ellieet: (Simon and Mickey)
[personal profile] ellieet
I said I was going to try and ease up on fanfic about these two.

I lied. Constructive feedback, as ever, is welcome.

Title: Sorry
Fandom: Beautiful People
Summary: Mickey sees things one way; Simon sees them in another.
Rating: PG

‘I’m such a knob,’ Mickey sighed, tilting his head back against the headboard, the insult rolling resignedly off his tongue. Glancing up from his Music homework, Simon furrowed his brow at him.

‘Who told you that?’

‘I did.’ Focusing on the soft sphere of his knee as he drew his legs up onto the bed and wrapped his hands around his shins, Mickey shrugged a little bit, feeling that sadness that had been chilling his insides rise in a salty, bitter tidal wave and wash over his shoulders. It hurt, the weight of it; he felt suffocated, but the fact was there was nothing he could do to wipe away everything he’d done to Simon and Kylie.

Staring at him for a moment, Simon put aside his pink pen and the purple notebook decorated with stark white stars on the front cover and tilted his head at him.


Mickey opened his mouth to reply, but could only offer a goldfish impression because the more he thought about it, the harder it became to figure out what exactly he felt the most guilty about: waiting outside Simon’s house to terrorise him or shoving him in the corridor or throwing crumpled bits of paper at him in class when the teacher wasn’t looking because Jayeson had told him to or dragging him into the drum-room and encouraging the others to beat the crap out of him. Not even the fact that he hadn’t beaten him himself, or that he had gone back to let him out, seemed to help, even though he had tried to remind himself of that part a thousand times; a thousand tosses and turns at night.

‘You know...’ he said finally, because Simon had to realise; you couldn’t forget this kind of thing easily. His vision blurred as he shook his head to himself, clinging on to the tumbler of orange juice that Simon had given him and wondering if any second now his tight grip would cause frustrated cracks, like the ones that seemed to be lining his own head. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘You’re not.’ The odd gentleness of Simon’s voice was enough to make Mickey’s head turn. ‘You’re not a knob, Mickey; don’t say that.’

Mickey was completely unsure what to disbelieve more: Simon’s words, or the fact that he himself sounded like he genuinely believed them and he just shook his head wordlessly at him. As though in a challenge, Simon shrugged straight back, eyes carrying that same look that had somehow pushed Mickey to tell him his biggest secret.

‘Why’re you saying all this?’ he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

His tone seemed concerned, unconvinced, like he truly couldn’t see what Mickey was sure of and squeezing his eyelids shut, Mickey could only grip his hair for a moment.

‘If I could – ‘

‘Don’t do that,’ Simon interrupted, reaching out to tug his hand down and Mickey took a second to notice that his fingers were thinner, more delicate, than his own, ‘you’ll mess it up. It’s nice.’

Mickey felt a small smile, oddly fresh, tug at his lips. ‘You’re too nice, mate, that’s the thing with you.’

Tilting his head, Simon seemed to think about that for a moment before he gave a little nod and a grin.

‘You think?’ He turned the spark of his crinkled eyes towards him as an irresistible grin spread across his lips; Mickey nodded, suddenly not wanting to look anywhere else, before Simon raised his eyebrows, looking expectant. ‘I’m sorry, what were you gonna say?’

‘Oh... erm...’ His words punched by a swallow, Mickey thought about it for a minute, ‘Yeah. Listen...’ He shifted to face Simon and noted that he was doing the same thing, paying him full attention.

‘I wish I could go back,’ Mickey told him and it was the truth – he had never wanted anything so badly in his life. He longed to hold a watch between his fingers and reverse the hands back a whole week; he wished the Doctor really did exist so he could borrow the TARDIS and tell his past self not to be such a twat (he hadn’t even been able to tell Jayeson and the others stuff like that about himself; that he liked Doctor Who because he had known that they would only laugh in his face and he had still hung about with them).

‘I don’t understand,’ Simon said, shaking his head; Mickey was caught between smiling and rolling his eyes.

‘When Jayeson came up to us, on my first day,’ he explained. ‘I should’ve just said, “No, you knobhead, I’ve already found someone to hang around with, go back to inhaling the car fumes or whatever the hell it is you do all day”,’ he chuckled despite himself as Simon gave a little giggle. ‘I should never have let him lead me away from you and Kylie. I wanted to get to know you guys, I really did and then I just...’ He looked down at the hand scratching his trainer heel, ‘... messed everything up.’

Simon blinked. ‘We all make mistakes, Mickey.’

‘Yeah, but I know what it’s like,’ Mickey argued, ‘So why’d I do it?’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ Simon told him. ‘I mean, you’re friends with us now.’ He paused before he put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze and Mickey felt a grateful smile twitch on his lips as he allowed himself to relish in the gentle weight of his fingers.

‘I’m so sorry, Simon.’ He stared at him, feeling slightly helpless and stupid in the face of his kindness, in the way Simon had accepted his first apology and had never even once fought back because he was a lot less selfish and a lot bloody braver than Mickey had ever been.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Simon said again, ‘and anyway, you never looked like you were really enjoying it.’

Mickey, rubbing at a random spot on his jeans, froze and his head moved in a soft, silent snap to stare at him.

‘How did you know?’ he asked finally; Simon rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on something invisible.

‘Your face,’ he threw a flourish to the air with his palm. ‘You were happy before you began hanging about with them and then... then you just weren’t.’

His eyes softened, everything about the look he was giving Mickey – concerned and caring – making him feel as though somehow, they had known each other for longer than barely two weeks, because how could you learn so much from someone in such a short space of time just by looking?

Then again, how could you stop yourself smiling the first time you saw someone spinning out from the crowd?

‘But really,’ Simon added, ‘it’s fine; it’s more than fine.’

‘You’re sure?’ Mickey squinted at him, trying to look at it from his viewpoint as he nodded eagerly, eyes bright.

‘Definitely. I mean...’ He came up short, before dropping his head and suddenly staring a little too hard at the vibrant pink of his quilt throw-over, spreading his palm and running his fingers through the strands and it was then that Mickey realised that they weren’t quite steady.

‘In fact...’ Simon tried again, ‘I mean... it – it never really mattered in the first place... if I’m honest.’

‘... What?’ Mickey blinked at him. ‘How d’you mean?’ How, he marvelled, how could anyone just shrug that off?

‘It... just doesn’t... i-it didn’t really...’ Simon’s fist closed around a random handful of strands and he kept his eyes glued on them as he bit his lip and before he had really thought about it, just because he hated to see the hand straying and odd, Mickey put his own hand over Simon’s knuckles.

It occurred to him at the back of his mind that many boys their age didn’t do this and it occurred to him that he didn’t and shouldn’t even have to care because it felt right for him.

It also occurred to him, as he and Simon shared a glance, that maybe Kylie had been lying about the nail-varnish-related injury that had caused him to leave an hour earlier.

‘Here,’ Simon smiled suddenly and he put his arms around Mickey, pulling him into a hug that felt completely unfamiliar, somewhat uncomfortable because of how they were positioned and just the slightest bit strange, but also warm.

‘Forget about it, Mickey,’ Simon told him finally, gently drawing back into the space, hands cupped around his shoulders. ‘It’ll be alright. We’re gonna be just fine.’

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