Simon started when the cup shattered. He was almost on his feet to get a towel when Silvio began to speak. He stared, still wide-eyed, but listened to everything Silvio had to say. No one’s ever told him there was nothing wrong with him. Possibly because he’s never told anyone there was something wrong with him. He didn’t bring his sexuality or his fraught relationship with it up in casual conversation. Even the rest of his dance troupe didn’t know and they’re the people he spent the most time with.

And on some level, Simon longed to hear that – that he wasn’t something broken that needed to be fixed. It’s hard not to believe it, though, when he’s been programmed since he was thirteen to think there was something horribly wrong with him. Something that made him incompatible with his family and his (their) faith. Simon hasn’t been interested in religion since he left for LA. Why should he be when that’s what made him feel so worthless? When it was drilled into him that God couldn’t love him as he was.

Simon swallowed and slowly rose up to finally get that towel. In addition to the shards of ceramic, he worried whatever coffee was left in the cup may have burned his friend. He moved around to crouch beside Silvio and took his hand to examine it for any injury. “Are you okay?”