Chapter Text
In September, the sky over England was a pale, indifferent grayish-blue. Cars crowded the school gate, horns blaring and laughter ringing endlessly. Boys spilled out of vehicles—some tugged by mothers and fathers to straighten their ties, others already clustering in groups, swapping holiday stories.
Simon stood behind a pillar in the entrance hall, his black coat blending almost perfectly into the shadows. He had grown used to this spot. Over the years at this boarding school, he had learned how to become part of the background, and he did it well.
Someone brushed past him hurriedly, bumping his shoulder.
“Sorry.” The person didn’t look back.
Simon watched the noisy boys with an expressionless face. He was waiting for someone—or rather, for a certain moment.
His gaze swept over the bustling crowd, past the new students embracing their families, and past the fluttering hems of uniforms caught in the wind. Then, at the far end of that direction, he saw it.
Golden.
Even on this overcast day with insufficient light, it still shone brilliantly.
Jack Merridew stepped out of the car without saying goodbye to those inside. He stood motionless, silently watching the vehicle drive away until it shrank to a speck of dust in his vision.
“Jack!”
Someone called his name, and then more voices joined in. Jack gave a sharp start, like a drowning man pulled from the water. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he ran a hand through his hair. The smile never reached his eyes.
Simon didn’t move. His back pressed against the rough, cold stone of the pillar, the sensation seeping through the fabric into his skin. He watched Jack being swallowed by the tide of boys—some patting his shoulder, others vying to speak to him. Jack responded with light, overly enthusiastic tones.
This scene made Simon feel a little better, because it showed that Jack wasn’t like this only with him—distant yet close, hot then cold, hesitating between intimacy and detachment. But this thought had never truly comforted him, because it led to a conclusion he didn’t want to face: if Jack treated everyone this way, then what did those moments during the long vacs, when it was just the two of them, really mean?
“Jack, where did you go over the summer?” Roger pushed through the crowd to Jack’s side.
“Grandfather’s estate. Boring as hell.”
“I heard you fell off a horse?” Maurice asked eagerly.
“Who told you that? Just scraped some skin. No big deal.” Jack frowned in apparent annoyance, but his lips curved upward even more clearly.
Horse riding. An injury.
Simon hadn’t known about it.
The summer holiday had lasted nearly two months. They had only stayed at school for one. Then Jack was picked up by his father, and Simon returned to the place he refused to call “home”. He hadn’t known Jack had fallen. No one had told him. It was like a small stone dropped into his heart, stirring ripples. He shouldn’t care. They each had their own lives, their own worlds. Outside the shared time at school, they were two unrelated people.
“Simon?”
He looked up. Jack had somehow appeared in front of him. The rolled-up sleeve revealed a faint brownish scar, tangled with barely visible veins.
Jack stared at him without speaking. The thin light fell into Jack’s eyes, making them look like a foggy lake—seemingly turbulent, or perhaps just the shadow of clouds. Soon, Jack resumed his careless expression.
“You’re still so scrawny.” He mocked.
The people around him laughed.
Simon didn’t laugh. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes.
“Thanks for noticing.” He calmly gripped the handle of his suitcase and walked into the hall. Behind him came loud murmurs: “What an attitude. Who does he think he is? He’s nobody.”
He’s nobody.
For years, every term, every return to school, every time the crowd reassembled, he would be pushed to the corner, playing the role of a quiet, unpopular boy. He was used to this part. Public attention was only a burden to him. But late at night, lying in his dorm bed and hearing distant laughter, he couldn’t help imagining: What if I weren’t this role? What if I walked to the center of the crowd and stood beside Jack?
The evening breeze brushed the leaves outside the window, casting irregular patches of shadow on the dorm ceiling that slowly shifted. The corridor lights had been turned off by the supervisor. All was silent, as if the whole world had fallen asleep. Simon closed his eyes, letting drowsiness wash over him.
Suddenly, the door hinge creaked faintly. Deliberately slowed footsteps wound their way over and stopped beside his bed.
Simon’s eyelashes trembled. He didn’t dare move. He could feel a gaze resting on his face, which made him nervous. His heart pounded forcefully against his ribs, accompanied by the hum of pipes and the rustle of leaves rubbing together, dully striking his eardrums. The world suddenly became noisily alive.
He didn’t know how long it lasted—ten seconds, thirty seconds, a century perhaps—before the footsteps sounded again and the door was gently closed.
Simon slowly exhaled, clenching his fist.