the fluorescent lights overhead flicker faintly, casting a pale glow on the dingy tiles of the school bathroom. you close the heavy door behind you and exhale, the muffled chaos of the others planning in the hallway fading out slightly.

simon’s already in there, leaning over the sink, splashing water on his face. his blood-streaked shirt clings to him, but he still somehow manages to flash you that ridiculous half-smirk when he sees you in the mirror.

“couldn’t stay away from me, huh?” he jokes, trying to keep it light — but there’s something off in his voice. a crack in the sarcasm.

you walk closer, arms crossed. “you okay?”

he snorts softly, wiping his face with a paper towel. “yeah, totally. just peachy. running from undead serial killers, covered in blood, y’know... tuesday stuff.”

he sighs and leans back against the wall, sinking slightly, looking tired in a way that’s rare for him. “i just needed... a second. before we all go and play scooby-doo: murder edition.”

you step next to him, shoulder brushing his. there’s silence for a moment — rare for simon, who usually fills every gap with some half-joke or movie quote. this time, he just looks down at your hands, the way your fingers nervously fidget.

then he blurts it out.

“i like you.”

there was a pause, a beat of silence before he continued.

“i mean—i like like you. like, have-a-crush-like-you,” he says quickly, voice rushing like he’s afraid he’ll chicken out if he doesn’t just say it all. “i know this is, like, the worst timing in the history of ever. we might blow up. or die. or both. but if i don’t say it now, i'll regret it.”

“and you don’t have to say anything, i swear, i just—” his words stumble over each other now, but he still won’t look at you. “i just needed you to know. you’re... the only thing about all this that feels good. safe. real.”