“I Love You” -Keith, June 15th 2018

"Yeah," Grace says, because he did. And it's not a big hurt, it's nothing that could ever change Grace's opinion on him, but-

"You still deserve this," he says, and gently rubs his thumb along Simon's cheekbone, and he shudders. Grace feels the tremor of it in his bones.

"That's not-" Simon sniffs. "That's not true."

"It is," Grace says, the words pleading. "It is, Simon, please- believe that I mean that."

Simon shakes his head. But he isn't pulling away, and he isn't disagreeing, and Grace knows, how hard this can be. Believing you are worth kindness.

"I'm serious," he says, still. "You are- you deserve so much better."

Simon laughs. It's a broken, ugly, sound, and Grace whines, presses the flat of his palm along Simon's cheek, leans into him.

"I mean it!'

Simon looks at him. Meets his eyes. A brief, shared glance, and his eyes are wet, too.

Then he looks away. Hides.

"I don't know how to believe that," he says. "I don't- I'm not worth this. I'm really not."

And Grace knows he can't change his mind. Knows there's nothing he can say, here, now, that'll patch over this hurt. That will make this easy.

"I'm not going to change my mind," he says instead, because that's all he can say. "And you're not going to change it, either."

Simon looks back at him, at that. Looks almost startled, like he truly thought he could just tell Grace he was wrong, and then that was that. Like he thought, genuinely, that Grace would take him at his word, and take all of this away.

Like if Simon just reminded him of the truth, Grace would become someone cruel.

It hurts. It hurts so very much.

He moves without thinking. Presses their foreheads together, noses brushing, and he breathes in the air Simon's breathed out, holds it in his lungs like a promise. Simon's eyes are wide and tear-rimmed, and Grace can see himself reflected back in them.

"You'll get there," he says, certain. "One day, Simon, I promise- you'll know I'm right about this."

Simon snorts. And then he smiles, this crooked, tired thing, and Grace feels it across his face like a sunrise.

"That might take forever," Simon says.

"Then I'll stick around for forever," Grace responds, and maybe that's a step too far, but it's a promise he means.

Simon laughs.

But his eyes are wet and his hand shakes, where it comes up to clutch at the front of his shirt, and he looks struck, looks hopeful, looks like someone glimpsing the light at the end of a long, dark, tunnel.

"You saying I'm stuck with you?" he asks, and Grace smiles back at him.

"Yup. Never gonna get rid of me."

Simon laughs again. And then he pulls Grace even closer, and their forehead squishes together and their noises bump, and Simon chokes on the sound, and then he sobs, sudden and heart-wrenching, and Grace doesn't hesitate to put his arms around him.

"You're so fucking weird," Simon manages, beneath gasping breath and choking sobs.

Grace squeezes him to his chest. Closes his eyes, and fights back his own sobs.

"Your weirdo now," he says, and Simon laughs, and then he clings and then he cries, big heaving things, and Grace holds him, and tucks that promise close to his heart.