But Charlie said they’d talk tonight. He wanted a tour of Simon’s house because he’s coming back. Charlie isn’t acting like it’s going to be over anytime soon, and Simon doesn’t want it to be, so he doesn’t know why every molecule in his body is telling him that he’s just had a breakup, that something terrible has happened.
Maybe it’s because he feels, deep down, like he should have pulled back days ago. Weeks ago, even. He shouldn’t have let it get to this point, shouldn’t have let himself care, shouldn’t have let Charlieseehim. His brain is trying to do what it always does, keephim safe, only it’s decided safety means keeping everyone away. Nobody can hurt you if they don’t matter to you. It’s... really fucking dysfunctional, actually, but that’s nothing new.
His phone is heavy in his hand. The idea of calling Charlie—something Charlie explicitly asked for, something Simon actively wants—feels daring and impossible.
Simon spends a moment staring at his phone, trying to figure out which time zone he should use to determine whether it’s night yet, then gives up and calls Charlie. Texting would be normal, but he can’t imagine what he would even write, and the one single advantage of a phone call is that he doesn’t have to plan further than “hi.”
“Oh, hey,” Charlie says, answering the phone. He sounds like he’s home, not out doing whatever it is he does in his regular life.
“Everything okay at your house?”
“Yeah, no surprises.”
Simon knows it’s not possible to run out of things to talk about after spending four hours apart, but he can’t think of one single thing to say other thantell me how not to ruin this.
“Did you call because you miss me?” Charlie asks, sounding intolerably smug.
“No, shut up,” Simon says immediately. “God.”
Charlie just laughs. “Yeah, you missed me.” There’s a rustling that makes Simon think Charlie’s lying down on his bed or getting himself settled on the couch.
“Are you in bed?”
“Is this going to bethatkind of phone call?”
“I’m about to fall asleep, so that’s a pass.”
“So are you in bed, then?”
“No, I’m hanging upside down like a bat. Yes, I’m in bed, that’s how I sleep.”
“Gray duvet, white pillows, approximately seventeen blankets,” Charlie says, because he apparently memorized Simon’s bed linens when he saw the house earlier. It’s a good reminder that Charlie is maybe as deranged as Simon.
“I’m only under four of the blankets right now.”
“Black T-shirt?”
“White. You haven’t seen this one.”
Charlie makes a dissatisfied sound. “Hate it. Switch to FaceTime.”
If Charlie needs to know exactly what Simon looks like at that moment, Simon can go along with that. “There.” He holds the phone at arm’s length so Charlie can see his shirt and the entire blanket nest situation.
“You look cozy,” Charlie says, and only then does Simon pay attention to his phone screen. Charlie doesn’t have a shirt on, and if there’s anything in the world that should be less surprising, Simon doesn’t know what it could possibly be, but he still hears himself make a noise. Charlie raises his eyebrows.
“Shut up,” Simon says. “Switch to FaceTime. You knew what you were doing. Okay, your turn. Show me your bedroom.”
“Come see it yourself.”
“I’m already in bed.”
“Come over tomorrow.” Charlie winces. “No, sorry, forget it.”
Simon’s stomach twists. “What, did you have plans?”
“No. I mean, I’ll probably go over to Alex’s at some point but that’s not what I meant.”
Simon stares at the image of Charlie on his screen, trying to figure out whether Charlie just told him he doesn’t want to see him tomorrow.
