“I know,” Charlie says. “I know.”
“No sex in my pool,” Simon says a minute later.
“Okay but what about sex on the lounge chair?”
Simon thinks about explaining that the way hills work is that the people higher up can see into the yards of people lower down, but decides to save his breath. “Jamie could come home anytime. I’m trying not to traumatize him.” Charlie knows that Simon’s trying to make it so Jamie stays if he wants to.
Charlie reaches for the sunblock on the edge of the pool and slathers some on his own shoulders haphazardly. Simon bats his hands away and does it himself. It’s not like it’s a hardship. He gets a little distracted at the biceps—who can blame him—and spends some extra effort rubbing the sunscreen onto Charlie’s most intricate tattoo, the cloud of stars wrapping around his biceps.
Simon used to think it was such a boring tattoo for an actor on a show set in space, but now he gets it.Out Therewas—is—ameaningful experience for Charlie. He’s done it for most of his adult life, and it’s how he met most of his friends. There’s meaning in making something other people enjoy, something they look forward to, and talk about, and write their own stories about.
And now Simon can’t look at that tattoo without thinking about Charlie on the couch at a foster home, Simon sneaking into his father’s living room, Charlie with his shithead stepdad, Simon making Jamie watch the originalStar Trekuntil Jamie started to enjoy it. Simon keeps thinking of the weirdly wholesome TikToks he and Charlie keep getting tagged in. Simon’s left with the impression that the entire app is nothing but crying queer sci-fi fans. And also eyeliner tutorials. It’s kind of heartwarming.
Simon figures there are worse legacies.
He hasn’t decided what he’s doing next, but the first script Claire sent him is for the adaptation ofA Scorched Land. They’re asking Simon to read for the role of a cape-swishing, Cruella De Vil-esque dragon hunter, so it might be a decent amount of fun for a few months’ work. Lian’s been hinting that she has some new project up her sleeve. It’s entirely possible that Simon will spend his career following Lian around, which actually doesn’t sound so bad.
Sure, he wants to do more challenging roles, and he hopes he gets that chance, but he also hopes he gets to work on projects that mean something to fans, projects that fans have fun with. And maybe he’ll have fun with them too.
“Why are you smiling?” Charlie asks, a little suspicious.
“I think it might be optimism.” Simon has no idea why it feels embarrassing to admit that. “What are you going to do after this season?”
Nobody’s said out loud that this will beOut There’s last season.But with Alex already gone and Simon only doing half a season, it’s at least the end ofOut Thereas everybody knows it. Eight years is a long time for any show.
Charlie pushes a wet piece of hair off Simon’s forehead. “I’ll stay for as long as there’s a show.” He’s quiet for a moment. “After that, I don’t know. I, um. Alex thinks I’d be good in romcoms?”
“Yes,” Simon says immediately, because it’s obvious that this is what Charlie wants to do. “You’re funny and you’re good at smoldering.”
“Not sure I have the range.”
“Don’t say that about yourself,” Simon says, even though he spent years complaining about Charlie’s lack of range. “That might have been true at first, but it isn’t true now. Also, I just told you that you have the range. Funny. Smoldering.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Keep up.”
Charlie rolls his eyes in a way that makes Simon pretty sure he’s heard all this before—maybe from Alex, maybe from his agent. Good.
That afternoon while Charlie’s swimming laps, Simon curls up on the couch and watches the last few episodes that he and Charlie never got around to watching.
“It’s a love story,” Simon tells Charlie when he’s finished the final episode. He sits on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water, Charlie’s hand around his ankle. “From season one onward.”
It isn’t just a collection of throwaway romantic lines. There’s something more than that, and Simon can see the story arc in a way that he couldn’t when they were filming it. It doesn’t matter whether the writers intended it or whether he and Charlie intended it: it’s still there, plain as day.
Maybe acting it out for years etched the truth of it into his body, into who he is. Maybe that’s why this thing with Charlie feels right.
Or maybe it feels right because he’s spent those same years at Charlie’s side. Maybe Charlie’s known him better and longer than anyone else, even the mean parts, even the sad parts, even the things he’s tried to hide. If Charlie wants him anyway, likes him—probably loves him—then that’s proof of Charlie’s terrible judgment, clearly, but it’s also proof that he isn’t going anywhere. Proof that this is real.
Charlie splashes Simon’s legs. “Obviously,” he says. “How are you the last person in the world to realize this?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“The flight doesn’t leave until two,” Charlie says. “Don’t rush me.”
Charlie’s suitcase is open on his bed, a truly random assortment of unrelated clothes strewn on top of it. Simon doubts he could assemble a single coherent outfit from the entire pile, not that coherent outfits are much of a priority for Charlie even at the best of times.
“Okay,” Simon says, instead of pointing out that there very much is a rush: it’s noon, and you can always count on there being some kind of traffic disaster on the way to the airport.
“I visit twice a year,” Charlie told him a few days ago. “Summer and Christmas.” He said it like he was talking about mandatory community service hours, not visiting his family. Although, it’s exactly howSimontalks about visiting his family.
“She wasn’t a bad mom,” Charlie says now. It’s the fifth or sixth time he’s said this since they woke up. It isn’t Simon he’s trying to convince.
