Simon: Is that really what you want to talk about?
Right.
Simon isn't his father. I shouldn't compare them.
If someone compared me to my biological father—
I'd never forgive them.
Vanessa: I get distracted by the possibility of men abusing their power.
Simon: You do.
Vanessa: Even calling the bedroom the master. There's a natural power imbalance.
Simon: Colonialist language.
Vanessa: Right.
He's aware of this concept?
Simon: You sponsored a talk last year. I listened.
Vanessa: Is this your foreplay now?
Simon: Is it working?
Vanessa: Absolutely.
Simon: What should I call the bedroom?
A place I want to fuck him.
Vanessa: Call it your bedroom. There's not a good alternative.
Simon: You're right. It belonged to my father once. I have a new bed. New frame, new mattress, new sheets, but that won't erase the history.
Vanessa: I don't want to talk about your father.
Simon: Me either.
Vanessa: What does it look like?
Simon: Hardwood floors. White walls. Exposed brick on one side. Lattice windows. Three long, rectangular ones.
Vanessa: Sounds modern.
Simon: I painted.
Vanessa: Over?
Simon: A hideous wallpaper. It belonged at Versailles.
Vanessa: You would know.
Simon: You studied in France.
Vanessa: You grew up in a palace.
Simon: Wait until you see the upstairs.
Vanessa: Are you inviting me to your room?
Simon: I am.
Vanessa: When?
Simon: Soon.
Vanessa: Okay. Soon.
After I figure out how to help the woman sleeping on my couch.
But I'm not worrying any more tonight.
I'm sinking into my shiny distraction.
Simon Pierce's teenage room.
How many times did I imagine myself there?
Way too many.
Simon: The apartment isn't as massive as the Pierce mansion, but it's big. The bedroom is the size of a hotel ballroom. It's all open space. Closet. Dresser. Bed. Mirror.
Vanessa: Mirror?
Simon: I put in a new one. For you.
Fuck.
Vanessa: Show me.
A moment later, my phone buzzes with a picture message. Simon, standing in front of the four-poster bed in midnight blue pajamas.
His shirt is open.
His chiseled torso is on display.
And there, above his hip, a tattoo. Black letters in a curving script.
Something in Latin.
Why didn't I notice before?
Vanessa: What's it say?
Simon: Flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo.
Vanessa: In English?
Simon: If I can't move heaven, I'll raise hell.
Vanessa: That suits you.
Simon: Is that a compliment?
Vanessa: You used it to permanently mark your body.
That quote is pure Simon, but actually getting a tattoo? That's surprising.
Vanessa: Don't you see it that way?
Simon: I do.
Vanessa: I can't imagine you with a tattoo.
Simon: You've seen it.
Vanessa: I was otherwise occupied.
Simon: Were you?
Vanessa: You know I was.
Simon: I got it with Bash. When we were kids. He was like you. He teased me about being the Prince of Darkness.
Vanessa: He used those words?
Simon: Similar.
Vanessa: He didn't seem combative.
Simon: He meant it with love.
Vanessa: You miss him?
Simon: Of course.
Vanessa: You talked to him? Confided in him?
Simon: I did.
Vanessa: Do you have anyone now?
Simon: Opal tries, but she's young. She doesn't have the perspective, and I don't want to be the person who convinces her the world is a cold, hard place.
Vanessa: Is that really how you see it?
Simon: Don't tell me you think otherwise.
No. The world is a cold, hard place.
But it's warm and soft sometimes too.
Now.
Here.
Vanessa: There's good and bad. But I understand the focus on the ugly parts. With what happened to your brother.
It's been a year now, a little longer maybe.
But how can Simon ever truly get over the loss of his brother?
If I lost Lee…
I might move on, but I'd always carry that wound. I'd always have that empty space in my heart.
Vanessa: Will you let me offer condolences this time?
Simon: Yes.
Vanessa: I am sorry. If I lost Lee… I don't know how I'd function.
Simon: You would. It's the only choice you have.
Is that really how he felt?
Simon: Your family needs you. Your work needs you. The world needs you. There isn't time to stop and fall apart.
Vanessa: Do you want to fall apart?
He doesn't reply.
I wait another minute.
Still no reply.
Is he busy? Or thinking?
Vanessa: I do sometimes. I want to be somewhere safe, where that feels possible. Where I can let go, stop trying to hold myself together, trust someone to catch me, to help me put myself back together.
Simon: Do you trust anyone?
Vanessa: I haven't, before.
Do I now?
No, I still don't know Simon well. But I want to know him. I want to climb into his bed and melt into his arms.
It's not the same.
But it's something.
Vanessa: I have a hard time trusting people. It's been… interesting with you. I trust you with my body. It might not sound like much, but it is.
Simon: That means a lot.
Vanessa: Really?
Simon: Yes.
Vanessa: Is this where we bring it back to sex?
Simon: If that's what you want.
Vanessa: It's not what you want?
Simon: I want to go to your place and bury my head between your legs.
Fuck.
Simon: I want to have you every way I can, Vanessa. But I enjoy talking to you too.
Vanessa: I enjoy talking to you too.
Simon: I don't hear that often.
Vanessa: You're a good listener. And a good conversationalist. You just hide it.