Simon:(to be clear, this is the worst take on literature anyone’s ever had)
Charlie’s quiet. Simon doesn’t know if that’s simply because everything he said was completely unhinged—which it was, that’s just factual—or if Charlie’s googling “The Yellow Wallpaper.”
Still, Simon got the basic facts out there: he’s dealing with some anxiety and this is just what he’s doing to feel better. Look at that, actual communication.
Charlie:so, like, instead of yellow wallpaper it’s Out There. And instead of an attic it’s a furnished apartment in one of New York’s nicer neighborhoods.
Simon:Yes, exactly. I’m probably going home next week. Rest cure: accomplished
But if he agrees to do another year ofOut There, there’s no point in going home, because he’ll only be in California for a week before he has to fly back east for the upfronts.
Charlie:will you kill me if I tell you I was worried
Simon thinks Charlie already knows the answer, and that he wouldn’t have asked if he thought it would seriously bother Simon. It does bother Simon, in that he’d prefer to pretend everyone in the world thinks he’s fine, but that ship has sailed. That ship is at the bottom of the sea.
Simon:it’s objectively worrisome, so whatever
He wants to take it back as soon as he sends it, mostly because the knowledge that people (Charlie) know exactly how messed up he is makes him want to hide under the duvet until the heat death of the universe, but also because somehow they now have the sort of friendship (or whatever) that impliescaring.
It’s Simon’s own fault. He started it by storming off to yell at Dave. Even at his most self-delusional he couldn’t convince himself that he was motivated by anything other than caring about Charlie, and Charlie knew it (and then they had sex). And now Simon has to justdealwith it when Charlie cares about him? And they aren’t even going to just have sex about it. Awful.
And now he’s just sent a weird text that leaves Charlie with no possible non-weird way to respond, so he flings his phone onto the couch and eats a salad.
Simon’s settled into a routine during the two weeks he’s been in New York. He wakes up, has breakfast, takes a walk, eats lunch, takes a nap. That’s a great routine for babies and old people and thirty-four-year-olds who recently had some kind of episode.
After his nap, he watchesOut Therewith Charlie. And all day long, he and Charlie text.
Simon’s decided not to bother himself with insane little questions like when he started missing Charlie, or liking Charlie, or hoping it’s Charlie whenever his phone buzzes. Maybe Jamie’s right, and Simon’s been mildly obsessed with Charlie for sevenyears. Maybe a little bit of obsession minus severe dislike equals... whatever this is.
Charlie’s gym selfies become frequent enough that Simon starts to wonder if Charlie has a special setup in his gym with tripods and ring lights. He wonders what these pictures mean, then figures they mean exactly the same thing most shirtless pictures mean. This is not subtle. This is not in code. He lets himself look.
He’s been trying not to think about the sex. That goes about as well as it ever does, because if Simon could even slightly control his thoughts, he’d choose not to have opinions on things like the correct angle for coffee cup handles and the necessity of counting objects in multiples of three. He keeps remembering Charlie saying things, pressing his hand into the mattress. What’s the difference between having your hand held and being held down? And which is more devastating to Simon’s well-being?
He finally opens up his photos and looks at that picture of Charlie at the car show, and he knows immediately that he was right to avoid looking at it. He’s hit with a wave of fondness. It isn’t even a good picture. It’s just Charlie in three-quarters profile, his mouth halfway open because he’s talking about where to source Chrysler hubcaps, a bunch of cars in the background.
It isn’t the context of the picture that’s making him feel things, it isn’t the memory of how blissed out he’d been when he took that photo. It’s Charlie’s stupid face.
He opens Instagram and goes to Charlie’s profile, testing his hypothesis. Sure enough, there’s Charlie with a picture of yet another dragon romance novel resting on his chest, one hand behind his head, the camera catching all his best angles and a good portion of his triceps. Simon might actually be smiling right now. It’s terrible.
Charlie posted a few pictures from the car show, including one of Simon petting a dog. The picture of Simon isn’t flattering—it’s a bad angle and his mouth is doing something stupid because he’s using his talking-to-dogs voice. He looks happy and uncomplicated. That green Gremlin is in the background. It isn’t even interesting. He can’t stop thinking about why Charlie posted it.
They’re in the middle of the third season—one of the two seasons that got delayed and shortened because of Covid and the writers’ strike—when Simon realizes he’s having fun.
He isn’t convinced thatOut Thereever lived up to Lian’s pitch ofTwin Peaksin space, but it does deliver an ensemble of characters with secrets that range from dangerous to bizarre. Charlie’s character escaped from a prison planet. Simon’s character is at least partly a cyborg, on the run from his old owners. Alex’s character is a rebel spy who may or may not have traveled from the future. Scattered among the body swap episodes and threaded through the love triangles are mysteries that don’t quite make sense and never exactly get solved.
In the universe ofOut There, space is populated by moody weirdos and nobody is who they seem.
On the sofa, under a blanket, the laptop balanced on his knees, Simon feels like he’d probably have watchedOut Thereif he weren’t on it. He’d get on the forums and complain about plot holes. He’d peer pressure Jamie into watching it with him.
Instead, he’s watching it with Charlie, complaining to Charlie. He feels the way he did when he was thirteen and discovering that there were entire websites full ofLord of the Ringsfanfic, thousands of people who liked the same things he did for the same reasons hedid, and who maybe took refuge in the two-dimensional safety of online interactions for the same reasons he did.
This time, instead of that internet full of like-minded fans, it’s just Charlie. It’s the realization that he’s living from text to text. It’s the same Charlie he’s known for seven years, the same Charlie who’s currently heckling him for having paid twelve dollars for sprouted amaranth crackers. It’s the same Charlie from that Arizona motel room. But contained on the screen of his phone, there aren’t years of professional grudges or weeks of confusing sexual tension, and there’s no escaping how much Simon likes this.
Chapter Seventeen
When Simon signs his contract for half a season, he isn’t ready for the rush of relief. Partly he’s just glad to have made a decision. But mostly he wants to see what happens to his character; after a week on the couch watchingOut There, he’s embarrassingly invested.
“Did you tell people?” Jamie asks. They’re on FaceTime so Simon can watch Edie take a nap on Jamie’s lap.
