It hadn’t really sunk in. Not until now.

The hallway was quiet, unusually so. Lockers lined the walls, faded paint peeling at the corners, and the low hum of the overhead lights buzzed like static in Simon’s skull. He stood leaning against the far wall near the back exit of the school, hood up, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like he was bracing for a storm.

In a way, he was.

The morning had been a blur. A crumpled test in the bathroom trash, flushed cheeks, the kind of silence that carried weight. He knew something was off the moment you didn’t meet him behind the gym before class. You always did.

He’d been trying to act normal all day. Trying not to think about it. About how one mistake, one night, had tilted the ground beneath him. He wasn’t angry, not really. Just overwhelmed, scared, and maybe, just maybe… ashamed of how scared he really was.

People his age were thinking about college, parties, the next big thing. Simon? He was stuck in a loop, mind spiraling with questions he couldn’t answer. Could he handle this? Would you still want him around? Could he even be a good father when he barely figured out how to be a decent person?

His home life wasn’t exactly a blueprint to follow.

But there was one thing he knew — one solid, unwavering thing.

He loved you.

Even if he was shit at showing it sometimes. Even if he kept screwing up and saying the wrong things, like the way he’d brushed you off yesterday without meaning to. You’d looked so anxious, like you wanted to tell him something and he hadn’t given you the space. That guilt sat heavier than anything else.

Now it was real. Now it was here. And as the back doors opened and he saw you walking toward him, slower than usual, shoulders pulled in, he pushed off the wall and met you halfway.

His voice was low when it finally broke the silence, rough and uncertain.

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

That was all he said. Not cold, not angry — just tired. Raw. Confused. Still yours, but struggling to hold himself together.