author's note. I'm on a roll recently, two stories in two days? Yeah there's no way I can keep this up, haha. Anyway... I'm a Ralph/Simon shipper, I always have been. I'm not even sure why, but they're sweet. Hence, this fic.

disclaimer. I still don't own anything. :D

No one has ever loved but you and I.

- William Butler Yeats, "The Ragged Wood"

The gray of the pavement is carpeted with fallen leaves; the street is a drifting sea of fire and sunlight. For the past five years, Ralph has found solace in the passage of seasons, in the knowledge that he left eternal summer back on the island. He welcomes the return of the chill winds that bite at his ears and rejoices at the first sight of frost clinging to his windowpane. It is when he walks in civilization and feels the cold air on his skin that Ralph is most sure he's still alive.

Next to him on the rickety wooden fence, Simon tucks an orange maple leaf behind his ear. It contrasts drastically with the inky black of his hair, and draws attention to the scar on the side of his face. Down the street, the autumn fair is in full swing.

"We could go over to the fair," Ralph says, unsure of himself in the steady silence.

Simon looks over at him with a small smile on his face and that leaf nestled in his hair, looking comically out-of-place. His amber-gold eyes are luminous in the fading sunlight. Autumn eyes, Ralph calls them fondly.

"We could," Simon agrees in that way only he can.

Ralph shrugs, feigning nonchalance. He tries not to let on that Simon is basically the center of his world, that his thoughts and whims govern Ralph's life. He knows he's deluding himself, though; Simon always knows. "Or we could stay here."

The smaller boy hums in response, swinging his feet back and forth. The heels of his school-issued shoes drum out a soothing beat against the fence. Sometimes it's only these little actions that convince Ralph that Simon is real — not an idealized figment of his imagination but a fourteen year old boy who's lucky as hell to still be alive.

He turns to watch Simon's gaze follow the sweeping arc of the Ferris wheel across the horizon. The leaf is tucked behind his ear like the flame of a candle, accenting the sweeping arc of the scar across his cheek. A familiar tightness is curling in Ralph's chest. Everyone from the island has scars, but Simon's are the worst, the most wrong. He's too young, too good to have such awful scars.

The Ferris wheel circles steadily in the distance, leaving bold smudges of red, blue, yellow, and green against the pastel sky. Simon is smiling that quiet, lovely smile Ralph lives for, adores more with every heartbeat. He reaches out with one hand and runs his fingers through the younger boy's coarse dark hair, smiling too in spite of himself. If Simon's happy, then for now, he is too.

"I love you," Ralph says, pressing a kiss to the scar on the side of his face. The world dissolves in the background, and for a moment there is just the two of them and the pastel sky.

Simon smiles at him, capturing the sunset in his autumn eyes, and says, "I know."