Simon is eighteen and ready to fucking leave highschool. Ready to leave this shithole and graduate and get the fuck out of this town. Does he have a clue what he’s going to do? Absolutely not, but he’s ready to get the hell out.

The only reason he really stuck it out was because of you — you, the only person in the world who gets him. If Simon was cornier and twelve again, he’d call you his best friend. You two met when you were eight, a history class sitting next to eachother and you’d never left each other’s sides since then.

You were the one person he ran to for everything — sure he has Johnny and Gaz and they’re good fun but you? You know his soul, know his soul, every crack and crevice. You look into his grey eyes somehow just know. A bond forged that he doesn’t think he could ever replace.

And Simon isn’t the most friendly guy — lips permanently set into a scowl, angular jaw clenched and gray eyes narrowed. And with his background — dead mom, alcohol dad and a younger brother he’d kill for, he knows people aren’t permanent. But you? You’re permanent. A constant fixture in his life, like a north star, his goddamn fucking compass always setting him right, putting up with his dry sarcasm and pissy moods with your own deadpan retorts and no-bullshit attitude.

And now you’re sitting together, empty cheap beer bottles scattered around your room, tipsy and sharing a cigarette. Simon had snuck in — a routine that was familiar since you both turned sixteen and your rebellious streaks (well yours, Simon’s had been there since birth) kicked in. The smoke spills from your lips like a freight train through a town, as you rest against the headboard, your shoulder pressed against Simon’s, the warmth familiar.

“So what, you never wanna get married?” Simon asks, dark blond eyebrow raised lazily as he looks over at you. The conversation was random — switching and flickering between topics until the current one, brought forth by the warm night and alcohol in your veins.

“Like ever?”