Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lad. You told us this was team building, yeah?”

“And your point is?” Josh replied, his eyes steadily aimed downwards whilst he zipped up his green boiler suit. As with most endeavours that Josh Bradley turned his mind to, it was with a laser focus which few could alter the course of, even when it came to the most superficial and subconscious of tasks.

Ethan Payne was not so disciplined, and nor was he feeling so serious.

Raising a ginger eyebrow, Ethan gestured to his own boiler suit - a sunburn shade of red. Indeed, it was almost the same shade as an enraged Ethan after a game of Mario Kart. “You’ve planned a game where two of us are going around murdering people, and the rest of us have to accuse each other like it’s a bloody witch trial. That is not the team spirit!”

The taller man spun around to face his accuser, with his eyes sharpened and an articulated reply clearly on the tip of his tongue - though before a word could escape the confines of his throat, Ethan beat him to the punch.

“At least I don't look like a fucking frog,” Ethan taunted, miming a mic drop.

A beat of silence passed before a toothy and self-satisfied smile broke out across Ethan’s face - satisfied with the delivery of the insult he'd made, almost like a younger brother seeking attention in how he prodded and provoked the elder man. 

Several seconds passed before Josh’s own lips curled upwards in a closed-lipped smile (until each corner touched each side of his cheekbones); coupled with an empty stare, Josh’s face was indeed sinister to behold.

Ethan gulped – and promptly ran.

The only keen witness to this interaction stood on the opposite side of the sun-bleached terrace: Simon. The blond Sideman, himself dressed in an iceberg white boiler suit, rolled his eyes at the ridicule - though he was hardly unsurprised at the whole affair. Indeed, if the Sidemen were akin to family, then Simon considered himself the ever-suffering middle child, forever escaping the limelight (which in situations such as these perhaps had its benefits, he reasoned).

The Sidemen Exec team had been told little about what was in store for them on this day, being their away day; such events fell under the purview of Josh, who relished the opportunity to plan unique, if often mildly traumatising, activities under the guise of ‘team-building.’ Indeed, there weren't many annual dates in his calendar which caused Simon to shiver with mild-dread, the kind of dread one would associate with the dentist or the car service you've been putting off.

With good reason.

He'd attended enough of these days now to suspect Josh was secretly a sadist, since half the games seemed more to serve the purposes of tormenting or sheer entertainment value than to bring their team closer together - if the Sidemen Exec team did gel together better as a result, it was likely due to shared trauma than anything else. Such dread explained why the curtains of secrecy were only pulled apart until the very last second, thus preventing the team from protesting at the day’s events.

Most of the time, Simon thought Josh’s events to be somewhere on the spectrum of 'fun' - or perhaps that was the Stockholm Syndrome talking – and had been successful, judging by the way their company had but grown in its success in its last five years.

Though the less said of their canal boat ‘adventure’, the better.

The team-bonding events had begun in their company’s infancy, the product of a board meeting wherein Josh had declared both loudly and proudly that Sidemen Enterprises would never be conventional – a quality he wanted to extend to their chosen methods of team-bonding.

From where Simon was stood, watching two of its CEOs chasing each other around the courtyard screaming like schoolchildren, he was quite frankly inclined to agree.

Sidemen Enterprises would never be conventional, and yet he wouldn’t change a thing.

….well, perhaps one or two things.

Shaking his head fondly, Simon turned to face the slowly growing group of his colleagues had begun to assemble. They trickled out from the somewhat-dilapidated country house, clustering in a circle like a bowl of lucky charms. It did not take long for the ensemble to begin hurling insults – between bouts of laughter – at the troublesome duo chasing each other around the gardens.

They’d now made it down the stairs to the lawn, Ethan still shrieking in mock-horror (though his fierce grin and wide smile had yet to falter).

A glimpse of blue out of the corner of Simon’s eye promptly stole his attention however – for such a shade of blue was near-exclusively reserved for one person only.

Finally exiting through the glass doors were Harry – dressed in a baby-blue boiler suit which didn't quite match the colour of the young man's eyes, but it was hard for any sort of dye to capture the ocean at its brightest, or the ripest of blueberries – and Cal, who was in a far plainer dove-grey boiler suit. Neither man had glanced up at the sound of raucous laughter nor screams, far from it. 

Instead, their heads were inclined closely together, as if Harry and Cal thought the most interesting thing in the world to be each other. The pair were evidently thicker than thieves judging by their close proximity, but there was no loving tinge to their glances nor clandestine touches which may have hinted at something more. 

Such obliviousness meant both men were unaware of how Simon curiously watched their progress. To see such evidence of their close bond caused a warm feeling to wash over Simon's body, the kind of warmth spent when sat too closely to a crackling fire; whilst he knew only fragments of Cal's full history with Harry, Simon nevertheless relished the evidently close bond - it was evidence of the support network his young lover had steadily built alongside a fresh life in London after the turmoil of his youth.

It was proof that Harry was one of the strongest men he knew.

Cal and Harry eventually came to a halt by the low garden wall, their eyes finally drifting upwards towards the full extent of the gardens; by now, Ethan and Josh better resembled M&M sweets given how distant they’d found themselves, but were nevertheless still audible.

“Hard to believe we report to them,” Cal chuckled to Harry dryly, their conversation finally audible enough for Simon to snatch more than a syllable or two. The taller man’s hands rested firmly on his hips, deriding the scene below them with a roll of his eyes and a scoff from his lips.

Simon’s own eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t quite close his mouth in time before his impulsive tongue sparked life into the words that sat on his lips, just begging to be spoken. He wouldn’t tolerate overt disrespect, after all.

“We also pay your checks, so less of the criticism thank you Cal,” Simon called out, loudly enough so that a curious set of eyes or two drifted from the gardens and towards the new potential source of drama; never let it be said that Sidemen Enterprises was above usual workplace drama, after all. 

None of the founding members claimed to be above petty squabbles; rather, they relished it.

Selfish satisfaction bloomed through Simon like spilt coffee as he watched the lean and limber blond PA practically jump out of his skin with surprise at the intervention, not that Simon kept his eyes on him for long; all too quickly, his gaze slyly shifted to face Harry - who didn’t even so much as flinch at Simon’s intrusion.

Instead, a soppy wide grin cracked across Harry’s face, which only grew as Simon strolled across the courtyard to confront the pair.

Even six months into their relationship, Simon’s heart still seemed to skip a beat at the sight of his boyfriend, even dressed in such a ridiculous get-up as this; judging by the way the pupils of Harry’s eyes sparkled like Whitby jet, Simon was confident that the affection was more than returned.

Though, that didn’t mean teasing and tormenting was off the table.

Far from it.

“Are you denying us our freedom of speech? Our first amendment rights?” The younger man challenged, staring up towards Simon with a steeliness in his gaze and a sliver of rebellion in his voice.

Simon shook his head fondly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “We’re not in America, nor are we US citizens, so that doesn’t apply.”

The younger man screwed up his nose in response, at which Simon could only laugh heartily. His head leaned back in delight as he laughed aloud, golden specks of stubble glistening in the frigid sun.

“I thought that would work,” Harry grumbled, though with the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Simon simply raised an eyebrow. “No you didn’t, sweetheart,” he teased, leaning in closer into the younger man’s space, deeply inhaling the fragrant linger of Harry’s white musk aftershave. “You just like putting up a fight. You get it from all those rubbish American police sitcoms you make me watch.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows in response, leaning forwards to settle a hand gently upon Simon’s waist. The touch was not firm, but neither was it a ghostly touch, just enough to confirm its presence. “You know I do.”

(Not that either man noticed, but Cal had withdrawn by this point, muttering under his breath about the public displays of affection in the workplace).

A second later, however, Harry’s eyes widened in a comical fashion - having just processed the latter half of Simon’s comment, the veiled insult presented within the beautiful wrapping of a compliment. Whether consciously or not, Simon couldn't be sure (not that he truly cared), Harry retaliated by immediately tighened his grip on Simon's waist.

The elder man didn't so much as flinch at the touch, instead he bodily shivered at the bold possessiveness of it.

“Wait a second, you watch them too!" Harry protested, voice already rising in pitch. "You can’t call them trashy-“

“I watch them so I can spend time with you,” Simon replied, his voice shrill. “And having watched them, I can comfortably say they are trashy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“Not necessarily!” Simon cried, throwing his hands up in the air in fond exasperation. His limbs were airborne but for a moment, after which they fell upon Harry’s shoulders, looping around the back of his neck lazily.

Bringing one hand closer, he began to play with the hairs at the napes of Harry’s neck, savouring the silkiness of Harry’s burnt golden locks. Just as it was difficult to exactly pin the shade of Harry’s eyes, Simon again struggled to do the same for his boyfriend’s hair – it seemed to change colours between seasons, sometimes a straw-coloured blond and others a hazelnut brunette.

What never changed was the way it felt beneath his fingers, nor how it seemed to burn brightly when illuminated by the rays of the sun – indeed, Harry's hair could shine as brightly as a candle in church in the pitch black of night.

Harry harrumphed, evidently unimpressed (though Simon could now feel the way in which Harry rubbed circles around Simon’s waist). “At least it’s better than the pretentious bullshit you made us watch last week.”

“Do you mean Pride and Fucking Prejudice, a literary classic-“

A pointed cough interrupted Simon’s monologue, causing him to stumble backwards from Harry’s warm and inviting embrace.

Glancing backwards, he noticed the entire Sidemen Executive team had now gathered in a semicircle, each bearing a more incredulous expression than the last – even Ethan and Josh were back amongst the group, albeit panting more heavily than if they'd ran a marathon.

Simon didn’t need a mirror to know a blush was in the process of bleeding across his cheeks – though a quick glance out the corner of his eye confirmed Harry was just as flushed red. His lips stammered, paralysed with indecision (when in all honestly, all his thoughts were directed towards putting his lips to a different kind of use entirely). 

Before either of the couple could speak, a figure decidedly stepped out from the audience, dressed in a sharp suit and not a boiler suit like the rest of the group. His silhouette carried both the sternness as well as the weariness of a school teacher, and the haircut to boot.

Simon’s own PA – swapping the meetings for the chance to MC today’s games.

“Thank you lovebirds,” Stephen announced drolly, before angling his body back towards the group. “Now, the rules for Among Us are fairly simple, so even you lot should get it.”

The ensuring outcry at the pointed jab was the distraction Simon needed - stepping closer once again to Harry, he snaked his hand outwards until it gently nudged against Harry’s own; their synchrony was silent, as each manoeuvred until their hands were firmly entwined, as closely as knotted string.

The procedure was seamless, evidently a well-practised gesture, and neither needed to shift their gazes from where they were fixed ahead. The touch was more than familiar to Simon now, it was necessary. 

He no longer felt whole unless his hand was holding that of another, carrying its weight for the world to see.

Simon squeezed the palm tucked in his gently. Seconds later, a gentle squeeze was returned by Harry’s hand.

Both men smiled, for they knew what the wordless gesture meant – it harkened back to the most sacred of promises to each other, made in a winter wherein the atmosphere had been alive with opportunity, and perhaps a snowball fight or two.

Game on.

Chapter Text

After talking through the rules three times, his voice growing more clipped and higher in pitch with every repetition, Stephen eventually signalled with his head slung in his hands that he was ready. Either that, or he'd recognised the attempts at explaining were moot.

“Just play the game,” Stephen muttered under his breath as he walked away from the group, after a forceful exhale of breath from his lungs. “Jesus, hard to believe you lot run a million-pound business.”

Simon snorted, but offered no criticism – he was inclined to agree.

(Though it was closer to a billion than a million, if he was going to be pedantic)

Each person had been given an envelope, colour-coded to match their boiler suits, and told to promptly shut their eyes – only to open them again if they were imposters for that upcoming round.

Whilst his eyes were screwed shut – for Simon’s card had read crewmate – he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and from his heels to the balls of his feet. His ears were piqued, listening for any indication as to who the two imposters for that round may be. Though some muffled snickering could be heard, it was too quiet to be certain of who’d exactly spoken – not that Simon was paying close attention. Whilst he’d set out with the good intentions of listening closely, Simon’s mind had drifted off-track like a leaf in the breeze…

…and almost all his thoughts ended with Harry Lewis – specifically, thinking back to the house tour they’d been given, and where might be best to corner the younger man.

The basement area seemed pretty abandoned. If I walk around with Harry, Simon internally mused, his mind flashing with suggestions of just what the pair might get up to. Perhaps we can find a nice dark corner where we can-

“LET THE GAMES BEGIN,” Stephen’s yell tore through Simon’s concentration, causing the elder man’s eyelids to flutter open.

Temporarily overwhelmed by the sudden influx of bright light and the raucous conversation that had already broken out, Simon stood paralysed. Blinking slowly, his ears picked up on several voices chirping away, deciding whether they wanted to partner up or venture out on their own.

The disorientation was brief, but long enough. By the time Simon’s eyes had readjusted to the light that shone from the extraordinarily-bright March sun, and had managed to tune out the background noise, he noticed the space to his right was empty.

A space that had been taken up by one Harry Lewis.

Swivelling his head from side to side, his gaze cast over the group like casting a line on a hook. It took several seconds of searching – for there were a few blond herrings in the crowd – until his search struck gold.

The success was lacking in its sweetness however, for Harry was already walking into the manor house with Will Lenney.

For a second or two, Simon debated chasing after the younger man – such was the pull he felt to Harry, even down to a molecular level. His feet even moved a step forwards, as if making the decision for themselves. It took all his concentration to fix his limbs in place until they felt heavier than concrete, and to watch Harry walk away.

Simon watched with the mimicry of a smile on his face.

Not that Simon had confessed as such yet to Harry, but he missed having the younger man so close; he recalled their days working together with an emotion stronger than mere fondness, it felt more like a deep-seated craving which could never be sated.

It was not with rose-coloured glasses that Simon recalled the last year. It was not just the secret smiles and knowing looks in meetings he missed, but the disagreements and even the impassioned arguments they’d have in his office. Harry had this habit of pouting ever-so slightly when he disagreed with Simon but wouldn’t say why – which Simon adored. He didn’t see it often enough at home.

When it came to Harry Lewis, Simon wanted it all.

His absence therefore left footprints even a T-Rex could not fill. Stephen Lawson, as adept and knowledgeable as a PA could possibly be, still wasn’t quite Simon’s shadow – even now, when Simon turned to his left, it was expecting to see Harry by his side.

It was no fault of Stephen’s own.

Simon breathed out slowly, swallowing the possessive and jealous words which sat on his lips – for there was nothing really to be jealous of in the first place. There was nothing romantic in the way Will Lenney looked at Harry – much in the same way that Cal looked at Harry, both with such fondness that Simon wondered how both had room in their hearts for another that wasn’t Harry.

“Come on lad,” Simon was able to catch the final audible snippets as Will wandered into the house, dragging Harry by the arm as he walked. “We can’t all moon after our boyfriends.”

Slowing down ever-so slightly, Harry turned to look over his shoulder.

For a single beat of his heart, their eyes met – and all the background noise faded away, the edges of his vision blurred; all that was in focus was Harry’s face, his features open and warm, and the softest curl of his lips into the sweetest of smiles.

It was simultaneously an eternity and far too short, for their gaze was shattered with a single blink – and Simon was left watching as Harry disappeared into the depths of the manor house, though not before he offered a brief wave as farewell.

Simon was left alone in the courtyard, though he found the rays of sunlight didn’t pierce his skin as warmly as they had done so before.

With his source of perpetual distraction removed, Simon’s mind turned back to the game at hand, and to determining who might be the imposters – and he turned back around to face the crowd still gathered in the courtyard.

(He didn’t just dismiss suspicion of Will and Harry, it was never raised to begin with; it never occurred to Simon that either, or both of the men, could have been the imposters for the game)

As he panned a wary eye over the barely-controlled chaos, Simon stood, weighing up his options. He wondered what an imposter might look like, might do. Would they appear shifty, or try to shirk attention from the ensemble?

Who could keep a secret at Sidemen Enterprises?

Almost immediately, Simon’s gaze was drawn to the most solemn face in the crowd – it was not quite the epicentre, but that wasn’t Vik’s style. Instead, he preferred to stand aside, just out of focus, where he said the real influence lay.

Vik’s eyes seemed to dissect each person assembled outside.

Without hesitation, Simon lifted up a hand and waved across. “Hey Vik! Want to go do some tasks?”

Whilst Vik’s eyes did pan over in Simon’s direction, the shorter man seemed not to notice him – and instead turned on his heel and entered the building alone. Simon shrugged at the snub, figuring that perhaps Vik just hadn’t noticed Simon from where he stood (though the courtyard hadn't been that crowded).

“Hey Si!”

Turning towards the sound of the exclamation, Simon’s eyes met with the dark hazelnut gaze of Tobi’s; sauntering over, his hands slung in his pocket, Tobi shook his head in shared amusement. “I love these guys, but they are a bit much.”

Simon was inclined to agree. JJ and Josh stood aside, seemingly winding each other up – if the ever-wider body movements were anything to go by. Meanwhile, Ethan had cornered both Cal and Lux, the three of them loudly scheming about who to sabotage first.

None of them struck him as imposter-material.

Yet.

He would just have to wait and see.

To his side, Tobi seemed just as entertained. “Come on then,” Simon eventually said to his shorter friend. “These tasks won’t do themselves.”

The pair worked efficiently, ticking tasks off with a brutal efficiency – though accompanied by a soundtrack of gentle laughter and teasing. The activities were akin to a soothing balm to Simon, not just with their level of ease, but also with the company.

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Tobi had just had fun together.

The only dampener on such joy however was the rest of the manor’s occupants.

As Simon and Tobi travelled the length of the manor to complete their tasks, the pair encountered the other groups frequently. Simon idly took note of each group they passed; at first, he tracked the groups to gauge who might have been imposter-material, though he came to an entirely different conclusion after a while.

Since Josh had not prescribed the groups for the game, the Sidemen Exec fell into their natural social patterns and work divide – Sidemen walked around with Sidemen, and PAs walked around with PAs.

Not exactly oil and water, but hardly natural bedfellows either.

The thought sat with Simon like a stone in his shoe. It lingered at the back of his mind whilst they completed their third task of the round – a rewiring task – and Simon could feel the question slowly crawl up his throat, his teeth already creaking open to vocalise the worries that had slowly seeped into Simon’s head.

As the pair continued through the corridor (having just passed Josh and Vik walking together, their heads bent in deep conversation), Simon felt as if his chest would burst from the question that sat unanswered.

He opened his mouth to speak, when-

“Come on Si, I think there’s a balancing task in here-“ Tobi began, though his words stuttered to a halt as soon as he turned the corner and reached the entrance to the room in question. As Simon was only a few steps behind his colleague, it only took a further few seconds for him to learn just why.

He heard the chaos before he saw it.

At the centre of the room stood a make-shift see-saw, each side tilting upwards and downwards like the gentle flap of a bird’s wing. The motion was in part caused by the hoarse laugher of its occupants, the miniature gusts of winds off-setting the equilibrium that seemed to be the intended task.

Simon reckoned if he looked hard enough, there was a metaphor to be found in there somewhere.

“Well,” Tobi joked. “I didn’t expect this.” He spoke with mirth in his tone, staring right ahead at the carnage unfolding before their very eyes. Glancing out the corner of his eye, Simon noted the relaxed slouch in Tobi’s stance, at how at ease his friend was.

He frowned. Doubt crept in like a rolling fog over the mountains.

Am I just overthinking this?

A loud screech caused Simon to flicker back up to the see-saw. Both Harry and Randy were settled at one end, both men holding onto the makeshift-seat with vice-grips. At the other end of the mechanism sat Lux and Cal, with Will stood in the middle as their unofficial-MC.

“Come on lads,” Harry rolled his eyes so loudly that even Simon fancied he could hear it. “Move your arses backwards.”

There was the sound of barely-suppressed laughter to Simon’s right, though it did not reach his ears. His attention had been well and truly snatched by the drama unfurling before his eyes.

Both Cal and Lux’s jaws dropped, and simultaneous fires lit in their eyes. “It’s not us, it’s you two! Maybe you need to go on a diet!”

“Hey! Uncalled for!” Randy interjected, though without a trace of hurt. “If Will got in with you guys though, you’d all get papercuts!”

The barbs were hurled faster than sling-shots, but each seemed to land with a gentle blow; if anything, each insult only seemed to cause each smile to crack wider, until their collective grins were bright enough to illuminate the entire room.

Simon watched the scene with a solemn, almost wanting, sort of gaze.

The Sidemen had been similar in the beginning, when Sidemen Enterprises was just meant to be fun. An experiment. Expectations have a funny way of weighing a person down, however, and slowly Simon felt all the youthful energy squeezed out – until he was but a husk, all his essence bottled up and sold.

It had taken its toll on the Sidemen. All of them.

And yet, the PAs seemed to survive without cracks in their facades – or perhaps they were all a bunch of beautiful liars. What could not be denied was the strength of their bond had only grown right under Simon’s nose for five years.

Perhaps it could rival that of the Sidemen’s.

Simon’s eyes narrowed at the sight before him, watching their easy smiles and lines of sight. There was something that most of the room shared in common.

If the PAs were a universe, then Harry was the star at its very centre - if all their attentive glances towards Harry was anything to go by. Randy looked on with fond exasperation, Will looked on with a roll of his eyes, Lux looked on with a fire burning bright, and Cal looked on with sheer unbridled happiness.

They cared about him just as much as – if not more than – Simon.

“We’ll come back and do this one later, yeah?” Tobi suggested quietly, to which Simon silently flinched. In watching the group, he’d almost forgotten about the colleague – no, friend – stood to his side, one of the few who Simon wished he could be as close with.

Nodding his assent, Simon turned back out to the corridor – though not without one last glance towards Harry. In the entire time Simon and Tobi had stood at the boundary to the room, the younger man had not glanced towards the door once, a fact which Simon was more than aware of.

Glancing down to his right hand, Simon noted the task sheet held in its grip; the paper had been pristine at first, though it now sat crumbled as a ball tucked tight within his fist.

Simon frowned. “I think that was the last task we had on both our sheets. I’ve got a few more to do on my own.”

“Well then, good luck my friend.” Tobi raised a hand onto Simon’s shoulder, and gently squeezing it; the gesture lasted several seconds, for it was accompanied by a look in the eyes from Tobi which Simon didn’t want to read into in the slightest. Eventually, Tobi lowered his hand, and left it to hand by his side. Only after offering a warm smile did he turn and retrace their steps, leaving Simon the path as yet untrodden up ahead.

Away from the laughter.

Now alone in the corridor, Simon glanced down at the task sheet. The writing had since smudged a bit, so he couldn’t be entirely sure of what it involved.

Just that it had something to do with a rubber duck.

After placing down the rubber duck back into the pool, Simon turned his attention back to the list of tasks clutched in his left hand. “Still got to balance the scales,” he mumbled idly, though the sound of distant laughter echoing through the maze of corridors meant his train of thought lost steam all too quickly.

He could hardly deny he’d drifted from room to room, idly hoping to find the younger man in each. Whilst Simon had spotted Harry earlier, it was not the most ideal of moments to take him by the hand, and to just be held for a moment or two.

Glancing upwards, Simon caught a glimpse of his reflection in a dusty mirror – and noticed a fond smile unconsciously painted upon his face, which only grew as he realised just why he smiled so.

He chuckled under his breath, slouching against the nearest wall to catch his breath – and to further observe his love-struck reflection in the mirror. Even the thought of Harry caused Simon’s eyes to dilate, and for a dust of pink to highlight his cheeks.

Simon may have been dating Harry for six months now, but every day still felt like the very first time they’d met. Their paths first crossed years ago, in a chance-meeting that Simon could still recall with crystal clear clarity; they’d spoken for two or three minutes, nothing of monumental importance, and yet Simon had felt the very ground shift beneath his feet.

Nothing had been the same since.

Shaking his head to push such musings aside (though Harry was never truly far away, for his spectral shadow loomed large over every thought), Simon wandered back out to the corridor – similarly abandoned, though the echoes hinted at familiar faces around the corner, just out of view.

Listening closely, Simon identified JJ’s shrieking laugh ringing out in tandem with Josh’s own booming chortle – and such a chorus could only spell trouble when combined.

It was a sound he didn’t hear often enough these days.

The thought was both injected with happiness, and underlined in regret.

Turning promptly on his heels, Simon scurried down the corridor in the opposite direction to the chaos; his self-preservation instincts were kicking in, and he knew for a fact to avoid such a double act where possible, especially within the confines of this game.

Passing through the central atrium, with the red button at its centre, it occurred to Simon there’d been no meeting yet. Raising his wrist upwards, his eyebrows frowned at noticing the time that had passed according to his Rolex.

…maybe the bodies haven’t been found yet, Simon’s mind chipped in unhelpfully.

It was with a more careful gesture that he lowered his arm, eyes scanning each corridor with a newly-found vigilance. His feet tiptoed softly towards the nearest corridor with a more hesitant pace than before, head inclined to the side so that he might hear more clearly.

A hoarse laugh took him by surprise, one that was all too familiar to Simon. It was a laugh that now echoed daily through his apartment, one he was attuned to like it was his favourite radio station.

With a smile tugging on his lips, Simon changed directions, turning back the way he came and towards the central staircase.

Just as he passed through the final passageway, leading into the reasonably-sized landing, Simon felt a hand settle upon his shoulder. Turning to his right, he was met with Ethan, a Cheshire-like grin on his co-founder’s face.

He and Ethan were not naturally compatible, far from it – instead, Simon found himself naturally closest with Josh and Tobi based on their personalities, or with JJ due to their shared history.

And yet, he was deceptively close to Ethan given the relative overlaps of their business interests; one did not manage a championship-league football club together without learning what makes the other tick. Whilst Simon couldn’t confess to spending a great deal of time with Ethan outside of working hours, within the confines of the office was a different matter entirely – indeed, Simon knew Ethan’s work ethic better than most, and through years of experience had developed a near-omniscient level of understanding of the younger man.

It was possible to distinguish between every kind of smile, every kind of look – and right now, Ethan’s face bore a sharp-looking smile that would suit a crocodile ever so nicely.

In sum, such a smile did not bode well.

Simon was already staggering backwards on autopilot before his mind flashed red with klaxons, hands stretched outwards so his fingertips dragged along the peeling wallpaper.

“Ethan, don’t you-“ was all Simon had time to say before the younger man snatched the plastic knife from his side, and to prod at Simon’s chest with it.

Simon panned downwards to the plastic knife, and upwards to Ethan.

“Fuck.”

It took five minutes before Randy stumbled across his body, quite literally.

Despite the instruction to ‘play dead,’ Simon couldn’t help but fold himself up and wheeze at where Randy had unintentionally tripped over his body – he’d practically been kicked in the stomach, and the dull ache threatened to turn his stomach inside-out.

“Oh god I’m so sorry Mr Minter-“ Randy cried out, hands outstretched as if to help Simon to his feet.

Usually, Simon kept a tight rein on the perpetual simmer of fury beneath the porcelain façade – though given the pain ricocheting through his chest, it was safe to say he’d let go of the reins, and the horses were ready to bolt.

“Call the meeting-“ he hissed, rolling onto his back so as to direct a steely gaze upwards at Randy.

A flicker out the corner of his eye meant Simon was glad he’d been wearing a boiler suit, and not the designer shirt and jeans he’d initially arrived in.

His arms were too busy wrapped around his stomach to point a finger in outrage, though if he’d felt less pain he likely would have felt melodramatically-compelled enough to do so.

The penny-drop moment was clear on the PA’s face; it took over a minute for him to seize the air-horn from his bag, of which Simon felt every second – though the pain had eased considerably by the time the alert was sounded.

At which point, Simon was distracted with a new kind of pain; his stomach may not have ached, but his ears were still ringing by the time the attendants led Simon into the meeting room.

It was a novel sensation, being dragged into the former library by the game’s attendants – which, Simon did admit, the grounds crew had done a good job of dressing up for the day – though there wasn’t much chance to appreciate the scenery when he was informed to play dead.

Simon frowned, but remained silent – and promptly lolled his head to the side, his eyes fused shut; though his eyes were tightly closed, he could nevertheless hear the rest of the team were being guided to their chairs, judging by the mutterings under their breath and barely-restrained swears.

After what felt like an eternity, a chorus of gasps sounded; it seems the team had finally been allowed to remove their blindfolds.

“So where did you find his body?” Harry called out almost immediately, an accusatory note in his tone of voice. “Who did it?”

Simon couldn’t help the small smile that broke out across his face at the immediate defence from his partner.

“They’d hardly admit it at the meeting lad,” Will snorted, which in turn sparked a chain reaction of taunts and laughter.

Whilst Randy near-yelled over the group to describe the exact circumstances in which he found Simon, he lost their focus all too quickly when mentioning he’d tripped over Simon. It only caused the group to hurl with laughter again.

“I bet it was you Randy,” Cal accused as soon as the room quietened once more – which only raised the furore back from the dead.

The questioning that followed was as if the Spanish Inquisition had been organised by the Muppets – voices spoke over each other, simultaneously hurling accusations whilst pleading their own innocence. Cal accused Randy, who had apparently been suspicious of Will, who in turn blamed JJ, who then pointed the finger at Stephen (who had to gently remind JJ that he wasn’t a part of the game).

And so forth – like a demented merry-go-round, the witch-hunt continued.

Though try as he might, it was difficult for Simon to figure out from voice alone who the other imposter might had been – their voices clashed too harshly, an inharmonious choir of dissent. He made sure to keep an ear out for Ethan, already aware of the ginger man’s guilt, though he didn’t seem to speak even once.

Bastard.

Even though Simon’s eyes were already closed, he screwed them shut even further – the only physical sign of his discontent; he could feel the headache coming on, both from the noise and from their inability to determine his true murderer.

All too soon, a timer sounded.

The votes were read out. Nobody had been eliminated.

Ethan got away with his murder.

“Well then,” Stephen’s voice rang out. “Let the game continue!”