They're in Simon's room, silent, on a cloudy day in May. Aiden is going through the papers on Simon's cluttered desk, throwing out the unimportant ones, and occasionally talking over his shoulder to Simon, who is sitting cross-legged on his bed and staring out the window, his fingers twitching nervously, tapping a staccato rhythm on one thigh.
"Hey, Dutchy,' Aiden says, turning slightly. "You asked me to help you clean up your room. Are you going to help me?'
"It's starting to rain,' Simon replies. Aiden just sighs and turns back around, continue to rifle through the old papers. Simon leans over and grabs the battered, half-used pack of cigarettes and an old, neon pink lighter off the bedside table, rolling them up in the sleeve of his old t-shirt. He unlocks the window, and pushes it open, half-sliding through, feet propped on the empty flower box just outside. He shifts, twisting his torso so that he can see Aiden.
"Specs? You coming?' He asks, not even waiting for an answer before sliding the rest of the way out the window and pushing himself over the gutter, on to the roof with an ease born from much practice. He can feel the rain against the back of his neck and bare arms, and he sits on the edge of the slowly slanting roof, not caring about the cold wetness soaking through the seat of his pants. He turns his face up to the sky.
Aiden sighs and watches Simon slip out the window, glances down at the old assignment sheet in his hands, and then tosses it back down on the desk. He looks over at the open window, then back down at the desk. He rolls his eyes and walks to the window, peering out, around, up to the gutter.
"Dutchy?' he calls out, voice questioning, as if he's not certain that Simon is up there at all.
"Yeah, Specs?' Simon's reply floats down, sounding distant and calm over the rain.
"How often do you go up there?' He's just saying what's on his mind, and who cares if it makes sense or not? Simon replies anyway.
"A lot. When I can't sleep usually. It's nice up here in the dark.'
Aiden nods, realizing that Simon can't see it and not caring. He slides carefully out of the window, turning to hoist himself over the gutter and onto the roof, scrambles up and catches the sleeve of his t-shirt on the edge of the gutter. He pulls, hears it rip a little, pushes himself all the way onto the roof.
The rain has picked up, Aiden notices, and he looks over at Simon, whose face is still turned up to the sky. Aiden shifts over and back, until he's sitting next to Simon. The rain soaks into Aiden's dark hair, through his white t-shirt, through the canvas of his purple converse high-tops and his socks. Shoulder to shoulder he can feel Simon's heat through Simon's own wet t-shirt, an old one, almost made more of holes than of fabric.
Simon unrolls the sleeve on his left arm, pulling out his lighter and the pack of cigarettes. Pulls out a smoke and lights it, protecting the small flame from the wind and rain as he does. He flicks the lighter closed with a practiced hand and slips both it and the half-empty pack into a front pocket in his dark jeans. One hand on the lit cigarette as he does so. He sucks on the end of the cigarette, protecting it from the rain as he exhales through both nose and mouth. He glances over at Aiden and grins, mouth stretching wide, rain splattered against his glasses, light hair clumping and falling into his eyes. Takes another drag on the smoke and just watches. Aiden and the rain and the wet-translucent shirt against Aiden's chest and shoulders. Admiring the view. He continues to smoke his cigarette.
Aiden shrugs slightly and smiles, leans back against the roof, head pillowed on his arms, feels gravity pulling on his body. Pulling him towards the edge of the roof, over the edge even. He resists. He wipes his glasses with one hand and knows it won't help, and it doesn't. The rain is still falling, harder than before, and his hand wasn't dry anyway. Silence, and stillness. Aiden closes his eyes and feels the rain against his eyelids and cheeks.
And then Simon's leaning over him, Aiden can feel the presence above him, and he opens his eyes. Simon is grinning down at him, and Aiden starts to talk ("Hey, Dutchy, what're you doing?') but Simon just kisses him, and it's not like he couldn't have seen it coming (he just thinks he chose not to), and Simon's holding the lit cigarette off to the side as he leans over Aiden's body, his shoulder against Aiden's chest, and Aiden thinks it might be getting wet. He doesn't really care, because Simon's lips are hot against his, and the rain is cold where it's running down his body. Simon's free hand touches his stomach, the rain-soaked cloth over his stomach really, but then his hand is under Aiden's shirt, Simon's cold hand is warm against Aiden's colder skin. Their mouths move against each other, and Aiden's threads a hand in Simon's wet hair, the blond color darkened by the rain. And Simon's tongue is in his mouth, and as they kiss Aiden can still feel the gravity pulling at his body, and they're kissing on the roof in the rain in plain sight, and there's still a lit cigarette somewhere in the vicinity of his head, and Aiden still doesn't care. Simon's lips are soft against his, and wet, and that's all the really matters at the moment. The slip slide of mouths pressing, and the hand on his stomach (and probably chest, soon enough), and they're drenched in the rain; he can feel it dripping from Simon's hair onto his face. Wet clothes like a second skin, so it feels as if they are skin on skin, even if they aren't. And all the while, lips against his.
Then Simon pulls back, kissing Aiden's forehead (firm press of mouth, really) before backing off entirely. Pulling his hand out of Aiden's shirt, and sliding off his body.
"What am I doing?' Simon says, responding to Aiden's long forgotten question, smiling again, "I think I was kissing you, Specs, and now I'm going to ask you if you want some hot chocolate. Do you?'
Aiden props himself up on his elbows, and nods. Simon takes a drag on his miraculously still lit cigarette, before dousing it against the wet roof. He grins, nodding back. He breathes out smoke and slides off the roof, easily swinging back through his open window.
Aiden sits up and smiles. He touches his lips and thinks, cool. Pulls his shirt down where it's been rucked up over his stomach, and follows Simon back into the house.
Inside, there is warmth and laughter. Hot chocolate and long kisses and wet clothing soon shucked and left to dry.
Outside it continues to rain.