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@simon-cipher
HIYA!
(03/02/26)
I’m Simon, a second year in Scarabia. I’m here to chill and maybe posts some food pics from time to time. Total foodie over here! A few things about me are I love Tiramisu, hate pudding, make origami, and I’m a bit of an extrovert.
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
comjng.
theeen. . . no response for a bit.
sorry
꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶
by the time ( read: ten minutes later ) he managed to get out of pomefiore and in front of the scarabia mirror, the ginger was practically vibrating in his uniform. he hadn’t even bothered to change out of the dorm uniform like last time! so it was going to be horrid.
should he tell simon he wasn’t coming? but there was no reason to make simon even more worried.
. . .
he took. another five minutes to get to the dorm. then another five to realize he didn’t actually know if simon was at the dorm. fucjkkfjsjjfjsdngba
💬. . . . . . . .
r u at dorm
Yeah
Simon was getting worried at this point, so he was currently walking towards the mirror. Hatton was acting so not like himself. It was practically a complete switch up- oh. Wait. Simon had a brain, and it could make connections. So that’s what Hatton meant.
still awkwardly waiting at the dorm mirror portal on the scarabia side, Hatton was trying to formulate a reply to simon. which was going as well as one would think. ‘can u come’ deleted. ‘im scared’ deleted. ‘r u sure its ok’ deleted—
. . is he scared of simon?
. . .
can’t be, right?
. . .
Hatton doesn’t really notice simon’s approach — too occupied on trying to get this stupid text to sound halfway decent. can his hands stop shaking?— hhhhnnnnf.
Simon slowly comes up to Hatton and pulls him into a hug.
Hey, you okay, honey?
Simon made sure to keep his grip on Hatton tight, but not suffocating. He didn’t want to scare the poor man in front of him right now. At least, from what Simon could see. Simon takes Hatton’s hands into his own, lacing their fingers together.
It’s alright, I’m here. You don’t gotta freak out, okay?
he jumps. jolts. nearly elbows simon in the rib before he hears it’s simon and has to stop himself just as the joint makes contact with the other’s uniform. Hatton makes a noise suspiciously close to what it sounds like when someone is dying because he wants to hug back but also—
—his body is screaming at him. it tells him to move, he’s in danger, but— simon. it’s simon.
is he okay? no. he’s not. but then telling his partner this would make his partner upset. the diamond seeker is silent for way too long, tense and — is he crying? no no no—
“ i- i’m- i’m fine. . . ” he managed to hiccup out. though he’s shaky now. maybe Hatton should leave. he’s gonna make simon upset. “ it— i- not— hhhhhhiiinnnng. . . i- i’m fine— ”
Simon noticed the way Hatton tensed. So, he let go of Hatton and simply started wiping his tears away gently.
Mmm, I don’t think you’re fine. Hatton, dear, did a magic anon get you?
why doesn’t simon hate him already? he should be mad. he should— he can’t—
Hatton nods, sucking in a breath. he hiccups as he tries to speak. then he fails at that so naturally he starts crying more. and flinches when simon’s hand wipes, but he’s trying to stay still.
. . . he’s trying.
“ ‘m s-sorry. . .
Simon sighs and rubs Hatton’s cheek.
It’s okay, my dear. You can’t help it, after all. Do you want to go sit down somewhere? Maybe just have a quiet moment?
The sigh of Hatton crying was a little jarring, but his care for him overrides the slight shock. Simon wanted Hatton to feel safe and comfortable, not uncomfortable and crying.
he stares. he is debating it. that sigh was bad. is simon annoyed at him? oh what is wrong. . .
Hatton doesn’t answer right away. when he does, he’s mumbling.
“ it- ‘s whatever you wanna do. . i . . i - i don’t mind. .
Hatton, dearest, you’re acting like a frightened animal. I just want you to take a minute to rest and gather yourself, pushing yourself won’t do any good. Okay?
Simon looks at Hatton, locking eyes with him as he speaks. He wants Hatton to not be acting like Simon is the scariest thing in the world. That the world isn’t out to get him. Honestly, this was going to take some getting used to until the magic wore off. Simon might end up going after a few magic anons after this…
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
comjng.
theeen. . . no response for a bit.
sorry
꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶
by the time ( read: ten minutes later ) he managed to get out of pomefiore and in front of the scarabia mirror, the ginger was practically vibrating in his uniform. he hadn’t even bothered to change out of the dorm uniform like last time! so it was going to be horrid.
should he tell simon he wasn’t coming? but there was no reason to make simon even more worried.
. . .
he took. another five minutes to get to the dorm. then another five to realize he didn’t actually know if simon was at the dorm. fucjkkfjsjjfjsdngba
💬. . . . . . . .
r u at dorm
Yeah
Simon was getting worried at this point, so he was currently walking towards the mirror. Hatton was acting so not like himself. It was practically a complete switch up- oh. Wait. Simon had a brain, and it could make connections. So that’s what Hatton meant.
still awkwardly waiting at the dorm mirror portal on the scarabia side, Hatton was trying to formulate a reply to simon. which was going as well as one would think. ‘can u come’ deleted. ‘im scared’ deleted. ‘r u sure its ok’ deleted—
. . is he scared of simon?
. . .
can’t be, right?
. . .
Hatton doesn’t really notice simon’s approach — too occupied on trying to get this stupid text to sound halfway decent. can his hands stop shaking?— hhhhnnnnf.
Simon slowly comes up to Hatton and pulls him into a hug.
Hey, you okay, honey?
Simon made sure to keep his grip on Hatton tight, but not suffocating. He didn’t want to scare the poor man in front of him right now. At least, from what Simon could see. Simon takes Hatton’s hands into his own, lacing their fingers together.
It’s alright, I’m here. You don’t gotta freak out, okay?
he jumps. jolts. nearly elbows simon in the rib before he hears it’s simon and has to stop himself just as the joint makes contact with the other’s uniform. Hatton makes a noise suspiciously close to what it sounds like when someone is dying because he wants to hug back but also—
—his body is screaming at him. it tells him to move, he’s in danger, but— simon. it’s simon.
is he okay? no. he’s not. but then telling his partner this would make his partner upset. the diamond seeker is silent for way too long, tense and — is he crying? no no no—
“ i- i’m- i’m fine. . . ” he managed to hiccup out. though he’s shaky now. maybe Hatton should leave. he’s gonna make simon upset. “ it— i- not— hhhhhhiiinnnng. . . i- i’m fine— ”
Simon noticed the way Hatton tensed. So, he let go of Hatton and simply started wiping his tears away gently.
Mmm, I don’t think you’re fine. Hatton, dear, did a magic anon get you?
why doesn’t simon hate him already? he should be mad. he should— he can’t—
Hatton nods, sucking in a breath. he hiccups as he tries to speak. then he fails at that so naturally he starts crying more. and flinches when simon’s hand wipes, but he’s trying to stay still.
. . . he’s trying.
“ ‘m s-sorry. . .
Simon sighs and rubs Hatton’s cheek.
It’s okay, my dear. You can’t help it, after all. Do you want to go sit down somewhere? Maybe just have a quiet moment?
The sigh of Hatton crying was a little jarring, but his care for him overrides the slight shock. Simon wanted Hatton to feel safe and comfortable, not uncomfortable and crying.
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
comjng.
theeen. . . no response for a bit.
sorry
꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶
by the time ( read: ten minutes later ) he managed to get out of pomefiore and in front of the scarabia mirror, the ginger was practically vibrating in his uniform. he hadn’t even bothered to change out of the dorm uniform like last time! so it was going to be horrid.
should he tell simon he wasn’t coming? but there was no reason to make simon even more worried.
. . .
he took. another five minutes to get to the dorm. then another five to realize he didn’t actually know if simon was at the dorm. fucjkkfjsjjfjsdngba
💬. . . . . . . .
r u at dorm
Yeah
Simon was getting worried at this point, so he was currently walking towards the mirror. Hatton was acting so not like himself. It was practically a complete switch up- oh. Wait. Simon had a brain, and it could make connections. So that’s what Hatton meant.
still awkwardly waiting at the dorm mirror portal on the scarabia side, Hatton was trying to formulate a reply to simon. which was going as well as one would think. ‘can u come’ deleted. ‘im scared’ deleted. ‘r u sure its ok’ deleted—
. . is he scared of simon?
. . .
can’t be, right?
. . .
Hatton doesn’t really notice simon’s approach — too occupied on trying to get this stupid text to sound halfway decent. can his hands stop shaking?— hhhhnnnnf.
Simon slowly comes up to Hatton and pulls him into a hug.
Hey, you okay, honey?
Simon made sure to keep his grip on Hatton tight, but not suffocating. He didn’t want to scare the poor man in front of him right now. At least, from what Simon could see. Simon takes Hatton’s hands into his own, lacing their fingers together.
It’s alright, I’m here. You don’t gotta freak out, okay?
he jumps. jolts. nearly elbows simon in the rib before he hears it’s simon and has to stop himself just as the joint makes contact with the other’s uniform. Hatton makes a noise suspiciously close to what it sounds like when someone is dying because he wants to hug back but also—
—his body is screaming at him. it tells him to move, he’s in danger, but— simon. it’s simon.
is he okay? no. he’s not. but then telling his partner this would make his partner upset. the diamond seeker is silent for way too long, tense and — is he crying? no no no—
“ i- i’m- i’m fine. . . ” he managed to hiccup out. though he’s shaky now. maybe Hatton should leave. he’s gonna make simon upset. “ it— i- not— hhhhhhiiinnnng. . . i- i’m fine— ”
Simon noticed the way Hatton tensed. So, he let go of Hatton and simply started wiping his tears away gently.
Mmm, I don’t think you’re fine. Hatton, dear, did a magic anon get you?
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
comjng.
theeen. . . no response for a bit.
sorry
꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶
by the time ( read: ten minutes later ) he managed to get out of pomefiore and in front of the scarabia mirror, the ginger was practically vibrating in his uniform. he hadn’t even bothered to change out of the dorm uniform like last time! so it was going to be horrid.
should he tell simon he wasn’t coming? but there was no reason to make simon even more worried.
. . .
he took. another five minutes to get to the dorm. then another five to realize he didn’t actually know if simon was at the dorm. fucjkkfjsjjfjsdngba
💬. . . . . . . .
r u at dorm
Yeah
Simon was getting worried at this point, so he was currently walking towards the mirror. Hatton was acting so not like himself. It was practically a complete switch up- oh. Wait. Simon had a brain, and it could make connections. So that’s what Hatton meant.
still awkwardly waiting at the dorm mirror portal on the scarabia side, Hatton was trying to formulate a reply to simon. which was going as well as one would think. ‘can u come’ deleted. ‘im scared’ deleted. ‘r u sure its ok’ deleted—
. . is he scared of simon?
. . .
can’t be, right?
. . .
Hatton doesn’t really notice simon’s approach — too occupied on trying to get this stupid text to sound halfway decent. can his hands stop shaking?— hhhhnnnnf.
Simon slowly comes up to Hatton and pulls him into a hug.
Hey, you okay, honey?
Simon made sure to keep his grip on Hatton tight, but not suffocating. He didn’t want to scare the poor man in front of him right now. At least, from what Simon could see. Simon takes Hatton’s hands into his own, lacing their fingers together.
It’s alright, I’m here. You don’t gotta freak out, okay?
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
comjng.
theeen. . . no response for a bit.
sorry
꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦︶
by the time ( read: ten minutes later ) he managed to get out of pomefiore and in front of the scarabia mirror, the ginger was practically vibrating in his uniform. he hadn’t even bothered to change out of the dorm uniform like last time! so it was going to be horrid.
should he tell simon he wasn’t coming? but there was no reason to make simon even more worried.
. . .
he took. another five minutes to get to the dorm. then another five to realize he didn’t actually know if simon was at the dorm. fucjkkfjsjjfjsdngba
💬. . . . . . . .
r u at dorm
Yeah
Simon was getting worried at this point, so he was currently walking towards the mirror. Hatton was acting so not like himself. It was practically a complete switch up- oh. Wait. Simon had a brain, and it could make connections. So that’s what Hatton meant.
Hey, Hey, L I S T E N
here, on this blog, you do not need permission to slip into my asks. just do it. even if we haven’t interacted before. even if you’ve sent 10 already. send me more. i love getting asks (in character or out of character) and yeah, i’m slow as fuck, but i promise you i will get to them. have at it, fill my inbox with memes or impromptu starters or just tell me how your day is going. it really doesn’t matter. just go ahead and do it. i promise, i don’t get annoyed seeing the same people in my inbox, actually it makes me happy because yAY MORE INTERACTIONS. so just do it.
Simon. Are you feeling better now?
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ . . . as desired by Hatton Paetel // @stxrrydxsires ! !
Yes I am, I’m so sorry my love!!! I got hit with magic, and apparently it changed my personality… is everything alright, dearest?
typing bubble there. . . typing bubble gone . . . this pattern repeats at least ten times.
its ok
more of the typing bubble being there and then not.
the thing jsuthappened to me sorry
💬. . . . . . . . . . 💬. . . . . . . . . .
can i come to u
Simon was confused for a minute. Normally Hatton wouldn’t hesitate this much, if at all. Nor speak this way. What even happened? Simon was getting a little worried.
Yeah, come here.
What’s wrong, you sound scared
Is everything alright, mi estrella?
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
Simon. Are you feeling better now?
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ . . . as desired by Hatton Paetel // @stxrrydxsires ! !
Yes I am, I’m so sorry my love!!! I got hit with magic, and apparently it changed my personality… is everything alright, dearest?
GET READY FOR PRIDE SIMON!!!!
what. Like- what do you want me to do- MAKE MY MAGIC QUEER???
No, js say what u are-
Oh.
Bruh.
Whoopsie- anyways uh… I’m pansexual, and a trans male!
Yayyyy!!!!
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
to live alongside you in death. — h. paetel x s. cipher. @simon-cipher
i would love you no matter what happened.
it went flat long ago. what lays before him is a corpse. dead. no heart beat. no brain activity. the nurse beside him looks at him wearily, something tugging in her heart as she steps forward. "he called for you." she says, as if the words are supposed to bring comfort. he called for me? on his death bed? and what was he doing?
"...even delirious. it's clear, he loved you."
hatton takes a deep breath. he'll pretend those words don't exist, even with the evidence against him. closing his eyes, he'll pretend that he hadn't heard just how late he'd been. though, either way, with his diamond's corpse lodged into his memory? hatton figures he'd be thinking about it regardless. it—
why?
why didn’t he notice? why couldn’t he have just— kept quiet? just once? instead the last words they exchanged were in venom.
i told him to stop acting reaching out to people who'd never care, that i was right here— i sounded insane.
"…mr. paetel?"
i—
"please give me a moment." hatton manages to say to the nurse, still standing over the bed. "please just… contact his family?"
… i don't remember if he ever talked about them. if he had any at all.
she nods and leaves. the curtains close.
…
“your hair…” the ginger mumbles after a moment. he reaches out, as if to smooth simon’s hair back. he does not. his hand freezes just above his diamond’s head and he is afraid that even touching him will solidify the truth. “it’s… messy.”
if he touches simon, it would feel too real.
it’s already too real. the turned off equipment. the lack of movement. he came just too late. like a fucking idiot. now he has to deal with a corpse and he can’t even apologize for their last words being ‘i love you’ after the argument because neither of them wanted to stay mad.
“…”
nothing greets him back. hatton’s hand stays painfully close to his diamond’s forehead. there is no heat to feel.
…eventually, he pulls back. his hair is a curtain to hide his emotions from the ghost of someone.
“my… dearest, loveliest diamond.” he says quietly, voice cracking. hatton opts to grip the bed rails so that he at least has something to hold.
should he have been softer? less—
less of himself? it wouldn’t ease the pain in the slightest but then there wouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest and stomach and head. none of which stop burning. the sensation is akin to dying.
…
it isn’t.
“tha mi duilich—” hatton stutters, slumping forward, leaning too much on the rails as he closes his eyes. “tha mi duilich nach urrainn dhomh a bhith ann.”
he takes a breath. it catches in his throat, but he doesn’t let himself cry. not when the one person he would’ve truly trusted to catch him is— is simon.
“…nas duilghe na ghabhas cur ann an cainnt.” he continues, voice breaking weakly. hatton stands, then shuffles, then ends up back slouched over the bed. he doesn’t open his eyes. “tha mi duilich.” he repeats.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, hand inching closer. just to simon. his simon. his simon.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, not touching. too close to doing so.
“tha mi duilich.” he repeats, just— thinking. and thinking. and thinking.
the words he should say don’t feel like they belong on his tongue. the loss never leaves. he tries to feel something else and fill those emotions that would make him feel normal.
“seo dhut.” he huffs, not knowing what else to say. hatton’s hand doesn’t move, resting on the cot just close enough to simon that he can pretend the warmth of his skin is still there. “thuirt mi riut, tha mi an seo.”
he could’ve had longer if he didn’t—
“bu chòir dhut a bhith air èisteachd rium. bu- bu chòir dhu-!” the words catch in between gritted teeth.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
he doesn't remember the stagnancy. he remembers- someones head coming off. white hair. ah. ahah! it was beautiful. if only simon could see this.
"hatton?"
he still hears simon now. the diamond seeker remembers running off from those excuses of mages. he doesn't need them. he just-
"hatton!"
the diamond seeker turns and finds simon. who, should be dead.
something in his heart flickers.
"my-- diamond?"
his voice is dangerously slow. it is dangerously fragile. he scoffs, shaking his head. the diamond seeker does not believe it. a spirit? simon's ghost? why? has he gone insane? a broken laugh erupts from him, it's loud and grating even to his own ears. oh, simon.
"it's me." simon coos gently, so gently. like the times when the other would run his hands through hatton's hair. "you're okay."
it isn't okay. the diamond seeker snarls, almost, staring at simon's visage like a curse. one he wants to possess and cradle at once. the blot burns and the thing behind him covers his eyes again. but this time the diamond seeker doesn't just let it.
simon- oh, simon. the diamond seeker does not cry, but he does avoid his own phantom as it wails in his ear, crying bloody murder because hatton's world has narrowed down to the specter in front of him. "you're dead." he says blatantly, negativity tugging at him like chains as he stares at the ghost. hysteria bubbles up, and he's angry again, because why hasn't simon moved on? "why are you here? you're not supposed to be here." he accuses.
you’re supposed to have passed on.
“i had something to give you.” simon hums, swirling around the diamond seeker’s head like a crown of ectoplasm. neither of them say anything for a moment, and the phantom behind the ginger recedes to prowl about.
“do you want it?”
how— how stupid.
“a gift from you? now?” the diamond seeker scoffs, eye lighting in annoyance. there was a mission to do. his blood burns brightly and he feels like he could find anything! he could do anything! his parents would find him returning home with riches— perhaps even a head of a privileged bastard. “i’d receive anything from you, my diamond.”
why seek a diamond of myth when there is one right here? all for him. his diamond. simon. his. his diamond offers the diamond seeker a ring, and his calm expression is all too reminiscent of the way he looked on that bed.
he wouldn't ask how the ghost of his lover got a ring. hatton does not care. he just looks at the ring and how it seems to be so, so beautiful coming from simon's dead hands. "hatton," his diamond asks, smiling sweetly as he floats around hatton once before taking the ginger's left hand into his own. both of their hands are cold. "will you be mine, forever?"
how sweet. a proposal. from a ghost. there is something similar that happened on campus, isn't it? "tha, le mo chridhe uile." he responds halfway out of instinct. when he used to recite those words on his own when he was younger, am pòs thu mi. "unto death i shall follow you."
is it a confession or promise? his diamond slips the ring on. the feeling is odd, it sends chills up hatton's spine and he feels the burning of the blot cool down enough to feel the touch of simon instead.
the ring is... neither hot or cold. it simply rests on hatton's left ring finger. he looks to the ghostly former-brunette, who still holds his hand like it's something precious.
"you have something you want to say." the diamond seeker says, the echo and strain of his voice leaving, "say it."
and his diamond has always been one to listen to him. it's why hatton loves him so.
"may i kiss you?" he asks sweetly, smiling all so brightly.
how hatton wants to hold his diamond so close forever. that's all he wants now. "...you may."
