"I'm hopeless," Simon mumbles. The painted grey plastic of the table is cold beneath his elbows, hard under his forehead. It reminds him of the walls around his heart and the iron net woven over his resolve---and how everything had come crumbling down with a single puppy-eyed stare from Vincent Kelle.

Shiloh reaches over to ruffle his hair, careful not to catch their nails on the dark strands this time. "The table's dirty, Monnie," they say, and Simon reluctantly drags his head off the godforsaken surface. He's grateful for Shiloh---they're the shelter in the hurricane universe he's been thrown into, because it's Vincent's world, and he's just living in it.

Emi shrugs, knocking back her chocolate milk in one go. "Just hook up with him," she suggests, not bothering to wipe the milk dribbling from the corner of her lower lip. When Simon visibly cringes, she sighs and reaches for a tissue.

Shiloh bats their girlfriend's arm lightly. "Hooking up with people isn't the answer to everything, Emi."

Emi flashes them a lazy grin. "Well, my methods got me a partner, didn't they?" At that, Shiloh blushes, the red clear against their dark skin.

Simon drops his head onto the table again.

"You don't understand," he groans, face firmly smashed against the definitely unclean tabletop. He'll worry about bacteria-induced acne later. "He's cute and nice and he says we're friends and---"

"Well, you do need new friends," Emi interjects, gum snapping against her teeth loudly.

"He's got us," Shiloh points out.

"Precisely the reason why he needs new friends," Emi proclaims. Dissolving into laughter, she wraps an arm around Shiloh's shoulders and yanks them into her side. "Don't you want our boy to grow up, love?"

"Of course---"

"I can hear you, you know," Simon grumbles, his words muffled by the table under his face. Truth be told, he does not want to hook up with Vincent Kelle. What he wants to do is to hold him close and run his fingers through his hair and find out if his lips are as soft as they look and---

Emi gently flicks her knuckles into his forehead---a suitable substitute for her being unable to actually snap her fingers. "Snap out of it, Simon. We're discussing your love life."

He knows that. He knows they're discussing his love life, and he knows that he's not ready for them to do that yet. Not when he's still gathering the porcelain shards of his heart off the withered ground. Not when he's still falling through his murky feelings, the clouds turning to vapour beneath his feet. Not when the blue cotton around his shoulders is a whirlpool, sucking him in until he drowns in the eye of the storm.

But he can't tell them that.

Besides, he's pretty sure Shiloh already knows.

He lifts his head groggily, just in time for his best friend to slip their hand into his palm. "Sorry, Monnie. We won't tease you anymore. We know this is serious," they say, smiling at him. Simon can only stare at their cheeks and think about how they'd had the deepest dimples he's ever seen until Vincent Kelle had grinned at him for the first time.

Snap out of it, Simon. You literally just met him.

"He convinced me to try out for the drama club," Simon mutters, sinking further into his seat.

Shiloh drops their fork. Even Emi---unshakeable, unbelievably chill Emi---looks shocked.

"Marry him," Emi insists.

Simon lets his head fall back, imagines every bone in his throat bending and snapping into little darts of death, imagines his forlorn face hanging from limp flaps of skin and gristle, imagines inviting the sweet, crimson song of death into his lungs. Broken neck, broken head, broken heart. It would be a small mercy.

But he is not dead. He is a ghost in the crowd, nothing but mortality keeping him afloat.

"Emi, don't tease him anymore," Shiloh says. "We're just surprised, Monnie. It's just that...well, even we haven't been able to convince you to do that."

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't join, exactly. I mean, I'm just considering it. He said that he'd try out too and we could be there for each other for moral support and---" He manages to stop himself before he can say something embarrassing, tilting his head back with a loud groan. "I'm hopeless."

"You're whipped. There's a difference," Emi reassures him.

A thoughtful look passes over Shiloh's face. "What's this guy like, actually?"

"His name is Vincent. He's uh, Professor Kelle's son." Except neither of them seem to be particularly happy about that.

Shiloh's eyebrows flick up in surprise. "Professor Kelle has a son?"

"Vincent Kelle, huh? Sounds pretty familiar," Emi muses, one finger on her chin. "I swear I've heard his name somewhere. Is he cute?"

"I'm going to neck myself," Simon groans, dropping his face onto the table again. He feels a hand reaching over to gently pat him on the back---Shiloh, probably.

"Wait. I remember where I heard his name before. I just needed to see his face to recall it," he hears Emi declare. Then she's bent over to his ear, whispering so loudly Simon's sure the whole cafeteria can hear her. "Wake up, loverboy. Your Romeo's here."

With some effort, Simon finally manages to drag his head off the table. And once his face is in the air, all he can do is stare.

Underneath the plasticky fluorescent lights of the canteen, Vincent almost seems to glow with the pearly iridescence of an angel's halo. His chocolate hair curls around his face, little wisps dancing in the embrace of the wind. He wears a giant grin on his face as he turns to a few people in greeting, and all Simon can think about is the happiness in his coffee-infused irises, how effortlessly natural he looks, wrapped in candied cheer. And for just a moment, Simon feels like a stupid schoolboy with an even more stupid crush, trapped in the gas rings of his Adonis' orbit, locked in the petals of his spring.

He knows he's staring, but he can't help it---the galaxy shines out from Vincent's eyes, a rainbow vortex swirling around his pallid melancholy. He could write poetry about his lips, and it would all be purple prose, and he wouldn't care, because Vincent Kelle is so beautiful that it makes Simon's heart ache. It makes his feelings spill out over his bones, turning his chest into a lake. It makes him confused, scared, a million emotions battling to grasp the light.

"You're staring, Monnie," Shiloh informs him, ruffling his hair sympathetically.

I know. And he should stop---he really should, but he can't. There is something magnetic about Vincent, something that sends the sun into motion and spins the sky around. Something that takes Simon's guilty eyes and holds them in place until his empty sockets go up in flames.

"Hey, Simon!" Vincent chirps, and Simon jolts. He hadn't realised Vincent had crossed the cafeteria. And now, with the most beautiful boy he's ever seen standing right next to him, he can't quite find his tongue. "Can I sit here?"

Simon opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Shiloh acts fast, as if sensing his nervousness. "Of course you can!" they answer, gesturing to the empty chair next to Simon. "I'm Shiloh, and this is my girlfriend Emi."

"Nice to meet you!" Vincent grins as he yanks out the chair, dimples popping from his chubby cheeks like bunnies from their burrows. "I'm Vincent."

"You're that British piano prodigy, aren't you?" Emi asks. "I read your interview in that Pepteen magazine."

Vincent's face pinks slightly, and he looks away. Of course, that only serves to make those big, dark eyes lock with Simon's own, even if just for a second. Simon feels his face redden. "I see my reputation precedes me." He laughs. "I'm going to tell my friends that I'm famous when I go back to London."

"You are!" Emi chuckles. She reaches up to tilt her beanie back onto her bright pink head with a careless flick. "My brother loves your music."

Vincent smiles wider, and for a moment, Simon allows himself to pretend that the smile is just for him, allows himself to get lost in delusion. And then he takes a hammer to the image and shatters it just like his ravaged heart, because the notion itself is perplexing. Strange. Unthinkable.

"I'm going to grab some nosh," Vincent says, getting up again and turning on his heel. He's barely gone when Emi and Shiloh turn their attention on Simon again.

"He's really nice," Shiloh says.

"And cute," Emi continues.

"And he seems to like you a lot."

"Probably just as a friend for now, but you can change that. Also, you're not very good at hiding how whipped you are."

Simon manages to close his jaw---he's just thankful he hadn't been drooling---enough to press his lips into a disapproving frown. "I'm not whipped. I literally just met him."

"He's as close to an actual celebrity as we'll get," Emi says thoughtfully. "You have good taste." She leans back in her chair, tipping it back so far Simon's surprised that it doesn't fall. Not that it would matter if it did, because Emi would probably pick it up and go right back to sitting on two legs. "Of course, I have better taste, but your taste is a pretty close second."

Shiloh blushes, before composing themselves and patting Simon's hand lightly. "You have to talk to him, Monnie."

"I can't," Simon groans. He buries his face in the sleeve of his jacket, the familiarity of the scent making him want to cry all over again. "He's just so gorgeous and confident and funny and---" And I'm still too hung up over Tom to even consider having feelings for another boy right now. The sentence goes unsaid, but the look of concern that passes over Shiloh's face lets Simon know they understand perfectly.

When Vincent sets his tray down and slides back into the empty chair, Simon's sure he would have screamed had he not been submerged in his thoughts. The way Vincent moves is silent, somehow unnoticeable, despite his larger-than-life aura and boisterous voice. It makes Simon want to clutch his chest and check for heart attacks.

"How are you settling in, Vincent?" Shiloh enquires.

Vincent's head snaps up eagerly. He's so peppy it makes Simon dizzy. "Great! Ran into a bit of trouble when I got recognised but..." He trails off, turning to Simon. For the second time, Simon finds himself staring straight into Vincent's eyes, the yellow lighting illuminating the canteen turning his dark brown irises hazel. The sight steals his breath away, tearing it out of his chest and letting his lungs flutter away in the breeze. "Do you know someone named Tom? He was really nice at first, but then he got kind of weird when---"

Simon doesn't hear the rest. Sandpaper fills his throat, his eyes, his ears, clogging them up as all the blood in his body rushes to his head. His heartbeat pulses through his brain, so heavy he thinks he might faint. He can't breathe. His jacket is suddenly a dead weight around his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the quicksand abyss beneath his feet. The red thing in his chest is a fist-shaped rock, thumping grief, thumping despair, thumping pain.

The expressions on his friends' faces are a blur, copper in his wavering vision, and he's cold, so cold, and oh God, he can't breathe---

"I'm going to the toilet," Simon declares abruptly, pushing his chair out from under him---too hard, too fast. He nearly trips over his own feet, furiously blinking back the tears already forming. The world is spinning, every inch of his splintered myocardium a screaming cacophony of anguish. And even when his jellied legs finally throw him into the bathroom, everything is still twisting and turning and dying, dying, dying.

Simon's fingers are shaking as they fumble with the unlocked door of the nearest stall, frozen to chunks of ice in their paper shells. The tears have broken loose from his hold, trickling down his cheeks in a steady stream and dusting his trembling hands in stone-grey misery.

When the door finally gives way, he crumples to his knees, and he knows it's dirty, but he doesn't care---can't care, can't focus on anything except the malignant hole in his chest, the ebony vortex that transforms all his feelings into a desperate, throbbing agony, rising and building and turning and---

A pair of warm arms wrap around him. Shiloh.

Simon turns to them, sure he looks like a mess right now. He sniffles, swiping at his nose aggressively. "This is the boy's bathroom," he says.

Shiloh shrugs. "Unnecessarily gendered things do not confine me, considering how I don't have one." They pull him closer, their embrace comfortingly familiar. Simon rests his head against his best friend's chest, still desperately wiping tears from his eyes. Shiloh sighs. "You can't continue this way, Monnie."

"I know. Fuck, I know," Simon sobs, and he does know. He knows that it's been a month, and that it had just been a breakup, just a stupid little simple drama-free breakup and he shouldn't be feeling this way and he has to stop himself---

He can't.

He just can't.

Shiloh pats his back gently, and guilt instantly shoots Simon straight in the heart, because this isn't the first time his best friend's had to deal with his heartbroken crap. "I'm sorry," he blurts, his words garbled by the waterfall in his throat.

"Shh," Shiloh says, continuing to hold him close to them. "It's okay, Monnie. It's okay. Don't apologise. It's okay."

It's not. And it really isn't. Nothing is okay, because Simon Huang can't get out of his head, can't get rid of his feelings, can't glue together the ghost of his heart, can't revive what's already dead. Because he is dead, dying, drowning in a sick pool of emotions he can't control, stuck piecing together a reflection that refuses to be fixed. But he can't say that. He can't say any of that.

Instead, he lets his tears flow until they run dry as the world blurs into a jagged, monochrome haze.

(´▽｀)ノ♪

"How was school today?"

Simon looks up from the pasta he's been picking at for the past twenty minutes. It sits on his plate, barely touched, taunting him with grease and tomato. "Normal," he answers.

His mother frowns at his still-full plate. "Eat more, Simon. You don't want to waste food, do you?"

"Sorry," Simon mumbles under his breath. His appetite's gone, his stomach replaced with a hole nearly as big as the one in his chest. And because he can't eat, he continues pushing his food around, tucking bits here and there to make it look like he's trying. "Can I join the drama club?"

His father opens his mouth, but his mother beats him to the punch. "Absolutely not!" she replies---so cold, so severe with her tight ponytail and her regal posture. "You need to focus on your studies, Simon. Your grades haven't been as good as they should be, and it's better if you don't bother with this...extracurricular nonsense. After all, Stella focused on nothing but her studies and did just fine."

Stella constantly talked about wanting to take dance. Not that you would know that, because she was too afraid to tell you. "It's just one club---" Simon starts.

"Remember when you took swimming lessons last year and got a B in Physics?" His mother tsks impatiently, an imperious sound that never fails to make ice run through Simon's blood. "Stella never did that. Focus on your studies, Simon. Your sister's achieved so much, and you want to be as good as her, right?"

I only took swimming lessons because Tom was there. I didn't actually give a shit about swimming. But fuck that. I'm not telling you that. I'd get disowned. A chill passes over Simon's covered arms at the mere thought of Tom, easily piercing through his jacket. Or maybe the cold's coming from his jacket. He can't tell anymore.

"Simon, if you really want to take an extracurricular, maybe try something more useful than the drama club?" his father suggests. "Perhaps we could look into piano lessons again?"

At the mention of piano lessons, Simon's instantly reminded of Vincent. Fuck. He must have been so confused after my little stunt at lunch. Before he can start daydreaming about Vincent Kelle again, he blurts, "I made a new friend today. His name is Vincent and he's from London. He's a semi-famous piano prodigy, according to Emi."

His mother's nose scrunches up in barely-concealed disgust---probably at the very idea of Emi. "Is he any good at academics?"

Simon shrugs. When his mother directs a hard glare at him, he gulps. "I don't know. It's his first day here. We share a lot of the same classes, though, so...maybe?"

His mother's frown deepens. "I don't know if it's a good idea to hang around with him too much, Simon. After all, you've never been very good at choosing friends."

"Lay off him a little, dear," his father reassures, reaching over to pat his mother's arm lightly. "This boy is a piano prodigy, so he might be a more promising friend than Simon's other choices."

Simon's stomach lurches. He pushes away his plate.

His mother's dark eyes narrow sharply. "Simon, you haven't finished your food."

"I'm not hungry," Simon mutters. It's not a lie---his belly is a mess of knots, their endless curls writhing into oblivion.

His mother opens her mouth again---in protest, most likely---but his father stops her as Simon pushes away his chair. "Let him go, dear. He seems a bit down tonight."

I am down. I'm worse than down. I'm embarrassed and upset and have had enough of trying to deal with my shitty studies and my even shittier feelings. I want to fucking die.

"I'm just tired," Simon says instead.

When he finally gets to his room, he instantly closes the door and makes a beeline for his phone. Before he can pull open his Instagram and torture himself further by staring at pictures of Tom---Lynn too, probably---until he cries himself to sleep, one of the pop-up notifications on the screen catches his eye.

Unknown: are you okay?

Unknown: i'm really sorry if i said smth wrong at lunch, i really really didn't mean to

Unknown: it's Vincent btw

Unknown: i got your number from Emi, hope that's alright :>

Unknown: srsly tho, are you okay? is smth wrong? what happened? do you need a virtual hug or smth like that because my friends say i give great hugs

Simon resists the urge to laugh maniacally. I must be going crazy. Because there is no explanation for Vincent Kelle texting him other than a really vivid fever dream. He gives his screen a few aggressive swipes, but the message doesn't disappear. It stays there, big and bright and unmissable, right at the top of his notifications.

Simon's vision blurs again, this time with shame. Fingers trembling so hard he can barely touch the screen, he opens the message. It's there. It's real. Unmistakeably real.

He throws his phone onto his bed and bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

No, no, no. No no no no no. This is not happening. He did not just text me. Vincent did not just text me asking whether I'm okay and offering virtual hugs.

I have to reply.

Simon flops onto his bed, stretching his arm out until his fingertips gently nudge his phone. A slight groan escaping his lips, he picks up the device, staring at the message on the screen. Just reply, you fucking idiot. Thank him or something. Anything. Just type some stupid shit so he doesn't think you're completely wack or---

He takes in a deep breath. Or still completely, undoubtedly hung up over your ex. The ex who obviously doesn't want you back.

The knots in his stomach coalesce into one giant pit, throbbing, burning, rising up the walls of his gut like a ginger-soaked vine. It threatens to swallow him alive, a serpent in a sparrow's nest. Simon blinks away the headache starting to form at his temples and tries to focus on the device in front of him.

it's just that i'm |

tom's just my stupi |

fucking hell i can't |

i'm just such a big fucking mess rn and everythimg is going to shit and i fucking don't know how you make me feel because i'm still so fucling hung up over my fucking ex bf and then you're just s |

please i want to take your offer of the hugs up so fucking badly but i can't becau |

yoh're so cute and i really need the virtual hug rn and damn it i |

everything's fine. just had a stomach ache this afternoon and fuck, mine are hella painful so you can see why i really had to rush to the toilet. sorry for kinda like leaving you in the lurch like that. thanks for checking up on me, Vincent. and i'm okay.

hello children I HATE THIS CHAPTER guess who didn't sleep last night because he was too busy writing :> which is also why this chapter is crap and mostly unedited. because this disappointment wrote it when he was supposed to be getting his beauty sleep.

ANYGAYS you guys NEED to check out this webtoon called 'Cursed Princess Club'. it's so so so cute and funny and positive and focuses a lot on self-love. the MC is an adorable cinammon roll and she's my second-favourite character because she's just so sweet and kind and beautiful (my favourite character is her brother, who is so pretty he literally sparkles. his answer to everything is to take off his clothes and his true love is food. i love him.) it's like. one of the best comics EVER. i binged the whole thing in two days because it's just that good. it's really original and so well-drawn and has some pretty decent LGBTQ+ rep. CHECK IT OUT OR I EAT YOUR TOES

Cursed Princess Club aside, HOW ARE Y'ALLS DOING i am personally doing great because a) i don't have to suffer in exams like the rest of my school (although i would rather do the exam if it meant i could get rid of my anxiety), and b) I HAVE AMAZHANG NEWS buuut you have to wait for it :> cause nothing is confirmed and whatever and like i can't talk about it yet sooo place your guesses but i'll be making a post about it (hopefully, if all goes well) soon!

what did you guys think of this chapter? i'm not too happy with it, but i haven't been happy with my writing for a long while T_T like, Simon and Vincent are SO hard to work with compared to Jeong-Soon and Gregory (mainly because JS and Greg had so much sexual tension and chemistry that it made things easier for me but Simon and Vincent are like precious smol beans aND I DON'T WORK WELL WITH PRECIOUS SMOL BEANS) i'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, though!

as usual, love y'alls (mwaahhh), make sure to stay safe and take care of yourselves, and i'll see you in next Saturday's update!

xoxo, Alex