"I told ya," Cecily singsongs, and Simeon can't exactly say that he's comfortable with the amount of glee she's getting from this. The Black American looks toward him then, eyes twinkling with mischief and a sharp hiss snakes out of him.
"He never listens," a voice muffled by a pink pillow across his laps, on the couch opposite Simeon points out as a matter of fact.
"How you gon' keep running to somebody that don't want ya..." Cecily sings on. She's not even trying, but her voice already sounds like the hymn of an angel. The feeling of judgement envelopes Simeon though he promptly snaps out of it.
"Good question," the owner of the muffled voice raises his head to make sure Simeon is still in the room with them.
Simeon throws him a glance which hardens at the rictus smile he meets. Jerks.
He needs a change of friends. These two in particular, they need to go. His eyes flit to his fingers which are unusually bare.
"He looks so troubled though," Giovanni, the Greek boy with the pink pillow notes aloud like Simeon is not in the room with them, and sits upright. The crack of a joint is heard as he moves again to steady himself.
"Do you want me to make you tea?" Cecily proffers to Simeon immediately. Everyone who has heard of Simeon knows his weird kinship with tea and his various experiments with flavours.
A balm to his frazzled nerves. "I'll like that-" the bleeping of his device cuts him off. His chest fills with unbridled hope. Why? Because, Anderson is possibly calling again. He had purposely ended the previous one before Anderson could say anything because he didn't have the words to explain himself yet. Oblivious, Simeon's companions stare at him with curiosity.
"Who's that?" Cecily asks impatiently because it's taking Simeon too long to pry his phone out.
"It's," his expression falls in disappointment as he reads, "father." His pale, white hand crawls into his mass of long hair which messily fall on his shoulders, and stays there.
Giovanni groans and Cecily grumbles something about an aborted showdown before she leaves the room, patters echoing in wake.
"Father," he greets once he taps the answer button. A soft smile lifts his lips, reaches his eyes in no time as he basks in the praise he receives. Every problem is temporarily forgotten.
Father and son inquire after themselves like they had not talked at length the day before and every other day.Their conversation is convoluted, from their mother to him. They drift towards the business and finally to the news that his father is aspiring for another political position.
"President of the managerial sector? Are you for real?"
"Do I sound unreal?"
Simeon laughs half-heartedly, the phone suddenly a heavy weight in hand. "I don't know. It's just that it's too soon. I mean you already have a couple of political positions."
"Your father wants more," and Simeon cannot miss the wistfulness in the deep, sure voice weathered with age. He wonders just how many feats the man will achieve before he is finally satisfied with his life on earth. But, humans just like his father always want more. It is like a fire that cannot be quenched.
Simeon hears his father exhale and it brings a fond hue to his face. This man. How he loved him.
"After all of this, maybe next year after the mogul awards, we should take a long vacation. You, mom, Jennifer, brother and me - a family," Simeon suggests because the thoughts of it has lingered a while now. He misses the games in the backyard of their quaint mansion, the women practicing the magic of a new recipe and in the background, voiced masculine grievances against his chronic cheating in all the games.
"That sounds great. How have you been working towards the award?"
"I um..." The abrupt change in topic catches him off guard before he slowly lets his clothed back recline on the brown, leather couch.
"I told you that everything will blow over." Mr. Walton is referring to the horrid scandal.
"Do you not see the media? They hound him, Father." Him is Anderson.
"What about you? He deserves that. I never liked that boy. Now, he's put you in trouble."
He scratches his scalp mildly and finally retracts the hand having remained in his hair, preferring to twist it over and over again unconsciously. "We put each other in trouble," he corrects, "and they are not doing the same to me because they don't know where I am currently."
"Are you in a relationship with him?"
The question knocks the breath out of him. "What? No!"
The denial stings like treachery. But, he is not wrong. Anderson had also said the same.
"No," he reiterates, now unsure of who he is trying to convince.
"I just wanted to make sure."
Come to think of it, his father has never asked him if he swings the other way - if he is fooling around with a man like himself. Simeon wants to know what the man thinks. For Simeon to bring up that topic is what he will not dare, not now that they are about to step into the limelight once again.
"Then, why have you both not stepped out to clear the air?"
What the- Can he get a warning sign at least?
"I- well," he finds that he has no answer. "Let them think whatever they want," he blurts.
"Are you aiming for an air of mystery?" His father inquires, "you are the talk of the town. That's superb."
Simeon takes his upper lip between his teeth when it strikes him that his father must have taken it for a smart media ploy.
"Though, I have been getting some ridiculous questions. Son, I trust your decisions but when you have had your fill, please end this."
"I will." However, Anderson has already made the choice for him, he thinks and bites down hard on the full, pink lip. The son of a bitch.
"I have something to attend to. I love you, Simeon."
"I love you too, Father. Send my greetings to mother."
"Sure." And the call ends.
His brain is still processing when Giovanni gets up from where he had been perched on. In forgetfulness of the company, Simeon had placed the phone on speaker.
"That was such a heart-to-heart conversation." Giovanni's hazel eyes looks down at him. He is in a long robe that pooled in the knees and cinched at the waist. His face is smooth and chiselled, and the skin peeking out is dipped in an olive tone. He is a Greek marvel and sometimes, Simeon finds himself riveted with the uncanny beauty that he is.
Simeon rolls his eyes. "He doesn't ask me if I am gay, but asks me every other thing." The complaint slips out.
"He is your father. Do you think he will not know? There's no need to ask something that you both already know. And you are not gay, you are bisexual," Giovanni states like the difference changes anything.
At that moment, Cecily comes in bearing a small tray. "Did someone just call me?" She's the doll, shrewd brown eyes, high cheekbones, an upturned button nose, full lips, and disturbingly pretty and firm at the same time. Her aura is hard to capture, yet she always seems to have a lot of kindness behind her irises.
Simeon smiles a little.
Giovanni takes a hipshot stance, "I called everyone."
"All right. Now," she turns to Simeon, "Simeon Walton, last child of the Walton family, most gorgeous man in 2022 and still is, in my heart of course," she dead-pans which grows Simeon's smile. The world finding him the most gorgeous is one of the few things that are just ineffable and inexplicable to him. True, he looks damn pretty or handsome, or both. But he does not think it is that much of a quality for people to be really tripping for badly. The award and the ensuing nickname that followed will always come as a shock each time he remembers, like now. But he is not blind to the effect that he has on people and Anderson- His train of thought comes to a screeching stop and Cecily's voice flitters into his ears once again, "America's sweetheart. Please, sit. Let me serve you."
"There's no need for all that. Pour my tea too," Giovanni tskes impatiently. It pulls a shit-eating grin from Simeon. Giovanni, the ego-killing brat.
"I hear jealousy. Nuh uh, you have no tea here, go and make yours," Cecily retorts in her sonorous voice and purses her lips in mockery.
"Unfair." Giovanni grumbles something along the lines of why is he never that important. But, Cecily doesn't respond to that.
Slowly, Simeon lifts himself from the sofa and goes to her.
"Thank you." The tea is warm when he checks it with his tongue. He tries not to think about anything while he sips. Giovanni returns with his tea. Later, with the aftertaste on his tongue, Simeon leaves Giovanni and Cecily to their chattering and retires to his room.
The room is warm, and every item is arranged wrong. It's not his place after all and it took a lot of begging for Cecily to let him bed down in her crib for the meantime.
Yawns. He is still tired and a little jetlagged after flying for hours to land in Arizona. Practically, he had flown cross-country.
He tosses and turns, but sleep does not come. Alone, it's glaring that he is missing a certain someone. There's a silent wish that Anderson will ring him again but the man never rings twice. Unless it's an emergency. The thought of that makes his mood sink even lower. His anger is a persistent prickle under his skin. Then, why does he still ache to be with the cause?
A faint thud sounds, followed by Cecily cursing at probably Giovanni. He blows out a breath, thankful for the pair. They have always been really good to him but work always separates him from his friends.
It's supposed to be the four of them: a quad of Giovanni, Cecily, Anderson and Simeon but since Anderson had risen to his peak, he has forgotten the group, leaving them as a trio. Cecily and Giovanni, seeing this, resent him for that and cut all ties to him. He wonders if they felt some type of way when he and Anderson had gone over the top, overachieving, or some type of way when they had gone... intimate.
Another thud distracts him and Giovanni's shout is heard at the same time his door is thrown open.
He blinks, freezing. A robbery, he first thinks. Like an epiphany, the door reveals the last person he can ever imagine to stand before him. When did his mind start playing conjuring? The believed hallucination waltzes in and locks the door behind him like he owns the place.
Simeon gasps and scrambles upright in sheer disbelief.
What in the world? How? What - His brain just couldn't process.
Simeon raises a hand, palms his forehead - the only movement he can manage at the moment.
"Get out!" It falls from his lips without thought. The words are to banish this imagination. But it keeps on coming.
No, no. Simeon shakes his head and holds up a hand.
"Why did you disappear like that?" The hallucination demands with a hard gaze, the dark, rich voice soaking him in cold sweat. It speaks.
He's real. Anderson is here and real. This cannot be happening. There are too many thoughts to consider at first.
"Anderson..." He scans him, the usual black on black. A face cap partially obscures his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath and the downsides comes rushing in like a storm.
"What the hell, man!" He runs to the window, and raises the blinds just little enough to peek outside. It's dark out and there's not a single soul but he's not satisfied.
"What are you doing?"
"What am I - fuck!" Simeon whirls immediately and rounds on him. "What were you thinking? Coming here of all places? What if you draw the media here?" Cecily will never forgive him.
Anderson responds calmly, "I was careful."
Simeon scoffs, then frowns and peeks out of the window again. Blocking the man behind him, looking so hot, eatable, fuckable, rawable - he needs an effing break. How on earth did Anderson find him? There are a number of choices the young Walton can take: bolt and never look back, or face Anderson Parker. Both options are difficult enough.
Should he be surprised at Anderson being here? Absolutely yes. This is unlike him and on the other hand, more like him. The wildcard nature of the man makes every conventional conclusion null. At this moment, Simeon's phone starts to ring, the shrill noise cutting through the tension. He ignores it.
"Why are you here?"
Anderson's lips tighten, "deja vu? Throwing me with my questions?" His pitch rides over the ringing disturbance.
Simeon's eyebrows knit. Anderson's question repeats in his head before it comes to him, flashbulb memory, the only interrogation Anderson could come up with after not having seen him for weeks. His hands squeeze into fists.
"Answer me. Don't tell me you just came here to ask me why I left?" Anderson's stellar expression loses quality for a split second which pops an insane idea in Simeon's mind.
"Is this..." Simeon starts off in a high pitched sound and lets out a half laugh, two hahas at most before he eyes Anderson intensely, then wonders if the visceral need in his belly is being reflected in the way Anderson's tongue licks out. Self restraint, no restraint, still restraint between them.
A harsh knock interrupts. His eyes dart to the the door and back to Anderson.
"Simeon?" He recognizes Giovanni's gravelly voice.
"Yes," he responds, gaze still fixated on Anderson like he will disappear if he dares look the other way.
"Are you okay in there?"
Simeon watches Anderson frown, shrug and almost flinches at the sudden movement the man makes before he goes to sit down on his bed. The scent of cocoa wafts into his eager nostrils and it flares in response.
"Yes." Simeon manages to verbalize. A second, two seconds and eventually, there is a quiet shuffle of feet which finally fades away.
"I don't understand you." Simeon does not hesitate to break the silence. Something to take his mind from all this heat in his veins.
"You left."
"So? What am I staying for?"
"Courtesy."
"What nonsense!" Simeon stutters. When Anderson had left him alone that night, the air grew so toxic that he thought he would die from it. He begins to go closer but his feet roots to the floor as Anderson stands to face him dead on.
"Is it?"
Simeon glowers, pissed off at Anderson's casual tone. "I told you that I would end all of this in my own time. No need to tail me." It kills Simeon to speak like this. What kind of game are they playing?
"You're taking much time." Anderson's brows quirk up with an innocence that only infuriates Simeon further. His blond hair falls into his eyes and he furiously pushes it back.
In rapid succession, Simeon closes his eyes and opens it slowly on a deep breath. No, Anderson couldn't be saying that to him and so unperturbed, so calculated like that. It couldn't be. Absently, he watches Anderson's finger slightly go to the one hoop earring that he never removes on his left ear which shows him that Anderson isn't letting on as half as he is showing. It doesn't calm him. Is this what he really wants? Did Anderson let him have the ball in his court just to check his reaction?
Honestly, he doesn't know anymore. Showing up to Anderson's home the other day had been out of sheer worry and the shock he had received - the feeling of suddenly becoming unwanted. The energy to fight for them - for everything they stood for, was snuffed out in a moment and the strength to try to convince Anderson to approach this in another manner had dissipated. Hell, the Simeon of before the scandal would have broken down doors to get to Anderson. However, the Simeon of now, the one currently standing in front of the aloof Anderson is unsure and painfully, so. Maybe it is the reality that came crashing down that burst his bubble. Maybe, something else. Something is stopping him from exploring the feeling. He just wants to go back to the good old times when he was all over Anderson with no care in the world. He takes another deep breath. A party doesn't last forever, he finally admits. "Let's stop this please," his ambiguous words come out rather weakly, shoulders drooping with extreme tiredness from nowhere.
"Good," Anderson's voice drifts in a whisper, and Simeon heart breaks.
Merely, a whisper, and Simeon's heart is in shatters. The nonchalant way Anderson is handling this hurts a lot. And that damned cap, he wants to rip it away and look into those brown eyes while shaking him to his senses. Mentally, Simeon is at war with the reality that has been threatening to defeat him. The reality that he has been the only one in this sham of a relationship. Distance after that leaked video hadn't made their hearts grow fonder after all.
"That's it?" Simeon still looks at him with eyes, a dull spark of hope.
"Your shares will be ready before next week." With that, Anderson swivels away from him, black shirt lightly wrapping his sides.
"Anderson Parker," the name spills out from Simeon in a breathless rush. It sounds like a plea to reconsider but it only makes Anderson pause for a fractioned second. Simeon had totally forgotten about the shares. America's CEO of Cooperations surely does not need shares from anyone. He doesn't know why he had even come up with such lie but Anderson had made it feel like it was not enough for him to just show up. He had shown up like that a few times and there had been not one problem about it. This whorl of confusion, no way out. The door makes a clicking sound as it is unlocked, and closes almost immediately. Simeon hates his legs for not going close enough to catch that soft scent of cocoa one last time. Anderson hadn't even called his name, not once. His expression is distraught. No goodbye. No nothing. This is the end.
Hell be damned, Simeon Walton thinks hazily, and crumples to the floor.