I'd hate you if I could {Percy}

[PERCY YEATS]

Percy's face was rapidly gaining more color than it had probably seen in weeks; he was blushing to his ears and down into the collar of his shirt. His lips were pursed and twisted at the corners into a grimace of discomfort, and he kept playing nervously with the edge of Simon's desk, drawing circles with a fingernail and stubbornly avoiding eye contact. Stupid fucking feelings and stupid Simon; it was all his fault.

"Yes, well," he huffed, scowling down at Simon, face growing pinker still. He crossed his arms over his chest in a typical show of Percy: PISSED, but his expression wasn't really angry, per say...

Just embarrassed, perhaps, and nervous, and there was a somewhat hysterical look in his eyes because he wasn't entirely sure what all this meant for them or what Simon expected or whether or not he could deal with the horror that was a Relationship.

"Well, there," he muttered, looking to the side and tucking his chin in and down sulkily. "I said it and I m-meant it... so... so quit crying." He snatched up a tissue and reached forward, thumbing some wetness from the other's cheek briskly. "And quit snorting coke," he added with a frown. "It's bad for you."