His voice was a bit too cheery in that way it had been for the past couple months now. Simon hadn’t yet built up the confidence to tell his dad he was gay (see again, pussy), and even though he hadn’t said anything, he felt like his dad could sense his weakened masculinity. He’d been trying to get the two of them to “bond” for weeks now and this blast from the past was yet another flimsy attempt at connection.

“Sure, dad.” Simon flashed a fake smile of assurance at the other, wishing he could say what he really felt and not sound like the worst excuse for a man that ever was. “I’m sure it’s gonna be great.”

From the car ride there, every step of the process seemed to get worse and worse. As it turned out, that specific establishment didn’t take cards which meant an agonizing five minutes of his dad and him digging around in their collective wallets to sum up the measly thirty dollars for it. After that Simon had to use the bathroom, but there was a line of people leading up to it and they spent another ten minutes dealing with that mess. By the time they finally got around to hooking up the gear, they both came to the sad realization that Simon’s gear didn’t fit because they had ordered a size too small.

By this point, Simon was ready to give up and call it a day, but Jack Spier was determined to have a fun outing with his son.

“We’ll get a new one,” he promised him as the harness continued to not go around Simon’s waist. “Hello—” he waved one hand out, beckoning an employee over to assist them—“we need a new harness please!”

“Dad, it’s fine—” Simon protested, but the lady was already walking over, flashing them the same helpful grin that all the staff here seemed to wear. Simon sighed in exasperation, dropping his face in his hands.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, her gaze flicking down to the discarded harness and back up to Simon. He flushed, knowing she was probably taking in his slightly pudgy frame, not muscular by any means. It wasn’t that he was super self-conscious about his body, but it was moments like these that made him worry about it.

He had confided, once, in Leah about it, and she had merely laid her head on his stomach affectionately and replied, “I like your body. It’s soft—like a pillow.”

Simon did not want to be a pillow.

“Yes you can,” his dad continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “My son here needs a bigger harness, and we were wondering if you had anything—”

“It’s really alright,” Simon mumbled, his cheeks burning. “I’ll manage with this one, there’s no need to bother you—”

“Oh it’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured him, waving her hand as if to magically push the problem aside. “We get mix-ups like this all the time. I’ll take this off your hands and grab you something from the back.”

She disappeared to the supposed “back” with his mess of tangled gear while Simon stewed in his embarrassment and disappointment over another failed attempt to end their trip early.

Fifteen minutes later, gear on and harnesses attached, Simon was once more faced with the daunting wall of multicolored handholds. He swallowed audibly.

“It’s fairly simple,” his dad explained, hands in his pocket as he surveyed the sight with a satisfied grin. “If you go slow and watch your step, you should be fine. I have the rope to levy you back down right here, so don’t focus on falling. No matter what happens, you’ll be fine.”

“I know that,” Simon snapped irritably. His dad was talking to him like he was still that scared ten-year-old that was too afraid to go trick-or-treating alone. He was older now, and even though the thought of going hundreds of feet up in the air with only a rope to protect him was making his knees weak, he was going to prove that to his dad.

He grabbed onto the first handhold, resting a foot on another. So far so good. Now to pull himself up. He grunted, pushing off with one leg and flailing for another hold. He repeated the steps again, and again, and again, until his nervous smile started to become one of genuine enjoyment. He was doing it. He was actually doing it!

“You’re doing great,” his dad called up to him, and despite himself Simon felt almost bolstered by the comment.

Why had he ever been so scared of this as a kid? Simon kicked off once more, his hand already reaching for the next hold—

“Shit!”

All the breath in Simon’s body left him as his foot slipped and he fell backwards, all his attempts to save himself rendered useless by the sweat collected on his palms. The fall backwards lasted a mere second, and yet Simon’s entire life managed to flash before his eyes in that time. His blood rushed to his head and he was jerked back by the force of the fall.

He hung suspended upside down by the ropes tied around his waist, flailing around like a fish out of water but unable to right himself.

His dad rushed forward, concern written over his features. “Si, are you okay?”

The panic that had been spiraling through Simon moments before was quickly transformed into hurt at those words, spoken with such tenderness that it made him want to punch something. “I’m fine, alright? I’m not that delicate.”

His dad’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I know what you’ve been thinking,” Simon grumbled, crossing his arms with difficulty given his position. “ ‘Oh, take him rock-climbing, that’s sure to toughen him up’. But I can’t even do that right, can I? Can’t even climb a stupid wall with my dad. That’s Simon for you. Pathetic, weak, crybaby nonathletic Simon.” And gay, he filled in mentally though he didn’t say it out loud. 

“Simon.”

His dad’s voice was firm in a way it wasn’t usually, the consonants shortened at the end. Simon forced his gaze to meet the other’s. “I don’t think you’re any of those things. This—” he pointed to Simon’s swaying body—“doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong. It means you were willing to try something and you failed.”

“Exactly—” Simon started, but the other interrupted him.

“You failed this time,” his dad corrected him. “You can only learn from your failures. And son, I don’t care if you climb some stupid wall. I don’t care if you never do anything athletic in your life. I don’t care if you sit around writing made-up stories about books you read with your friends.”

“You know about that?” Simon asked, flushing.

“Yes,” his dad confirmed. “And I don’t care. I didn’t ask you to come here with me today because I wanted you to prove yourself to me, or whatever other misconceptions you might have formed. I asked you to come with me because I wanted to spend time with you. Whether we’re climbing walls or writing about Harry Potter characters kissing. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh,” Simon said, softly, shame flushing through him at the way he had acted. All his fears, his insecurities, everything he had been building up in his head was crumbling around him as their structures proved to be shaky. Simon had never been so glad to be proven wrong in his life. “You really… you really don’t care?”

His dad shook his head.

“Even though I might still be a little scared of climbing up the wall?”

“Nope.”

“Even though my harness doesn’t fit because I’m not super buff and ripped like you?”

His dad chuckled in amusement, raising an eyebrow. “Not even then. Besides, if you were all ripped and buff, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He reached out and scribbled his fingers teasingly over the other’s stomach like he used to do when Simon was still a kid. Simon yelped, hands jumping down (up?) to protect himself, though it was difficult in his current position. “Dad!”

“What? I’m just trying to cheer you up.” His dad dug fingers gently into his sides, a spot that had always made Simon squeal, and giggles fell hopelessly from the other’s lips. “Is it working?”

“Noho, dahad, i-it’s ehembahaharrassing!” Simon protested, glancing around him, worried that someone might be looking. “Stahahap!”

“No can do,” his dad said, clucking his tongue. “I’m afraid I cannot. You see my body is no longer my own anymore.”

Simon’s eyes widened with realization as he realized where his dad was going with this. “Ohoho m-my gohod, dahahad, noho!”

“I’ve been possessed,” his dad continued, grinning as he squeezed rapidly up and down his sides. “By the spirit of the Tickle Monster. I can’t stop until I make my victim understand that I love him. No matter what,” he insisted, emphasizing each word with a poke to his stomach.

“Thihihis ihihis sohohoho stuhuhupid!” Simon shrieked, flailing around wildly as he attempted to somehow smack away the hands tormenting him. His shirt had ridden up due to the influence of gravity, and his dad took advantage of it to softly spider his nails over his bare stomach. “Ah! Wait, wait, wahahait, nohohoho, thahahahat’s nohohot fahahahair!”

“What’s not fair? That you’re still this ticklish after all these years?”

“I-I’m nahahahat—Ihihihi mehehean—ahaha—stahahap tihihickling mehehehe fohohor ahaha sehehecond! Ahahaha, fuhuhuhuck!”

“Simon Spier!” his dad exclaimed, pretending to be offended. “Language. That’s it—you’re gonna have to be punished for that.”

Catching both of his hands in his grasp, his dad moved the soft spider tickles down into his armpits. Simon squawked, writhing back away from him but ultimately unable to escape.

“Nohoho, nohoho, nohoho! Nahahahat thehehehere! Stahahahap!”

“Do you apologize for cursing?”

“B-Buhuhut yohohou cuhuhurse ahahall thehehe tihihime!” Simon pointed out, struggling to get his words out through the desperate laughter pouring out of him.

“Yes, but I’m your father,” his dad reminded him. “I’m allowed to.”

Simon knew his father didn’t truly care about the cursing, as he had done so a million times in front of his parents before. He used to do this when he was little too, chasing him around the house and making up fake crimes that he needed to be “punished for”. Simon would always protest, but he never truly minded. He knew it was just his dad’s way of making him happy.

Even now, choking over strangled giggles, Simon couldn’t help but feel nostalgia warm his chest, a grin forming on his features that had little to do with the tickling. Despite everything, this was helping.

His dad knew he had his limits however. After a couple more minutes he backed off, allowing the boy a moment to breathe, which Simon did, in grateful gulps. Leftover giggles spilled from his lips, and his nerves sang with phantom sensation.

“That was not nice,” he said, glaring up at him though there was no venom behind his gaze.

His dad smiled, and in that one gesture was the love collected over seventeen years of Simon’s life. “Do you wanna try again?”

Simon looked back at his dad, the man who loved him despite everything, despite his appearance, despite his habits, despite anything that the world could throw at him. Maybe he wouldn’t tell his dad he was gay now. But when he did, he knew he would be ready for it. And for the first time in a long time, Simon wasn’t scared. 

He smiled back.