Chapter Text
Simon had always done well in school. He found History, Geography and Science easy. English was actually enjoyable, especially when the class was allowed to make up their own stories. Maths made his head hurt, but he passed it. The one subject he could not stand was physical education.
He wasn’t terribly unfit. He was a little underweight, short for his age, but he was a fast and nimble runner, he could jump high and far. He wasn’t outstanding at throwing or catching, but he was not the worst in his class.
It wasn’t the activities that were the problem, at least not the main problem. The entire ordeal of PE from beginning to end felt crafted specifically to humiliate him.
He dreaded Tuesdays, the day he had PE in the afternoon. Every week, he prayed he’d wake up on Tuesday morning with a burning fever or somehow break his leg in music class so he wouldn’t have to go. His prayers were never answered. Once, he’d skipped PE class and hid out in the toilets, a thing he would normally never ever have considered. Some teachers found him and called his parents. His father had yelled down the phone, always a talent at turning a small mistake into a catastrophic failure, and made him vow not to do it again.
Simon woke up one Autumn morning to the sound of Maurice snoring and Samneric getting dressed. He lay still for a minute, eyes shut, hoping to get as much extra sleep as possible. Then Sam struck fear into his heart with a single sentence:
“Eric, have you seen my PE kit?”
Simon jolted fully awake and propped himself up in bed. It was Tuesday.
He buried his head in his hands with a groan, catching the attention of the twins.
“Alright, Simon?”
“Good morning.”
“Yes, good morning.”
“I’m fine,” He sighed, rising sluggishly from his bed. “Not my favourite day of the week, is all.”
“Ah, it’s PE later.” Both twins nodded grimly in sync.
It was no secret to the other boys that Simon despised the subject, nor was it a surprise. They all saw what happened to him during it. Some of them joined in, others watched, too afraid or simply too unbothered to stand up for him.
Simon dressed, shoved his PE gear in his satchel and went off to his first class, dragging his feet all the way.
The first two lessons were History and Music, which would have been a lovely combination if he didn’t know what was to come. He was unable to answer a single question about the Romans, and he kept missing notes in Music, frustrating the teacher and making his classmates snicker.
On his way into the changing rooms, he kept his head hung low like a prisoner walking to his cell. The changing rooms, for Simon, were how he imagined purgatory to be.
Being the smallest boy in a class full of boys who had long begun changing into men was not a pleasant experience.
His mother had said it to him one summer holiday after she caught Simon in front of the mirror, inspecting his chest for hair.
“You are simply later to blossom, my darling,” she told him in her posh drawl. “There is nothing wrong with taking your time.”
It hadn’t been much of a comfort. He didn’t want to take his time. All he wanted was to stop looking and sounding like a child.
The changing rooms presented him with two problems. They hit him immediately as he stepped through the doorframe, one after the other.
The first: naked boys. Everywhere he looked, there were broad shoulders, strong legs, bare chests with actual hair on them, and other things Simon didn’t allow himself to give so much as glance. This was the room where, about a year ago, it had occurred to Simon that there was something wrong with him.
The second problem: his own body. He was already being jeered at and he hadn’t even taken off his uniform. He found the emptiest spot in the room and unpacked his PE clothes as slowly as possible.
There were no cubicles, no dividers of any sort. Everyone would see him. They were all watching.
Smoothing an imaginary crease from his gym shorts, he locked himself eyes with Ralph above the crowd and smiled, worries forgotten for a second.
Ralph was one of the few students in Simon’s year that didn’t treat him like he was something other and alien, or use him as a punching bag. His kindness bewildered Simon. Ralph had every reason to look down on him. He was perfect: fair, clever, handsome, sociable, well bred. But for some reason, he saved a spot at his lunch table for Simon and spoke to him whenever he had the chance. It wasn’t much, but it was the most Simon had ever got.
Simon’s attention was brought back to the matter at hand by his PE teacher Mr. Connor’s booming voice.
“Hurry up, lads! Or should I say ladies?” His red-faced stare landed on Simon. “Mr. Curry! What are you dawdling for? Put your kit on.”
“Yes, sir, sorry.” Simon didn’t argue, didn’t tell Mr. Connor that it was Khoury, not Curry. He pulled his jumper over his head and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. The first remark came as soon as he slipped it off his shoulders.
“Do you shave yourself like a woman?” The question came from Maurice, who had sidled up to Simon without him noticing.
“No, I don’t.” Simon muttered, practically pressed to the wall in an effort to hide his thin body from his classmates.
“Maybe he is a woman,” Roger appeared at Maurice’s side. “He’s got the hair for it, and the taste.”
The last word made Simon’s stomach churn. Everybody knew.
“Shall we check?” Maurice grabbed the belt loop of Simon’s school shorts, trying to tug them down. This attracted the attention of every nearby boy, and shrieks of amusement rang throughout the changing room.
“Let go!” Simon held his shorts up with one hand and pried at Maurice’s fingers with the other.
“What’s the matter, Simon? I thought you liked boys taking your clothes off.”
This comment was met with howls of laughter. There was nothing funnier to them than Simon’s defect, his disease.
“That’s quite enough.” Ralph spoke up, walking over to Simon, but he was pushed out of the way by a lanky figure with bright red hair. Jack Merridew.
Jack was head of year, though Simon had no idea how he landed that position. He was crueller than anyone else in their school.
“Yes, that’s enough, Maurice. Lay off him,” he shoved Maurice away by the chest, then turned to Simon with a sneer on his face. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? You haven’t even undressed. Need help?”
Simon inches away from him until his back hit cold tile. He coughed, hoping it would rid some of the shakiness from his voice. “I will dress. I would prefer to do it without everyone looking.”
“Why not? We’re only admiring you,” Jack smirked, coming closer until they were chest to chest, Simon pressed to the wall. “You’re easy on the eyes, aren’t you? So little and fresh like a newborn lamb.”
“Go on, put your kit on! You’re holding us all up.” Someone groaned.
“I bet he doesn’t know how to put on boy clothes. Too used to wearing frocks and skirts, I suppose.”
“Are you enjoying that, Simon?”
“Take your bloody shorts off already!”
Each boy chimed in with a new mockery or complaint, all the noise morphing into one loud buzz in Simon’s ears. Ralph was still shouting, trying to make them stop, but Simon hardly noticed.
He was growing dizzier by the second. Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint. Who knows what they’ll do if they get you unconscious?
Mr. Connor was bound to burst in at any second and punish him for taking too long, but Jack and his friends showed no sign of giving him privacy. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he changed, blocking out the yells of the other boys.
He stood shivering in his PE t-shirt and shorts, bracing to be hit or shoved or something worse, when Mr. Connor ducked his head into the room again.
“HURRY UP! Let’s go!”
Giving Simon one last glare, Jack Merridew walked out into the hallway, taking his followers with him. Simon slumped against the wall.
“Simon! Are you okay?” Ralph hurried over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m—“
“I said, hurry up! We don’t have all day!”
“Can we talk after class?” Ralph gave a hopeful smile, the one that made Simon nearly forget how to breathe. He nodded and followed everyone else out to pitch.
It was rugby, not Simon’s strong suit. He was a good runner, but he barely knew the rules. Everybody else seemed to know except for him. Perhaps it was the kind of thing normal boys were born knowing.
It would have been easier if his classmates didn’t treat him like a moving target.
When the ball hit him for the third time in the stomach, knocking him over, Mr. Connor blew his whistle and marched towards him, cheeks an unnatural purple-red shade as usual. “What are you doing, boy? Get up!”
Simon wanted more than anything to spit in his horrible face. He pulled himself up. His knees were badly scraped, covered in grass and blood.
“Pansy,” Jack whispered in his ear, passing the ball to Roger. “All bleeding and whimpering just from a little push?”
Simon scowled. He was not whimpering. He turned to say this to Jack, but was tugged off the pitch by Mr. Connor’s rough hands.
“You’re a danger to the other players,” He barked, pushing Simon down to sit on the bench.
“I’m a danger? But they—“
“No talking back.” He slapped Simon once across the face. His eyes stung, but he would not let himself cry. He’d been humiliated enough by the earlier scene in the changing rooms, and now by being sent off the pitch.
He watched the game from the sidelines, using his hands to wipe some of the mess off his knees and clenching every muscle in his face to keep it from screwing up and becoming tear stained.
Ralph was a fantastic rugby player; he was fantastic at games in general. He moved with elegance and strength all at once. Simon had no interest in sports, but he would attend every rugby match in the country if Ralph was one of the players.
Half an hour later, the game ended. Simon couldn’t tell who had won from his spot on the bench, but he saw Ralph celebrating, which made his heart flutter.
Simon dodged the changing rooms and went to the toilet. He planned to hide in a stall until he heard the others leave and then get changed on his own, but when he decided the coast was clear and entered the room, he wasn’t alone.
“Simon! There you are,” Ralph finished tying his tie and, much to Simon’s surprise, wrapped him in a tight hug. Simon was glad for Ralph’s arms holding him up, because in that moment he lost his breath and his balance, his legs going weak.
Ralph was warm underneath his uniform and smelled of sweat, which should have been disgusting, but Simon could never be disgusted by Ralph. He was tempted to cling and nuzzle him, refusing to let go. Instead he stayed still until Ralph pulled away.
“They were awful to you. I’m so sorry, Simon. I should have stopped them…”
“You tried. There’s too many of them,” Simon gave a weak smile. “Thanks for standing up for me.”
“I really will stop them next time, I promise. They can’t keep getting away with that.”
Simon knew that they could and would keep getting away with it, but he simply nodded. He didn’t want to argue with Ralph.
“Would you like to come up to my room? I share it with Robert, but he’s sick in the san, so it’ll only be you and me—“
“I’d like that very much.” Simon agreed before Ralph had a chance to finish. They walked up to the second floor where Ralph’s dorm was, hands swinging side by side and brushing occasionally.
Ralph’s side of the room was tidy, bed made, possessions arranged neatly on the bedside table.
“Oh! You never got to change.”
Simon looked down at himself; he was still wearing his PE clothes. He’d been so eager to go with Ralph that he’d entirely forgotten about them.
“You can do it now. I won’t look.” Ralph lay down on his bed, turning so that his back was to Simon.
Simon pulled his uniform out of his satchel. He felt a bit weird about changing in front of only Ralph, even if he was politely keeping his gaze fixed on the wall. He quickly wriggled out of his sweaty PE stuff and returned to the itchy confines of his school uniform.
“I’m done.” He hovered awkwardly by the bed, not sure whether it was more appropriate to sit down or stay standing.
Ralph rolled over. “You look… nice.”
“Thanks.” Simon’s mouth was dry. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. Ralph rested his chin on his hands without taking his eyes off Simon.
“Are you tired?”
“A bit.” He hadn’t slept well the night before, and he still felt slightly dizzy from earlier.
“Come and lie down?”
Simon froze. What did Ralph mean? Did he really just want to lie side by side, or was there some other meaning?
“Oh. Alright.” He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully lowered himself down so that he was lying next to Ralph, not touching him.
“Get under the blankets. It’s cold in here.” Ralph shivered and burrowed under the duvet, lifting up a corner to put over Simon. Simon accepted it gratefully.
For a moment, Ralph just looked at him with something very soft in his expression.
“I don’t know why they tease you, Simon,” he murmured. “You’re better than them.”
“It’s because I’m… you know.” Simon couldn’t bring himself to say homosexual, or one of the many other words for it. He’d never said it out loud. Everybody knew anyway, somehow.
“I don’t,” Ralph furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
Simon sighed, picking at his sleeve. There was no way Ralph was really that dense, was he? Surely he’d heard the things people said.
“I have… unnatural desires,” the words came out too fast, running into one another. “The things they say about me, they’re all true.”
“What makes it unnatural, I wonder?”
“The bible forbids it. And, well… a man can’t have a baby with another man, as far as I know. I suppose that makes it unnatural.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Ralph untucked a hand from under his leg and placed it on the mattress between them, palm up. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with it. Why did God say it’s not allowed?”
Simon couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. “I’m not sure.”
Ralph’s hand crept towards Simon, coming to rest on his shoulder. He stroked it with his thumb.
“Do you think God can see us now?” He looked up at the ceiling, as if he’d catch God spying on them from up there
“Maybe He can’t,” Simon said. He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t really believe it; he believed God was watching at all times. Still, he continued to lie. “He must have better things to look at than two schoolboys.”
“I think you’re right,” Ralph shifted closer. Slowly, he brought one arm around Simon’s waist. “Is this… okay?”
Simon’s breath hitched. He was beginning to feel quite sick, but there was something else in his stomach too, a nice, warm thing. “Yes.”
Ralph moved even closer until their chests touched and their legs slotted together. His other arm came around Simon, holding him properly. “You’re pretty.”
Simon wanted to say so are you, but he was too focused on not fainting from excitement to respond.
Ralph’s nose touched his. Then his forehead. Then, finally, their mouths met.
Simon had never kissed anyone before, and he had a feeling that Ralph hadn’t either, judging by the way his lips were pursed tight. His mouth relaxed the more they kissed, opening a little.
Simon’s hand wandered to Ralph’s golden hair. He’d always admired it, wondering how it would feel to touch, and he was not disappointed. The strands were feather-soft between his fingers. Simon scratched gently at the base of his head, and Ralph shivered.
Reluctantly, they broke apart for air. Ralph cradled Simon’s face in both of his hands, stroking his cheek. “Your skin is so soft.”
“Your hair is soft too.” Simon brushed Ralph’s fringe out of his eyes. He smiled shyly, pressing their foreheads together.
“I don’t see how this can be a sin,” Ralph whispered against Simon’s cheek.
“It might not be. Perhaps we are misunderstanding God.”
“I hope so.”
They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.