Chapter Text
“Okay okay okay. Fuck, marry, kill... Ryan Gosling, Ryan Seacrest, Ryan Reynolds.”
Adil scrunches up their nose, analyzing the options. Their red and black curls bounce as they shift to a seated position on Simon's bed, falling to frame their face like tendrils of smoke.
Also, their face is currently being framed by tendrils of smoke. With their good arm, they take a long hit from the (hand-rolled) joint and pass it back to Simon, who follows suit. When she speaks, her voice is raspy.
"What did Ryan Gosling do again?"
Her eyes dart around as she thinks, and he can't help but feel a prickle of embarrassment- although logically he knows his QPP would never judge him, it's hard not to notice that his room could fit in theirs three times and still have space to grow. Not to mention the dirty clothes on the floor, the glitchy TV (currently blasting Love Island Season 9), the patchy gray walls covered with print-out band posters...
He shoves the joint back in his mouth before he can do something stupid like scream.
Inhale.
"Because I legit don't remember seeing him in anything. Like, why is he famous? Why should I like him?"
Exhale.
The burn is comforting in his lungs. He passes it back. “Uhm... he's hot. And Canadian."
“Mmm. Canadians are cool. We like Canadians, right?” Adil doesn't wait for an answer- he's already onto another thought. Simon can almost see the lightbulb flashing over his head. “They made maple syrup.”
“Dude,” they say solemnly.
“Dude,” Adil responds, equally solemn. “I would kill-" they stab at the air with the joint, emphasizing their point- "for an animated pancake right now.”
"Animated?”
His thoughts feel sluggish. He feels sluggish. Like a... slug.
“What? They always look so much better." She grabs his hands and tugs him up to a seated position, brown eyes gleaming like a firefly under stained glass. "Like, here- close your eyes."
He obliges without thinking. Adil’s probably the only person he would do that for- make himself intentionally vulnerable, all in the name of a stupid bit.
"Now imagine a Studio Ghibli pancake. Fluffy. Syrupy. A little bit of butter on top. Just try to tell me you don’t want it. Boom! You won't, 'cause you can’t.”
Simon bites their lip. “…I don’t like pancakes.”
“You don’t…”
Long pause. He peeks one eye open to see her gaping at him in shock.
“I’m sorry, okay?! They make me feel like I’m eating raw dough.”
”Die.”
“I wish.”
The words come out automatically, and he immediately wishes he could retract them upon seeing Adil's face.
“Don’t say that.”
“Sorry.”
He's dimly aware of them setting the weed cigarette (thanks Tumblr) down on his bedside table. Probably for the best. Any looser and he might float away.
They marinate in silence, only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Adil's drumstick on their skeleton pajama pants. They carried those things everywhere they went, rain or shine... he was pretty sure all of their clothes had been customized to add a big-ass stick pocket. They had the money for that.
Simon glances down at his nails. Adil painted them earlier (black, like his soul), and patches of polish still stained the space around his cuticles.
His QPP, he'd come to learn, didn't believe in being cautious when working. Or in general. ("What's the point of trying to be neat?" she'd asked. "It all falls off in the end anyways.")
He’d wanted to argue, but what with the space eczema and all, Adil's motor control wasn't the best. Having your entire left arm consumed by a tentacle monster will do that to you. Fortunately, it hadn't affected their drumming much, but they'd had to give up their baseball scholarship to Miskatonic.
Which, yeah, was pretty rough at the time... he remembered spending several sleepless nights with them sobbing into the phone. But eventually they'd realized their true passion was the band, and poured their heart and soul into the new songs they'd been working on.
Adil breaks the silence, because his best friend is incapable of staying quiet for longer than two seconds.
“...Wait, what were we talking about?”
...Wait. What were they talking about?
Oh, yeah. Simon's nails are black (again, like his soul), but they've been brushed over with a fine layer of silver glitter as a compromise, because according to Adil he needs more color in his life. And color makes them think of rainbows, and rainbows make them think of gay, and gay makes them think of Apple and Darling from Ever After High, which makes them think of the terrible dolls, which makes them think of...
“Barbie!" He snaps his fingers, remembering. Adil jumps, then stares at him like he's lost his mind. "Ryan Gosling’s also playing Ken in the live action Barbie movie," he adds by way of explanation.
“MARRY HIM.”
Simon raises an eyebrow at the instant reaction.
“Seriously?”
“What? I want a hot trophy husband.”
They glance pointedly at the aromantic heart sticker on Adil's phone case. “No you don’t.”
“No I don’t." Adil rocks back and forth in place, making his bed hinges squeak. "Who were the other two again?”
“Seacrest. Reynolds.”
“Mmm... fuck Ryan Reynolds, kill Seacrest.”
He recoils. “Ew, what are you, a straight man?”
She sputters indignantly. “Ex-CUSE me, sir. Would a straight man fuck Ryan Reynolds?”
“YES. Literally every single one.”
“That seems… incorrect.”
“Nuh uh. It’s like they’ve all universally agreed he is the exception. Like, Yes Homo, but only for Deadpool.”
"It's not gay if there's a mask on."
Simon decides not to comment on that, because it'll send them into a 2 hour ramble about the inherent homosexuality of masquerade balls, and they're trying to focus on the game here. "I can't believe you killed Seacrest."
"He's just forgettable!"
"Nuh-uh, American Idol would be nothing without him. He is... the ultimate DILF.”
"Wait, he's a dad?"
"I don't know." They smirk. "But he will be when I'm done with him."
It takes a second for his words to set in. When they do, Adil gapes and whacks him (hard) in the arm. Jesus, he's strong.
"Ew! Ew ew. Swiftly changing the subject- my turn! Fuck, marry, kill… uh, the Dunwich Dolls.”
“Seriously? Just all of us?”
“Yup.” She pops the P.
Simon lets out a huff of air as she climbs over his body to reach the joint, kneeing him in the stomach as she does.
“Uncreative.”
“Answer the question.”
“Fiiiine. Well, I’d marry you, obviously.”
Adil does the equivalent of a weed spit-take– coughing midway through a hit. Simon pats him on the back until he's ready to talk again, at which point they say: “Wait, seriously? Not Xander?”
Simon rolls their eyes. “Dude, me and him have only been hanging out for a few weeks now. You and me– we’re forever.”
His skin crawls at the inherent vulnerability of the words. He knows she knows this already. Heck, he knows she feels the same. But it's still scary to say out loud... as if all of a sudden she's gonna pop up and yell "Surprise! You've been Emotionally Manipulated!" like on some fucked up best friend prank show.
Instead, she pretends to wipe a tear. “Simon Pratt, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Oh, shut up.” He pushes them, and they fall over laughing.
“Make me.” They wiggle their eyebrows, striking a seductive pose.
“You’re so immature!”
“Coming from the man who can’t even say ‘dating.’ I mean, hanging out? What are you, 12?”
Adil tugs at his arm, trying to pull him down to the mattress. He rolls on top of her, crushing her with his weight. She lets out a muffled squeal of protest, slapping and kicking at him with all her might.
“I can say dating! Dating dating dating.”
Suddenly, they lose their balance and topple off of the bed- with a thud that shakes the room.
Adil grins smugly. Serves you right, they can almost hear him thinking.
“Just not in relation to your literal boyfriend.”
It’s a harmless observation, but Simon falls silent from his position on the floor. The shag carpet is an ugly mixture of brown and green and smells like incense. They always light incense while they toke up, to cover the smell- a pointless tradition now that he lives alone, but a tradition nonetheless.
It's part of why Adil likes coming over to his apartment... no nosy siblings to get in the way or tattle to Mom. No Mom at all, actually. Which is probably for the best- Simon's parents don't really get the trans thing, but apparently their version of support is forcing him on any femme-presenting person he sees. After 10 years of friendship (give or take) they still didn't believe that he and Adil were just friends... extremely close, physically affectionate, queer platonic friends.
Because as they view it (not that they'd ever say this out loud), he can be a girl and lesbian, or a boy and straight. Two things is too many.
He shudders to think what they'd say if he told them about Xander.
"...He is your boyfriend, right?"
Another silence. Adil shuffles around for a second, making the hinges on his bed squeak. When smoke begins to waft out of his sheets, he realizes their goal.
“Hey, Steve." They adopt a low, raspy tone- a bad imitation of someone, he's sure. "Did you just OD over there?”
“Depends." Simon props his head up on their arm, trying to get a good view of the drummer. "Did you just Stranger Things me?”
“Maya Hawke could sit on my face and I would thank her."
Adil makes these kinds of comments all the time, despite being aroace. Something about fantasies not equaling the real thing? Celebrities being unattainable? Either way- gross.
“But seriously… are you alright?”
“I'm fine." It comes out snappish. Very convincing.
He hears Adil sigh, then the sound of bare feet hitting the ground. They were the kind of neurodivergent who hated wearing shoes and socks ("It feels like something's hugging my feet," they'd complained once.) Simon was the opposite- he’d sleep in shoes if he could. Too many textures otherwise.
He turns to stare at the ceiling, covered with dips and valleys. Popcorn, his mom had called it.
As a kid, he used to imagine that there was a militia of tiny men up there, trying desperately to poke through. Every one of them in their own little hole, unaware that the others were all working towards the same goal. Unaware that they would all fall to their doom in the end, just for the sin of chasing the unknown.
God, he was a depressing child.
Chasing The Unknown... there's a song in there somewhere. He'd ask Calypso at their next rehearsal. She was a better lyricist than him by far.
"This is a floor conversation now." Adil scoots over to Simon, resting their head on his shoulder. According to her, all of his layers made him "maximum comfort." They tap out a familiar beat on the floor- Manic Pixie Scream, one of the band's new songs. "So talk."
Well, no getting out of this now.
"It’s stupid, honestly. Like, we’re basically official. It shouldn’t be this hard to say it. But it’s like… there's this nagging voice in my head, telling me that if I let myself have a good thing, it’s just gonna disappear."
The world feels too quiet; he resists the urge to stand up and put on a vinyl. Because of course he likes vinyls, because he's a pretentious asshole.
“We probably won’t last forever, right? Just statistically. We're still children, we don't know what we want. What if he wants kids and I don't? Or what if he fucking- mixes ketchup and ranch, or clips his toenails in bed, or... shut up," he groans, before Adil can burst out laughing. "It's the little things that ruin relationships. Trust me, I know. My parents would be divorced by now if they weren't so goddamn prideful."
"Hmm. Prideful, you say? I wonder who that reminds me of."
Touché.
Adil kicks his legs over Simon's, tangling them together. They're objectively an awful person to cuddle with... can't sit still even in sleep. But Simon's used to it by now.
He presses his head into their hair, inhaling the scent of their coconut curl mousse.
"But that’s exactly my point! I suck. He’s gonna realize that eventually. If I see it coming it won't hurt as much. So might as well brace myself for the worst, right?”
Adil glances up at them. This close, they can see that his eyeliner is smudged from a day of wear. Somehow, he makes it look punk rock instead of sloppy.
“Okay, so either I’m super high, or your logic fucking sucks.”
“Hey!” He shoots her a glare.
“It’s the truth! So what if your relationship ends? Maybe it’ll be awkward for a while, but I’m 90% sure you can bounce back. We– the band– literally went through hell and back together. A little break up is nothing!”
Simon opens their mouth. She claps a hand over it. He licks it. She wipes it on his shirt.
“What I’m more worried about,” she continues, “is you ending this before it even begins. That’s the waste here. Spending your life with one foot on the brake. Escape hatch. Whatever. Years in a relationship you’re not even invested in.”
“But at least I wouldn’t get my… ugh, this is so cliché… heart broken.”
They're too high for this.
Actually, scratch that. They're too sober for this. Where'd the weed go?
She fixes him with a knowing look. “I think it’s a bit too late for that, babes.”
Is she talking in a British accent? Considering they'd been binging Love Island (UK) for the past hour, it wasn't surprising.
Simon groans. “I hate this. I want to go back to feeling nothing.”
“You sound like Bobby."
"Stop."
"Next you're going to say you want to be a jellyfish."
"STOP." He rubs his eyes. "Although, actually, maybe... jellyfish don't have relationships, right?"
"Relatable."
"They're asexual."
"So me."
They lapse into a comfortable quiet, chests rising and falling in unison. Simon's breathing is slightly stilted (note to self: stop ignoring binder protocol) but he ignores the chest ache. He doesn't want to get up and change out of it, and he doesn't want to dig through his piles of laundry to find a hoodie that won't make him dysphoric.
Adil- as always- speaks up first. "Wait, did we finish the game?"
“Pretty much. Although I never said who I’d kill.”
“Oh. Well, don’t do that. It’s too mean.”
“Nah it’s okay, I’d just kill myself.”
...
"Simon-"
“It’s not because I want to die. Well, not anymore at least." He mumbles that last part. "It’s ‘cause... I don’t want to lose any of you.”
It's true, he realizes with a start. Within the past few months, the band members had become more important to him than... well, anyone. They were like a family- a weird, incestuous family, but a family nonetheless.
Adil's eyes go as gooey as melted brownie batter.
“Aww, you big sap…”
“Fuck you.”
"Do it yourself, coward."
Adil disentangles herself from him. He tries not to shudder as their tentacle-y arm brushes his skin.
"I changed my answer. I'm killing you and marrying Azathoth."
She snorts.
"Welp. If you're already killing me, might as well make you hate me even more."
He stands (joints cracking as he does) and starts rummaging through Simon's bed sheets. For a second, they think he's searching for the joint... until he emerges with a tiny black remote in his hands.
"We’re watching Glee.”
“No!” With reflexes that would make their high school PE teacher shed tears of joy, they scramble to their feet and make a wild grab for the remote. "That show is garbage!"
(On the screen, a dirty blonde girl with 0 fat on her body is giving a frat boy a lap dance. He ignores it.)
"It's camp!" She ducks under his arms and scrambles to a nearby bookshelf for cover.
"YOU CAN'T CALL EVERY BAD SHOW CAMP AS AN EXCUSE TO WATCH IT."
"Glee IS camp. Glee INVENTED camp! 2019 Met Gala WISHES it could be this-" They scream as Simon tackles them into the wall. "Nooooo!"
And on it goes for the next 10 minutes, until Simon finally relents and allows her to scroll to Disney+. She puts on S2 E3: Grilled Cheesus ("Are you kidding me, that episode gave me more religious trauma than my PARENTS." "Exposure therapy!")
Exhausted and relaxed from the weed, they end up in a heap on his bed, watching- as Adil calls it- "the best worst show ever." Ordinarily, he'd feel pressure to comment on the absurdity of the plotlines, or to call out the problematic aspects of the characterization. (There were two Asian characters, both of whom had the surname Chang? Like seriously, get creative.) But with Adil in his arms, tossing and turning every 5 seconds, he doesn't. He just is.
Alive, awake, and content. What are the odds?
***
By the time the credits start rolling, Adil is asleep, snoring softly into his shoulder. The TV blares softly in the background, casting a warm blue light over his light brown skin.
Simon carefully disentangles himself, throwing a blanket over her when she groans at the sudden draft.
And– in a moment of bravery– he pulls out his phone and types a message.
You: hey, wanna come over tmrw?
we still need to finish MHA
The dots appear instantaneously.
Dunwich Douche: Yeha sure!
Yeah*
What time?
He smiles at the instantaneous response, as well as the stupid name he has Xander listed under in his phone… after their disastrous first meeting which had ended up with him in the hospital. Little did he know where they’d end up, after a shit-ton of sensitivity training and (shudder) group therapy.
You: any time after 3
got roped into babysitting adil’s siblings again
Dunwich Douche: Lmaooo
The little gremlins
Don’t die pls I’ll miss you <33
He attaches a little gif of a dog gnawing happily on a grumpy black cat's ear. It's so them. Simon wants to throw his phone at the wall.
Eventually he regains his composure enough to send back:
You: i'll live
but you won't if you and adil try and rope me into roleplaying again
Dunwich Douche: :,((
But Nomis!!!
The world needs to see what he does next
Nomis was Simon's stupid My Hero Academia self-insert (yes, it was his name backwards, shut up). Xander and Adil had forced him to make one, after finding out they both roleplayed in the same Discord server.
He'd teased them for it until Adil brought up his Homestuck phase... and he wisely decided not to throw stones from glass houses.
Or the Land of Dew and Glass houses.
Right now he was "trying to choose" between joining the academy or becoming a supervillain. (Obviously the latter, but yay for suspense.) Apparently, throwing himself off of the All Might monument wasn't a choice in that scenario.
You: i wasn't aware that you and adil constituted the world
Dunwich Douche: Maybe not THE world
But yours ;)
You: cocky bastard
To tell the truth, Xander was nowhere near as confident in person. In fact, a lot of what Simon had perceived as arrogance when they first met was actually just an inability to read social cues... and a shitload of underlying insecurities. It had taken a lot of coaxing for him to even play violin in front of Simon, after they got back to Earth.
Part of that was space trauma, of course, but the other was the way their old "friends" had treated them. Simon still saw red when he thought about it.
Dunwich Douche: But yours ;)
You: i hate you sm
Dunwich Douche: Love you too babe <33
It's a joke. He knows that. So why does his heart flutter?
You: yeah, yeah, ik
see you tomorrow?
Dunwich Douche: Not if I see you first >:)
Simon takes a second to come to terms with the fact that he's literally... dating... (see Adil, he can say it) a 40 year old man in a teenager’s body before responding:
You: can't wait :)
A fucking smiley face? They're going soft. They're losing their edge. They're...
God. Adil is going to tease him relentlessly tomorrow.
Dunwich Douche: <3
His chest is exploding with warmth. Has he been wearing his binder for too long?
...Is this what dying feels like?
Simon (reluctantly) tosses his phone aside and begins rummaging through his closet. He needs to find something to wear tomorrow. Something awe-inspiring. Something jaw-dropping. Something... black.
What can he say? It's his color. And if he's going to ask Xander to officially be his boyfriend, he needs all the help he can get.
After carefully laying out a monochromatic outfit (leather jacket, skull shirt, ripped jeans) he slides back into bed next to Adil, who immediately latches onto him like an octopus. It's a little suffocating, but nice- like a… weighted blanket of love.
Or something. Sappy stuff isn't exactly his forte.
He glances back up at the ceiling, and hey... maybe those little dudes up there aren't so screwed after all.
Maybe they've found something to break their fall.
Can't wait.
Can't wait indeed.
:)