far.  

Pins and needles blistering down his shins to his toes, Simon sat back, got himself a little more comfortable. He rifled through his pocket, revealing the second, unopened pack and tossed it at the headstone. “Virginia Slim 100s, right?"

He snorted as he caught a taste of those shitty cigarettes in his mouth. "Like I could forget. They were the fucking worst to bum. You know, first time I stole one from you I coughed for a fuckin’ hour, threw up all over mom’s bushes?” He opened his pack and stuck a fresh one in his mouth. “Now those are like smoking fucking air. Might as well not even fuckin’ smoke,” he huffed, cupping his hand around the end of his cigarette to shield it from the breeze.

“Now these,” he gestured to his cigarette, “these are the shit. Cost way too fuckin’ much, but they're worth it. Believe me.”  

A long drag off his cigarette, and he found himself thinking back to all the times she’d thank him for emptying her ashtray for her with a knowing arch of her brow. “Mom ‘n Dad would probably kill you if they knew how often I snuck your cigarettes. I think you knew though. No way you fuckin’ didn’t.” He laughed, and he could have sworn he heard her gravelly cackle laughing along with him. It felt good, really good, until it didn't, and all he was left with was a burrowing emptiness in his chest, sending him into a fitful bout of coughs. 

He firmly shook his finger at the stone. "If that's you tryin' to tell me to stop, s’not gonna work," he managed once he caught his breath. "Shit, I remember Dad getting on you for it. And, yeah, I'm gonna use your words against you: we’re all gonna die someday, and I plan on goin' out happy rather than miserable." He directed his line of sight to the cherry, rolling the filter between his pinched fingers. "Kinda took that shit to heart if I'm bein' honest with you." 

Simon knew this was going to be difficult, but he didn't expect for the silence that followed to be excruciating, how hard it'd hit him that she was never going to respond, that he was really sitting out here talking to himself. Despite all the religious notions he had rebelled against, despite all the post-death theories he claimed to be nothing more than a fairytale, he understood why, why people would cling to the concept of an afterlife, to a pathway of connectivity between the tangible and intangible. And logic be damned, he wanted to believe she could hear him. So he spoke to her like she could. 

“Sorry it took me this long.” It was a quiet admission, one that caved his chest in and blurred his vision. “Kinda just realized today that I never really got to, you know, say goodbye. And, uh, I-I didn’t—. Shit, fuck me. Fuck this." 

The internal ache had become unbearable, chewing him up from the inside out. He threw his head into his hands, fingers wrapping around the long strands and tugging. Simon didn’t have any experience with this feeling beside pushing it down, distracting himself with music or sex, numbing himself with whatever he could get his hands on. But, here, he had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nothing in his backpack to help him swallow it all down. And the sorrow was intense, the grief blinding. He didn’t expect for it to be nearly equivalent to the day his dad relayed the news. 

“I just, I couldn’t fuckin’ go, okay?” he spat. “S’not like Dad would have let me anyway, probably woulda left me in the fuckin’ car. You know how he was about me and Dan crying.” Simon shook his head in disgust. “Even if I had managed to get my shit together, I wouldn't’ve been able to deal with everybody lookin' at me like it was all my fault. Oh, yeah. Should probably mention that." Simon punctuated his sentence was a toss of his hands.

"Mom, god, she sucks. Had me all fucked in the head, saying shit like I killed you. To this day she’ll tell fuckin’ anyone that’ll listen that you’d still be here if they never—if I never—.” The sound of his voice breaking stopped him, and he turned his attention to his cigarette for a few puffs while he regained some composure. “For whatever reason, I believed her. Think I still kinda do.”

He knew it was impossible, knew she wasn’t going to reach out and ruffle his hair like she used to, couldn’t gently kiss his forehead and forgive him, wasn't going to pat him on the shoulder and tell him everything was going to be okay, that it wasn't his fault. But some irrational part of him was still holding on to that hope with a knuckle-white grip. Bottom lip wobbling, Simon pressed the heels of his palms sharply into his eyes before any tears could fall. 

“I know none of that makes up for it or makes it okay, but I’m here now, and, fuck, that has to count for something, right?” 

And maybe it did count some way, somehow, but he wasn’t convinced it was enough. The effort may have been appreciated, but perhaps it was too late to be forgiven, too late to make things right. Wouldn’t be the first permanent consequence of one of his mistakes coming back to bite him in the ass. He’d have to learn to live with it like everything else. That he let her down. 

“Don’t think I realized how much losing you fucked me up," he admitted quietly, mindlessly plucking the grass at his feet. "S’like I can draw a fuckin’ line in my life. And I’m not sayin' it was good before, but it all went to total fuckin’ shit after you left. And I hope wherever you are you didn’t have to see it. And if you did, I-I’m sorry. Really. I’m so fucking sorry.” Hand clasped over his mouth, he curled in on himself, trying to hold everything back, but the infrastructure was rapidly deteriorating, a dam that had nothing on the rising flood waters. A stuttered and pathetic sob broke from him, and the tears fell whether he wanted them to or not. 

He missed her. He missed her so fucking much it hurt. And the only thing that overwhelmed him more was the guilt. The fact that he spent years blocking her out, refusing to look at it, to look at her, whatever it took to not deal with the pain head on. And, shit, he was fucking exhausted. Sick and tired of holding everything back, keeping everything and everyone at arm's length. So much time and effort wasted for it to explode in his face like this. 

He had to admit that it felt good to let it out, not good in the sense of happiness or joy, but in the sense that he felt better, lighter. He wiped at his wet cheeks and under his runny nose before fumbling for another cigarette. He leaned back on his hands, head tilted toward the sky, and let the sun warm his cheeks. 

Simon spent many mornings and afternoons on her porch sat just like this, sunshine on his face, listening to the creak of her rocking chair against the weathered wood and the sounds of birds and insects chittering in every direction. It was easy to imagine her sitting a few feet back from him, and he kept his eyes closed, let himself believe it. 

“You know, I was tellin’ someone about you today. S’how I ended up here,” he started. The little hooks Connie had sunk into him tugged and yanked, and he let himself peer inside, met with gratitude only time and age could grant him. "Think you were the only one who ever saw any good in me, stood up for me, and just let me be a fuckin’ kid. Saw past all that bullshit with my parents too. I owe you one for that. Seriously.” 

He was quiet for a moment before he huffed a short laugh. “Shit, that's kinda a lie now, Grandma. Ask me two, three years ago and that'd still be the case, but not-not anymore." 

And though the pain in his chest was bone deep, he grinned, resting his cheek against his hand. “Swore I'd never be sayin' this shit, but I met someone. Met someone really fucking special. Dunno what I did to deserve her, all the shit she does for me, all the bullshit I make her put up with. But she always does. Always. And with this genuine fuckin’ smile on her face that just rips me apart sometimes. Is that fuckin' normal, or am I going insane? You know what, do us both a favor, and don’t answer that.” 

His smile faded quickly, and he cleared his throat. “It’s, um, it's hard. Hard to have someone look at me like that, like I’m not, like I’m—.” Simon swore under his breath, palms returning to his eyes. “And I know you know what Mom ‘n Dad thought of me, all that shit they said to me. Makes me think she shouldn’t be with such an asshole, such a piece of shit like me. She deserves someone good, someone solid. I just, I don’t know if that’s me. But I wanna be, you know? For her, I mean. Everyone else can get fucked for all I care.”

Simon sighed and straightened back up, looking square at her name. He leaned forward and trailed a fingertip over the engravings. He could hear her voice then, that fond bitching he didn’t realize he missed so much, could see her swirling her wrist around impatiently at him. Guessed that's where he got it from. 

“Shit, sorry. Her name’s Patty,” he chuckled. “She’s really something else, think you’d love her. Shit, I know I fuckin' do. Lemme put it in perspective for you: first time she met Mom 'n Dad she told them off. It was fucking awesome.” He laughed, though it didn’t take long for the airy noises to turn to tears again. He wiped them away hastily. 

“Haven’t had anyone go up to bat for me like that since you I think. Sees everything you saw, you know. All that shit I still can’t see today, but somehow…somehow only you and her have been able to pull out of me. Like there actually is something good inside me. That I’m worth all the trouble.” 

Simon chewed his lip and ashed his cigarette. “Fucking sucks you can’t meet her though. She’s a little different. Hell, to be honest, you’d probably think she’s weird as fuck. And she is,” he admitted, hands raised in defense. “But so am I. You know that. You've always known that.” 

"She’s creative as hell too, a real fuckin’ genius when it comes to music, complements all the shit I don’t have a knack for. Wish you could hear some of the shit we worked on. Think you’d love it,” Simon paused, smiling into his hand. “And, the best part, she says whatever is on her mind, just like you would. Think you two would really hit it off.” And he could see it, his mind conjuring up vision after vision of the two, bantering, teaming up against his parents, shit, teaming up against Renae. 

Simon rolled his eyes as his mind crossed his sister again. “Fucking Renae," he grumbled. "You know she had to go and convince everyone she’s on dope, that she's some ditz, just because she's with me, just because she asked a fucking question?" He shook his head, deciding his nearly depleted energy shouldn't be wasted on his sister. "That's the other thing about her, about Patty. Girl's got questions, and she might not get everything, but she gets me, and that's all I could give a fuck about."

He rested his forearms on his knees, looking at the grass between his legs. “I miss you,” he murmured, the truth bleeding out like an open wound in his chest, and he didn’t bother applying pressure. “Really wish things could have been different.” 

“Think that summer was the happiest I had ever been if I think about it too much. And, shit, I’m not that fuckin’ stupid. I know I didn’t kill you. I know it was the cancer. I know that’s not something I could have brought on, but that’s not makin’ it any easier. And I know you’re calling me a dumbass for that right now, but it's fuckin' hard not to blame myself.”

Simon took a deep breath once he realized how worked up he was getting. Quieter, he continued, “can’t help but think how things woulda played out if you were still here.” 

Simon sparked a fresh cigarette and smoked half of it in silence, eyes glazing over the picturesque surroundings. He had to admit it was a really nice plot. Birds chirping in the distance, rolling hills of emerald grass as far as he could see, the pond wasn’t a completely murky green from fertilizer runoff for once, and she was nowhere near Grandpa either—thank god. There were fresh flowers on her headstone, some baby pink daisy type shit. He guessed the thought was nice, but they weren’t really her. And as much as he wanted to be pissed at whoever was coming out here with the wrong fucking flowers, he knew he could only be mad at himself for not coming at all. 

“Put you in a real pretty spot, Grandma. At least they got that right. But these fuck ass flowers have to go." A disgruntled hand tossed toward the arrangement. “Pink was never your thing. Should only ever be bringin’ ya sunflowers. And I feel like an idiot for not thinking of that before I headed out here, but at least I did bring you somethin’, somethin’ that’s a little more you.” Simon reached for the pack he flopped on the grass and, though his fingers trembled slightly, he thoughtfully nestled it next to the flowers.

“Promise I’ll come more often. Bring Dan with me. Maybe Patty too eventually if she wants to. You know me ‘n Dannyboy are livin’ together nowadays? Kid's puttin’ me up while I get back on my feet, work through all my bullshit. And, fuck, I got a lot of it,” he chuckled, taking another long drag. 

“I know you’d be pissed to hear that I got myself locked up, but I think…" he trailed off, apprehensive to confess it out loud, didn't wanna jinx himself, but the image of Patty grinning widely in his mind spurred him forward. "I think shit’s finally starting to fall into place for me right now, and I’m really, really trying to not fuck it up.” He bit his thumb. “That’s all you can do, right? Is try?”

Simon pushed himself off the ground, lighter on his feet and in his heart. He looked down at her with a smile. “But you know how I am, so watch my back? Could use all the help I can get out here.” 

⋆˙⟡♡⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.⋆♡⟡˙⋆

Danny sat on the edge of the couch, a bowl long-forgotten in hand, leg bouncing up and down. His eyes dashed between the clock, the front door, Simon's bedroom, and back again. A clean, even rotation—the most efficient route to eye each spot with little drag time. Simon may have physically made it home in one piece, but Dan wasn't sure that he did mentally. 

Clock, front door, Simon’s door. His left leg stilled, and his right started up in its place. 

While Dan felt he was owed a proper explanation for Simon's sudden disappearance, he couldn't abandon his post and miss Patty, who was bound to walk in at any second now. He had to give her some kind of warning before she got her hands on whoever was in Simon's bed right now; he’d be a shitty friend and brother if he didn't. And based on his brief interaction with Simon earlier, he was hoping her appearance would trigger Simon to fess up, and Dan intended on being right there when it happened. Clock, front door, Simon's door. 

Dan barely got a wink of sleep the night prior, was up till nearly 2 in the morning before he called it quits and went to bed. Wouldn't have been the first time Simon went missing by any means, but it was the first time he'd gone off with Dan's car for this long, had never been more than a few minutes late getting it back to him on time before. And Dan spent every minute since a hair after midnight running every bloody and dramatic possibility in his head to the point they manifested in his dreams, startling him awake every thirty minutes.

By the time 7 AM rolled around and still no sign from his brother, Dan was forced to call into work, car troubles being his honest to God reason. He then spent the better part of his day anxiously pacing the living room, debating at what point did he have to report his car stolen, when to file a missing persons report, and exactly what he was going to say once Simon did come back home. Because he was going to come back home. Dan was sure of it. So sure that every hour, every minute that ticked past, his frustration, his anxiety, his anger compounded, and, by the time his car rumbled into the driveway in the late afternoon, Dan was livid. 

Stomping over to the door, he swung it open in a fury before his brother could think about grazing the handle. “What the hell, Simon? Where the fuck were you? You can't just disappear like that, man. Had me up all fuckin' night, scared the shit outta me. And I'm getting pretty fed up using all my sick days on you. You were supposed to—."

Dan halted his prepared monologue. To put it simply, Simon looked like shit. But Dan’s disgust and annoyance quickly dissipated into concern when Simon pushed past the threshold and didn’t reek of alcohol. Deep purple bags under his red-rimmed, puffy eyes and an exhaustion that weighed down his limbs made sense for a righteous hangover, but it didn't make sense in any other context, especially not the remnants of tears.

Dan had seen Simon cry once sober. One time. Fifteen years ago. It was unsettling to say the least, caused a pit to form in his stomach, and he was left to assume the worse-case scenario unfolded. Dinner did not go as planned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

Keys dangling off his finger, Simon shoved his hand towards Dan. “Uh, sorry ‘bout the car. I–it’s, well…” Simon shook the keys into Dan’s hand impatiently. “I’m gonna go lay down for a while, yeah?” Simon slapped him on the shoulder twice and pushed past him. 

Danny blinked absently at the keys then back at his brother. "Were you abducted by aliens or some shit?" 

Simon waved him off, disappearing into his room and leaving Danny momentarily stunned in the entryway. He briefly considered returning to the couch, giving Simon some time to decompress, but Dan's well of patience was bone dry. He couldn't handle not knowing what was going on, not when it meant Simon might have screwed up the only thing that was going right for him. If shit went south last night, Dan was the one that would be dealing with the fallout. And maybe it was selfish, but he felt he had a right to know what he was up against. 

With a proper justification, Dan sprang towards Simon's cracked door, eyebrows twisting at the sight of him stripped down to his underwear, face down on the bed. He rapped on the door hesitantly. “Hey, uh. You’re kinda worrying me, man.” 

He received a muffled “leave me alone” in response.

Dan leaned against the doorframe, kicking a foot out to get comfortable. "Everything good with you and Patty?" 

An incoherent grunt of confirmation came from Simon, but Dan remained loitering in the doorway anyway, hoping he'd actually say something. 

And he did. "S'fine. She'll be over later." 

Dan narrowed his eyes at his near motionless brother. "Where the fuck were you all day then?"

Simon snapped his neck up, eyes like daggers. "Leave me the fuck alone, Dan. You wanted to know about Patty. I told you about Patty. Go." 

In hindsight, Dan knew he should have walked away after that, but he was far past the point of exhaustion, patience dead and gone, anger flaring. "You don't get to hold my car hostage all day and not fuckin' say a word to me, dude."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dan," Simon groaned, smacking both hands on the bed. "I'm sorry about the car, alright? But I can't—we're not talking about this right now. Just, please. Gimme a fucking minute." 

The desperation in Simon's voice sliced through Dan’s fury, and he relented with a heavy sigh. "Alright, well, you know where I'll be. I'll have a joint ready." And with a slap on the doorframe, Dan gave him his space.

That was about an hour ago. Simon still hadn't crawled out of his room yet, not even for a beer. Though knowing him, he probably had a few stashed under his bed for cases just like this. 

Clock, front door, Simon's door. 

Dan tried to reorient his mind, told himself to focus on the positives: his brother was alive, his car was intact, everything hadn't completely gone to shit overnight despite all the scenarios he concocted while he laid in bed or paced the living room. But gratitude was hard to obtain when Dan couldn't get past the way Simon looked when he first walked into the house or the slight wobble in his voice as he nearly pleaded with him to leave him alone. Something happened, and Dan wasn't going to feel better until he received the explanation he was rightfully owed. He brought the half-smoked bowl to his lips and sparked it in hopes that it'd bring him clarity to navigate the delicate situation. 

Choking on his hit, Dan jerked his head up as the doorknob rattled. Patty bounced into the house with her usual gait, a bright smile on her face as she scanned the living room. At least she was acting normal. 

"Hi, Danny. Is Simon here?" Patty shifted on her feet to peek over into the kitchen and down the hallway. At this time of day, she could typically find both of them out here playing video games or bickering about something, but the TV was off, it was dead silent, and Simon was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, yeah. But, wait,” Dan croaked through the smoke, coughing into his elbow and putting a finger up with his other hand as Patty peeled off her shoes and started down the hall. “Something's not right with him."

Patty stopped dead in her tracks, taking two baby steps back and squinted at him. “Like he’s in a bad mood?” That wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, and Dan knew that. Sure, he would usually warn her beforehand, but there was something different about his tone this time, worry etching the corners of his eyes in a way she hadn’t seen before. It made her nervous. 

He shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know that it’s bad. Just…” Danny gestured toward his room as if that would translate the gap in his words. Patty scrunched her nose. “Go in. You’ll see.” 

Patty paused at the door, tilting her head to the side and biting her lip as she took in the sight of her boyfriend half naked, leg hiked, head buried in the pillows. She was thankful for Danny’s warning. She did have quite an excellent view of his broad shoulders and cute, little butt from where she was standing, and her normal response would have been to pounce on top of him. But she restrained herself, tapping her fingers lightly on the door before stepping inside. “Simon?” 

“Baby?” Simon jolted upright at the sound of her voice, relief washing over him as he rolled over and extended sleep-heavy arms to her. “C’mere.”  

And she was there in a blink of an eye with the sweetest smile and a wet smooch before settling down on his chest. One arm stretched over his shoulder, wrapping around his neck, while the other spanned his torso, fingers curling into his side. A sneaky leg of hers slipped over one leg and under the other, a foot curled around his ankle, and he could have sworn he was in heaven, tension unspooling from his rigid muscles and overworked mind under her touch. He sighed, cathartic and dog-like. 

Patty smushed her face into his chest, inhaling deeply. Simon seemed sleepy, quieter than usual, but not necessarily off. She disregarded Danny’s message, assuming he said or did something to set Simon off unknowingly. There had been plenty of instances she had gotten “warnings” from him only for Simon to be perfectly fine. 

Simon tugged the loose ponytail out of her hair and stroked a hand down her head, receiving an encouraging hum from Patty. “Lemme see your hand."

Patty untucked the left one from his side. “Why?” 

“No, your other one,” Simon qualified, slinging her arm out from around his neck and taking her right hand in his. He glanced over her knuckles, not a crack or a bruise in sight, and swiped his thumb across them. “Hurt?”

Patty shook her head proudly. A little sore, sure, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Slugging a shoulder didn't hurt as bad as noses did. 

"Good." Simon mustered a half-grin for her, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "How was work?" 

Patty shrugged and laid back down. “Meh. Kinda wished I woulda called in."

“See, told ya," he chuckled, though—and it’d be the first and only time he’d admit this—he was glad she didn’t. He'd bet if Connie had caught the two of them together rather than him alone that the encounter may have not gone over the way it did, probably wouldn’t have played out to his advantage. He loved her, shit, it was one of things he loved about her, but Patty would have definitely added fuel to that fire, and too much at that.  

"How was your day?" Patty chirped, her cheek nuzzling back into his chest. 

Simon laughed weakly. He had originally intended on working out an angle to deliver the news to her without completely freaking her out before she got here, but, clearly, he never got around to it. Now, more than anything, he was trying to keep himself from freaking out. "Uh, it was...it was weird, not gonna lie to you."

Patty furrowed her brows and peered up at him. "Weird how?" 

Simon smirked, tapped a finger to the tip of her nose. "I have to tell you something, but you have to promise to not be mad.”

Every muscle in Patty's body tensed, and though he felt a little bad, it only proved his point. That's how he felt when she said it to him too. "See, s'not a great introduction, now is it?" he teased. 

Patty sat up and looked him square in the eye. "Are you fucking with me right now?"

Simon sighed, heavy and anxious. He rubbed his forehead before throwing his hand out. "Yes and no." 

Patty groaned in frustration, collapsing back onto his chest, a small oof escaping him on impact. Okay, Danny was right. There was something going on with him. 

It might have been the pussy move, but Simon committed, ripping off the bandaid while he didn't have to look her in the eye. “So, your mom’s book club, Pats. Either it don’t exist or it got cancelled or some shit.” 

“Wh–?” Patty's head snapped up, the top of her crown ramming into Simon’s chin, teeth clinking from the force.

“Owww,” she moaned, clutching her head, the spot pulsating in small bursts of pain. 

“Jesus, Patty,” he gritted through his teeth, rubbed over his chin. He stuck his tongue out and dabbed it for blood. If that was the universe’s sick way of advising him to not open up, he was tempted to take the bait.  

Danny had already been keeping half an ear out for them and jumped to his feet at the commotion. “You guys good?”

Simon groaned again, not in pain, but in annoyance. With a grunt, he sat up, palming either side of Patty's head as he looked her over. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh, but—."

"Good.” He tilted her head forward, pressed his lips gingerly to the tender spot, and pulled himself to the edge of the bed, glaring at Dan who was, yet again, darkening his doorway. "We're fine, Dan. Go find someone else to peep on." 

"What? I'm not fuckin'—. Whatever, man." Dan took a deep breath, ignoring Simon's attempts to rile him up. "What's goin' on with you?"  

Simon stood up sharply, squeezing his hands into fists, and fished out a pair of shorts and a shirt from his dresser. He really didn't want to talk to Dan about this; he barely wanted to talk about it with Patty for shit's sake. He was only now considering that he’d have to dish it out to an audience, to them, arguably the two people who worried about him the most, the two people who would have the most questions, the two people who wouldn't be satisfied until they wrung every last detail out of him. He felt trapped all over again. 

He looked over his shoulder at Patty, gave her a smile that he hoped didn’t look like a grimace. “I’m gettin’ a beer, baby. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Patty shook her head, the room spinning as she reached towards him in confused desperation. “But, Simon—.”

“I said I’ll be right back,” he barked, shoulder-checking Dan on his way to the kitchen.

“Jeez, dude. You don’t have to be a dick,” Danny grumbled as he rubbed his shoulder. Simon immediately mocked him, repeating his words in a whiney, high-pitched voice. They both could hear the fridge opening and slamming shut, the popping of a tab. He sighed, passing Patty a sympathetic look. “Sorry my brother’s an asshole."

Patty didn't hear him. After she punched out of work, she stopped by the manager's office to borrow the phone and let her mom know where she was going, and, instead of the usual interrogation, her mom was encouraging, said it was a good idea. Patty was in such a rush to make it to the bus on time, she didn't stop to question it.

She also didn't question when her mom advised her, "just be gentle with him today, honey."

Simon announced his impending arrival with a belch. “Would it kill you to just shut the fuck up for, like, I don’t know, five fucking seconds, Dan? Think you can handle that for me?” And Danny made that stupid fucking face he made when he was pretending like he wasn't just poking the bear, hands in the air and stepping away from him like he was a ticking time bomb. Simon's glare didn't waver, even when he shot the juice box he snagged for Patty onto the bed. She gasped when it landed in front of her. 

“Simon,” Patty whispered, a quiet plea.

In an instant, all of the rage and fury simmering under Simon's skin evaporated. And though his features softened, his line of sight locked in at his feet rather than towards Patty, a detail that didn't go unnoticed by Dan. Gave him that sinking feeling in his gut again. Guy was acting guilty as hell, and he could only hope Simon didn’t do something he couldn’t take back. 

“Yeah.” 

Patty inhaled sharply, tapping on the juice box as she looked toward the ceiling. “How do you know about my mom’s book club?” 

Simon swore under his breath, smacking his head against the doorframe. If he was gonna get backed into a corner, he was gonna get properly suited up first. “You said somethin’ about having a joint?” 

Danny sighed and patted him on the shoulder, nodding toward the living room. 

“Wait, Simon!” Patty scrambled off the bed, tripping over her feet and landing on her knees with a loud thud. Patty had a lot of thoughts and emotions bouncing around the inside of her skull, but the fall only served to bring anger to the forefront. How could he drop that bomb on her and run away, not once but twice? 

Patty picked herself back up and headed to the living room, plopping down on the couch with crossed arms. Simon wouldn’t look at her.

“Told you somethin' wasn't right with him,” Dan muttered. 

Simon huffed, opening his mouth to lay into Dan for the shitty comment, but Dan was a step ahead, pacifying him with the lit joint. He gladly accepted it, reminding himself he only needed a couple puffs, just something to slow down the thoughts in his head so he could actually fucking think straight. Find a good path to walk so that he didn't freak either them out more than was necessary while also avoiding the doghouse.

“Alright, that's enough." Danny snatched the joint out of his hands. "Talk." 

“Fuck, it’s really not a big deal. I swear,” he groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

A chorus of resistance echoed from the two of them, and Simon couldn't take it. He stole the joint back from Dan and pushed himself off the couch. “Jesus Christ. Can a man smoke first? Goddamn.” He made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed another beer, chugged it over the sink, crushed it, and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. 

Patty looked to Dan, silently begging him to do or say something. She didn't mind that Simon drank, but she did mind when he drank like that. Something happened, something with her mom, but that was as far as she had gotten. And whatever that something was, it was hurting him, and she had no idea what to do to help. 

“You’re freaking us both out, man. Just spit it out,” Danny sniped. 

“Fuck, it’s nothing, okay?” Simon threw himself back onto the couch, cracking open the fresh can he brought back with him and taking another hit off the joint. Patty's hand slowly snaked over his thigh, and, without thinking, he laced his fingers through hers. 

"Simon?" She was so quiet he was sure Dan couldn't hear her. He lolled his head to the side in response. "I don't think it's nothing.”

The firmness in her tone and fierceness in her eyes made Simon's heart jump. "Baby, I swear—."

Patty's grip tightened on his hand. "My mom said something about you on the phone before I came over." 

Dan pinched the bridge of his nose with a defeated sigh. Not again with the mom shit. 

“Yeah?” Simon passed the joint and reached for a cigarette. He could only hope neither of them noticed the shake in his hands. “What’d she say?”

Patty's lips pressed into a tight line as she rewound her mom's words again in her head. “That I should be gentle with you today.”

Simon blinked at her, then blew a short laugh through his nose. He wasn’t sure how to feel about Connie looking out for him like that, didn't wanna dissect it, so he flung his hands wildly at his brother instead. “You mind passin’ that info along to Dan?” 

Stubbing out the joint, Danny rolled his eyes. This was him being gentle. 

And that was Patty’s breaking point, a frustrated groan erupting from her. She was done being patient, done with him not fully answering her questions, done being left more confused than when she started. “But why do we need to be? Simon, why would she know that?” 

Dan and Patty both waited with wide, impatient eyes that demanded a response, but Simon purposely kept his attention locked on his cigarette. 

Hands squeezed into fists, Patty leaned forward to catch his eye. Simon tilted his head away from her, but she wasn't going to let him ignore her. Not this time. “Simon?” 

Simon threw his hands up. “Fuck, okay, Patty. Fine. I got caught, alright?” He reached for his beer, tipping it back and letting it slowly pour down his throat.  

It was quiet, the air charged and thick with the confession. Patty clutched a hand over her racing heart, her face hot all of a sudden. “What do you mean you got caught?” 

Simon smiled weakly, hazy eyes on hers. “I mean exactly that. I got caught sneakin’ out of your fuckin’ room.” 

Patty’s jaw dropped, and a loosely curled fist ran from the center of her chest up to her shoulder and back again, panic rising as she processed his words. Simon clumsily leaned over to reach for her hand, but Patty shifted away from him, shaking her head. She was too overwhelmed to deal with anyone touching her right now, even Simon. “Then why—? But how did—? I told you not to—. Wait...what—?” 

Simon’s reaction time may have been impaired, but he caught the moment Dan opened his mouth to speak over her. Whacked him upside the head before he could utter a single syllable. “Let her finish." He stared Dan down long enough to make his point and returned his attention back to Patty. 

Patty's eyes darted all over his face, looking him up and down, turning back to the floor, to the ceiling, then to him again. She didn't understand in what universe he got caught and her mom allowed her to come over here without any fuss, didn’t understand how he got caught yet he was still sitting here in front of her in one piece. It wasn’t adding up at all. “What happened, Simon?” 

“Well,” he began, stroking over his moustache. “Waited like you told me to, waited til 11 actually before I couldn't take anymore. Seriously, Pats. It was either that or your goddamn window." He laughed, but neither of them so much as cracked a smile. Alright, tough crowd. He sat up straighter. "Only managed two fuckin' steps before she caught me in the hall, scared the shit out of each other. Then she made me have coffee with her, made me a sandwich, and sent me on my way." 

“Bullshit. You just got home like an hour ago, dude. Tell us what really happened,” Danny pressed. And Patty was glad he did. Did Simon forget she spent the last 22 years of her life with that woman? She wasn’t going to call him a liar, but there was no way it went down the way Simon was describing. 

Simon rolled his eyes and leaned forward to put his cigarette out. “That did happen."

“Yeah, but there’s no way that’s all that happened,” Dan reiterated. 

“Jesus. Alright." Hands tossed in defeat. "We just…she made me talk to her about things."

There. Patty knew it. The confirmation wasn't a win though, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “What things?” 

“We’re still good, baby. Don’t worry about that,” he assured quietly, rested a heavy hand on her thigh. He squeezed gently. 

Patty wished it was that simple, wished she could just drop it and trust his word, but there wasn't a chance in hell that she was going to be able to relax until she fully comprehended how he managed to walk away after getting caught the way he did. He might have been the most charming person she had ever met, but that didn't stand a chance against her mom when she was upset. Catching her boyfriend, who they already had their doubts about, leaving her bedroom the morning after he had come to dinner should have been pretty high on the list of things sure to set her off. “Did she yell at you?” 

Simon snorted. “I mean, yeah, kinda. A little in the beginning, a little bit at the end there, too,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “She didn’t even raise her voice or nothin’, just got all stern. Told me if I stay the night again it’s gotta be in Kev’s room, gave me a talkin’ to ‘bout not knockin’ you up, you know, shit like that.”

“Oh, god,” Patty groaned, face in hands, tips of her ears burning red-hot. 

Dan raised a brow at his brother. He'd seen Simon use this tactic before, but never on her. And boy did she fall for it hook, line, and fucking sinker, keeping her focused on small details by being brash enough to deflect her attention from the issue at hand. He wasn't about to let him get away with that shit, not in front of him. "She spend the whole time lecturing you about the birds 'n the bees, or what?" Dan asked flatly.

Simon sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face, a small, dejected "no" a murmur on his lips. 

"I'll get the pliers if every question is gonna be like pullin' teeth from you, man."

"Fuck, Dan. Okay. She wanted to fuckin' talk, so we talked. She had her questions, got on my case for a lot of shit, got in my fuckin' head too." He sighed, shaking his head, and reached for Patty's thigh. "Feel like a dick for not believing you when you said you couldn't lie to her, Pats. The bitch had me cornered." 

He immediately received a swat from Dan for his choice of words, but Simon barely registered it. His attention was stuck on Patty, could almost see all her thoughts zooming around in her head. He watched the confusion flicker to worry in her eyes. "What'd she get in your head about?" 

"Fuck, be easier to ask what she didn't get in my head about," he groaned, then stood up abruptly, paced in front of the coffee table while he chewed on the edge of his thumb. He reached for his nearly empty beer and poured the rest down his throat. When that didn't work, he took the joint out of the ashtray to relight it.

Three puffs later, he was gesturing down his body, eyes wide. “Do I look fuckin' skinny to you guys?” 

Danny cracked a smile and shook his head. Connie said the same thing to him.

Patty downturned her lips as she looked him over. She thought he looked fantastic, and he definitely weighed quite a bit more than when they first met, filling out his jeans and shirts more than he used to. "I think you look good." 

“That’s what I said!”

Danny glanced over at the clock, jumping through hoops and bending over backwards to make up for all the time Simon had been gone. But no matter the excuse he came up with, it still wasn’t adding up. Lord knows Connie could talk, but not for five hours non-stop. “Did something else happen?” he asked carefully, not wanting to heavily insinuate anything in particular and set him off again. 

Simon collapsed onto the sofa again and sucked hard on the joint, eyes fixated on the cherry. “I, uh, I also went and saw Grandma today."

Danny choked. Surely he misunderstood him. “Grandma?" he balked, breathless. "You mean like the—?” 

“Yeah, the fuckin’ dead one, Dan. You know the other one hates my fucking guts,” he barked, hands flung and voice climbing to a shout. “Had to fuckin’ call Renae to find out where she was. Knew you’d freak the fuck out on me, and I just, I had to, okay?” 

Patty was struggling to keep up, lost to begin with—Simon had never said anything about his grandparents; she didn't even know he had any that were alive—but the mention of his sister was something she could grasp onto, and it blindsided her. “You called Renae?” 

“Yeah,” Simon breathed out, running a hand through his hair. 

Danny's eyes narrowed at him, skeptical. “How’d you get her number?”

“Are you being fucking serious? Don't act like you weren't right there with me prank-calling the shit out of her when she first moved in with that douchebag.”

“Oh, yeah," Danny laughed, not deterred by Simon's festering rage. At least he knew Simon wasn't lying; he did remember the phone in Simon's hands, not his. "How the hell did you get her on the phone though?”

Simon chuckled to himself and slapped Dan on the knee. “Told the guy I was you, had to talk to her ‘bout somethin’ important.” 

Simon had glared at the base of the payphone after whoever the fuck they had answering their phone nowadays went to fetch his sister. He was halfway tempted to waste the change and hang up, maybe call Dan instead. But the problem with calling Dan was that he’d wanna yell at him about the car, then Simon’d have to explain what the fuck happened, and he wasn't in the fucking mood for all that, wasn’t ready. He only needed answers right now. And that left him with two options: calling his mom or calling his sister. 

“Danny? What’s wrong? You know I have my pilates instructor over right now, and I can’t get my money back for wasting time on the phone. No, wait, wait, wait. Let me guess. It’s Simon, isn’t it. Of course it is. I told you not to let him in, Danny. I told you. That was the dumbest thing you could have ever—.”

Simon pulled the phone away from his ear, eyes rolling so far into his head he wasn’t sure if they’d come back as Renae squawked into the phone. Good to know she was just as insufferable as she used to be. Begrudgingly, he tuned back in. 

“So, tell me, what did he do this time?” 

“He just wants to know where you fucking assholes buried Grandma.” 

“Simon?” she spat his name like it was rotten. “How did you get my number? Did Danny give it to you? Why aren’t you asking him? But, if you’re not asking him, that means…that means you’re up to something. Nope, I won’t do it. Uh-uh. You’re not dragging me down too. I’m not facilitating—.”

“Jesus Christ, Renae. You’re not facilitating shit,” Simon snarled. 

“Why do you even care, Simon? Thought you didn’t believe in that kind of stuff anyway.”

“God, you’re the fucking worst. Do you know that? What do you think I’m up to? Wanting to desecrate her fucking grave?”

“Yeah, I do think you want to. Actually, I think that’s exactly what you want to do. Either that or worse. You know she was buried with—.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what she was buried with,” he snapped. It’s not like he would know anyway. “Just, come on. For once. Don’t be a cunt. Please.” 

The line was silent for a long time. Simon would have been convinced she hung up if it wasn’t for the absence of the dial tone. 

“I’m taking down the date and time right now in case this backfires, and I got the cops showing up on my doorstep for questioning again.” 

“Fine. Do what you gotta do. Just tell me, alright?”

“Tell me why you wanna know first.”

“Why do you fucking think?” 

“I told you what I think already.”

Simon swore under his breath, pulling the phone away from his ear as he tried to sort through his thoughts. He banged his fist on the top of the payphone, shaking his head as he brought the phone back. “Wanna say goodbye, alright? That okay with you?” 

“You know you could have gone—.”

“Don’t, Renae,” he warned, a growl. “Don’t fucking go there. Not right now. Not today.” 

It was quiet for a beat, an exaggerated sigh, and then she ceded, “alright, you got a pen?” 

Dan studied his brother closely, shifting forward on the couch. It had been long established that Dan wasn’t allowed to mention that grandma in Simon’s presence, conditioned by years of punches, kicks, and harsh words. It was an explanation alright, at least the tears were starting to make some sort of sense, but now he didn't know if he should be thrilled his brother was finally working through some of his shit, or if he should be concerned that these were last ditch efforts before he completely crumbled. “Are you okay?” 

Simon dismissed his question with a wave, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Patty's hand came back to his, and she squeezed. Hard. 

“Be honest, dude. It’s just us,” Dan tried again. 

“Yeah. I’m fine for the most part. Just fuckin’ tired,” he answered truthfully, swiping a finger over his heavy eyes. “Think seein’ Grandma made me feel a little better, felt right. But I don’t know, man. Can't stop thinkin' how Connie looked at me when I was talkin' 'bout Mom 'n Dad, like I was someone's pet turned roadkill. And the more she made me talk, the more I remembered, and I-I—. Fuck." Simon threw his hands down, avoiding Patty's eye at all costs. "Was it like that for you? I mean, like when we were kids? 'Cause I know I blocked a lot of shit out, and—.” 

“Mom and Dad are no angels, but it wasn’t—we didn’t have it as bad as you,” Danny interrupted quietly, fiddling with the lighter in his hands. Guilt weighing heavy on his conscious, he peered up to meet his brother's eye. In that moment, all he could see was the kid that used to switch jeans with him when he came home with grass-stained or muddy knees, rubbing the dirt off his face with his spit, tucking his shirt in, or fixing his hair before Mom could see. His older brother that took the fall for every broken vase or plate or cup, every stain or mishap. Shit, still will take the fall for him, constantly telling Dan to blame him when he was running late to dinner or when he spaced an event they insisted he attend. 

Danny could come up with every parent-approved excuse in the book, could try to justify his silence with his brother’s past actions, or claim his involvement would have only made it worse for both of them to warrant Dan’s place as nothing more than a bystander in those early days, but the fact of the matter was Simon had always been there for Dan. And Danny wished he could say the same. 

“You talked to my mom about that?” Patty wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Was it anger? Yes, maybe a little. Was it shock? Sure, that too. Concern? That was on the back burner for now. But it was the betrayal that was overpowering, felt like a stab to her heart that he'd finally opened up, and it was to her mom of all people. It made her feel small, insignificant. She had been sitting here, ready and willing to be a good listener when the time came for months, no years. Isn’t that what girlfriends were for? Did he not trust her? 

Dan sat back and looked away to give them privacy, contemplating whether or not he should leave the room altogether as the tension between the two grew. He resisted hounding Simon himself, for as many times as Dan talked to the guy about opening up with her, giving her full truths instead of half truths when she asked questions, he knew it would take something extreme for him to spill his guts. Still, he felt for Patty. He knew firsthand how hard it was to love his brother.

Simon pinched his nose and sighed. “I didn’t want to. Shit, I even told her I didn’t wanna tell her nothin’ til I talked to you,” he clarified, though that look of hurt, of disappointment didn't fade from her face. “Look, I wasn’t about to lose you holdin’ my ground over some stupid shit like that, okay? She mostly wanted to know why Mom and I don't talk.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I already told her why."

Danny raised an eyebrow at Simon. 

Simon shook his head. 

Simon thrummed the tab on his empty beer, trying to figure out what the fuck to even say to her that wouldn't crush her. "Fuck, Pats, I-I didn’t—. Shit." Simon broke her eye contact, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. "Didn't give you the all out, explicit version, okay? You got the cliffnotes." 

"Huh?" 

"He's trying to say he didn't tell you everything," Dan explained gently, his tone contradicting the heated glare he was giving his brother.

Patty blinked at both of them, clenching her jaw as she plugged in what they were saying. She leaned away from Simon. "So you lied to me?" 

"No, no. Didn't lie, baby. Promise.” He desperately reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. Despite all the downers in his system working overtime to combat it, he was on the verge of panicking. She looked ready to walk out that door. "Whatever I told you wasn't necessarily wrong. Just wasn't all of it. Swear to you." 

Patty squinted at him. She could tell he wasn’t lying, could see how badly he needed her to believe him, and she did. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Sure, he didn’t lie, but he wasn’t honest with her either. And that really hurt. But through the pain, she could acknowledge whatever he told her mom must have been pretty bad when the only reprimanding she received was an advisory to take it easy on him. “Okay.”

Simon's heart sank. “Okay? That’s all?”  

Patty shrugged. “I believe you.” 

Simon sat back, hands together, gnawing at the inside of his lip. It shouldn’t have been that painless. 

“Don't take it easy on him on my account,” Dan chuckled. His warning earlier was to protect her, not him. “Let him have it.” 

Patty shook her head at Danny, eyes darting back to Simon. She didn't want to yell at him; she wasn't angry anymore, not at him at least. She was hurt more than anything, disheartened, and a little frustrated, and she found only one solution to rectify it. “Well, will you tell me the truth now?” 

“What, like right now? No. No fuckin’ way,” he chuckled, earning himself an elbow and a pointed look from Dan. “Shit. Okay, I mean, I will, Patty. I swear to you, I will. But I don’t got it in me to do it again. Not tonight at least.” 

She responded with a silent nod, but the absence of her words, the look on her face, it said everything. 

An awkward tension settled over the trio: Simon hung his head, Patty chewed her lip, and Dan shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

Maybe Dan was being an optimist, but personally, he didn't see how any of this was a bad thing, besides Simon having to openly admit to Patty he hadn't been entirely honest with her in the past. And he knew the two of them were too wrapped up in the details to pull their heads out of their asses and see what happened at face value. 

Dan stretched his limbs, patting his brother on the shoulder. "Might have sucked goin' through it, but I think this is good news, guys." 

"Huh?"

Simon hooked a thumb towards her. "Yeah. Huh?” 

“Okay, yeah, you got caught. That sucks. Boo-hoo. You both will live. But I know if you left with a sandwich, you left with a hug too." Simon flipped a palm, and Danny grinned. "Yeah, exactly. Connie's got a big heart, and I'm sure whatever you confessed only helped you both in the long run."  

Simon wasn't the only one irritated by Dan's viewpoint. Patty rolled her eyes. She didn't want to talk about her mom in a good light, not when she was this pissed at whatever she said or did to get Simon to talk when he clearly didn't want to. 

While he knew he was in the hot seat, Simon couldn't deny how cute she looked when she was mad with her button nose creased, her pouted lips, and crossed arms. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Patty resisted, though settled the moment his lips pressed to her crown. “You know me well enough to know I wouldn't say this if I didn't mean it, but he's right, babe,” he murmured in her ear. 

Patty made a noise of protest and pushed against his arms, but he only made them heavier. “That’s not fair, Simon." It wasn't fair to her, and, more importantly, it wasn't fair to him. She knew she had an ass chewing waiting for her at home, but her mom should be ready to receive one too. 

"Yeah, you know what? You’re right, Pats. It isn’t. I’m sorry, okay? Lemme–let’s get into this tomorrow or some shit. You know, be ‘gentle’ with me for the night?” 

Patty stopped squirming, turning her head up to find a very vulnerable expression on Simon’s face. She nodded, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath to calm herself down. She didn't bother clarifying that she meant whatever her mom did wasn't fair, but if he wanted to promise to talk, she was more than happy to go along with it. 

“Look at it this way, Patty,” Danny started, relighting the joint, a giggle in his voice. “If it wasn’t for your mom, you’d probably never get him to talk.” 

Simon chucked the nearest throw pillow at his brother. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Dan.”