Miniminter [sidemen]

The Highway (extended)

A/n: Got some requests for something like this so I wrote another part to The Highway. Enjoy!

+ + +

You were tucked up in bed by midnight on Friday, still feeling the ghost of Simon's touch on your skin.

"I'm so glad you're home, Y/n," Simon had whispered to you, the thousandth time that evening. He was grinning crookedly at you over his dessert plate, abashed by his own extensive endearment.

"And I'm glad to be home."

He accepted your hand when you reached across the table to give it to him, rolling your fingers between his own.

But the evening had long since ended, and now you were rolled up in your bed sheets, as warm as if he was holding you, still. The lack of title between the two of you persisted, which was justifiably unsettling, but Simon had treated you as a boyfriend would tonight; there was no need to be upset.

And as if your thoughts had summoned him, suddenly he was calling you.

Voice unintentionally sultry (a product of both your tiredness and thoughts of him), you answered, "Hey, Simon."

"Y/n," he breathed. The hair on your arms stood up, and all calmness evaporated from your disposition. There was something in his tone that unnerved you... desperation? Fear?

"Si?"

"JJ and Harry got into an accident," Simon said. "Got driven off the highway, I'm not exactly sure what happened..." Simon trailed off and his voice became a thousand background sounds, chatter and ringing and the quick patter of footfalls on tiled floors.

Shocked, you called him back to you. "Simon?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he assured you. "Josh says it's the hospital on Cromwell. Meet me?"

"They're in the hospital?!" Simon's attention left you again, given instead to whoever, presumably Josh, was talking to him in the background. You could only catch his faint, profane replies until finally he addressed you again. "Y/n?"

"Yes," you told him, already rising from bed. "Yes, I'll meet you."

+ + +

You'd thought that the drive to the hospital had felt overwhelmingly strange, especially since you hadn't driven your own car in so long, but entering the hospital was much stranger. Reality is distorted in a hospital at night; the roads were nearly empty outside but the Accident and Emergency room was alive with activity. Nurses rushed between the injured and their families, families in the wait rooms became impatient, and patients were awaiting diagnosis and answers. It was too bright and too cold, and though your mind had fully abandoned its tiredness, you had to will your legs to lead you forward.

Feeling out of place and as though you were possessed, you glided through the building, stopping to ask secretaries about your friends or to pause and look at directions posted high up on signs against the magnolia walls. And then finally you found Josh in a waiting room.

He sat with a clipboard on one bouncing knee, pen in one hand and a girl's in his other. She was crying, and he was looking away from you, whispering to her. You walked over to the wall against which their chairs were pressed.

"Josh" was all you managed in greeting.

He turned at once, startled, and rose to his feet. "Y/n."

"How are–"

"Fine," Josh interjected, voice kind and soft. Your shoulders dropped, relieved of the weight of whatever other news you were expecting. In a voice just as reassuring, Josh continued, "They're fine. They're only being checked for whiplash."

"I'm sorry." The blurted confession came from the dark-haired girl Josh had been comforting. At first, you hadn't recognized her through the makeup stains her tears had left down her face, but then you subconsciously identified her as Harry's girlfriend. You'd only met her once before, and her name evaded you.

Through hardly suppressed sobs she explained that the accident hadn't been as bad as she'd probably made it seem over the phone. She was shocked, the other car had cut them off so suddenly, and she thought that everything had been much worse than it really was. She'd phoned Simon immediately after calling for an ambulance, and couldn't even remember what she'd told him while hysterical.

"It's alright, I'd rather have them better off than we'd thought than the opposite," Josh promised her.

You agreed, gave Harry's girlfriend a hug and reminded her that everything was gine. She and Josh settled back into their seats, but you stalled, asking, "Where's Simon?"

"Off somewhere. The bathroom, maybe, he didn't say. Went off ages ago though..."

"I'll go track him down," you told Josh. And then, not exactly sure where you were headed, you turned and walked out of the waiting room.

+ + +

"Simon."

His detailed text directions had brought you to him after a five-or-so minute hunt, and he looked up at you when he heard you call his name from the threshold of the otherwise deserted waiting room. You were two floors above where your friends were, a part of the building that seemed particularly quiet.

Simon was sitting in a chair up against the far wall like Josh had been, hands folded, head tucked, and elbows resting on his knees, until he heard your voice.

His distraught expression beckoned you when his silence prevailed.

"Oh, God, love, they're alright, you know." You kneeled in front of him after crossing the room, lifting his chin so you could look him in the eye. Every stretch of his skin was pale, and his eyes were weary and restless all at once.

Simon swallowed thickly, ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I know."

"Then why on earth do you look like someone's died?"

Simon pulled away from your touch and stood, crossing the room toward another wall. He rested his back against it, looked up at the ceiling, and bit back the tears you knew he was refusing to let himself cry.

"I don't know, I just..." Simon trailed off when his voice broke. Then, he swallowed and started again. "When she called... I don't know what I was thinking. She sounded so scared, and I thought... I don't know. Life's so short, you know?"

You allowed him his space, because you knew that that was what he wanted. You always knew what Simon wanted.

He dropped his head to pin you with his tortured gaze. "That could've been you, coming back from the airport. That could've been us."

"Si," you whispered, losing your resolve and going to him at last. His hands held in yours, you said, "You can't start worrying yourself over what could've been, or even what could be. You'll drive yourself crazy." He stared down at his shoes, flush with your own, and you were reminded of your closeness to him. It encouraged you. "It's okay to have been scared, those boys are like your brothers. But you can't be scared for the rest of your life."

Simon exhaled a humorless laugh and stared at an invisible something over your head. "I know. You're right. God, I'm being such a baby about this, it's embarrassing."

"It's not," you promised him,the pad of your thumb tracing circles across the back of his hand. "It just means you love your friends, there's nothing wrong with that. It's a good thing, in fact. Emotion."

Simon locked his eyes with yours, and you were mesmerized by their intensity. His hands tugged yours until even the little distance that had been between you before evaporated, and he tucked his head so that his lips could meet yours. He kissed you with revitalizing strength, curled his arms around you in an embrace that was even stronger.

"I need you," he murmured at last. "I'd be insane if I ever believe that I don't. Thanks for coming when I called."

"Whenever, Simon. You know that."