"I'm used to being seen through but it feels so bad when it happens with you." // OxO // CLOSED! (Stalkers get ravioli)

"I- Unfortunately I do know that, yeah." He sighed exasperatedly. "I just meant that you are physically still here in one form or another somehow, and honestly you seem both physically and mentally more like a living human than a dead ghost, so it would be both physically possible for you to kiss me, and not weird, so therefore you should've." He rambled on for far longer than he'd meant to, and ended at a conclusion that he also hadn't meant to end up saying outright. That tended to happen to him a lot.

Simon was silent for a moment. Then he opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, he said, “I’m not really sure what to say to that.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, I do. I think you talk too much for your own good.”

Beckett nodded quickly, practically feeling his face light on fire. "Yup. Yeah." He began shuffling away from the stairs and toward his bedroom, deciding that this had been quite embarrassing, and he'd rather hole up in his room for the rest of the day than continue digging his own grave- pun not intended.

"Beckett," Simon called after him. "I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me to say," he said, picking his words carefully. "It's just- You'll get older. And I won't. That's all. You can go mope in your room now."

Beckett stood up, peaking down the stairs again. "Yeah- Nonono you're right, don't apologize. Just forget I said anything about it?" He asked hopefully.

"I don't think I'll forget," Simon said, his voice quiet. "But like I said earlier, it doesn't matter." He turned away from Beckett and laid to the couch, stretching out against the length of it.

With a heavy sigh, Beckett began trudging down the stairs instead of heading to his room. He took a seat on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What do you want, Simon?" His tone was raw, and he gazed at the stairs as he spoke. He was genuinely unsure how Simon felt about all… this, and it definitely wasn't helping him figure out how to react.

"I don't know." He tilted his head so he could look at Beckett. "I don't know," he repeated. "I want a lot of things. But I can't have them. So I don't know."

"Like what?" His mild exasperation showed in his voice. "C'mon, just tell me. Please." He tacked on the 'please' after a short pause, almost as an afterthought.

"And what if I don't tell you?" Simon asked, mostly just to be annoying.

Beckett hummed softly. "Then I'll come up with more creative ways to ask. And your chances of actually getting it would go way down."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon asked. He thought of an answer to his own question, then squashed it down a moment later.

"Which part are you confused about? I thought I was pretty clear." Immediately after posing the question, he realized that they were getting off-topic. "Nevermind, just- c'mon, just tell me."

“I’m not going to tell you. You can whine and beg, but you won’t get anything out of it,” he said, glaring at Beckett. “I don’t see why you need to know.”

Beckett finally turned around and faced him, sighing in frustration. "Why not? You know literally everything about me, please?"

“You could find out everything about me. I was in the newspaper a few times. Once for a Lego sculpture, once for making it on the national chess team, and once for dying.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest.

"You-you really made it to the national chess team?" His gaze up at Simon changed to a look of mild impressment, before he shook his head and pulled his focus back to the topic at hand. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Why would I make something like that up? And I'm not telling you because I don't feel like it. Why do you care so much?"

Beckett shrugged. "Because I'm curious! And if you tell me, I could probably help you get it. You're stuck here, so might as well make it as enjoyable for you as possible, right?" He had a suspicion of what it might be, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions.

"There are a lot of things!" Simon said, irked. "And part of the problem is that I'm stuck here."

Beckett sighed, running a hand through his hair and looking away. "Sorry. I just…" He paused, unsure of how to voice what he wanted to. In the end, he just gave up. "Nevermind."

"Beckett. If you want to say something, just say it, for God's sake." Simon threw a pillow at him.

"Hey!" Beckett yelped, grabbing the pillow and throwing it right back at Simon. "Shut your mouth, I don't have anything to say."

"You had that look on your face. You did." He deflected the pillow with his arm. "I can tell."

"Alright, well I'm not gonna say anything if you aren't either." He crossed his arms, looking up at Simon with a look that seemed half pout, half smirk.

Simon raised one eyebrow. "Alright then." Under his breath, he said, "We'll see how long this lasts."

Beckett heard him mumble something, but he hadn't made out what it was. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? I just asked what you want."

"I don't know. Because everything I want is a bad idea. Because it doesn't matter. I'll be stuck here forever anyways." He looked at Beckett and sat up on the couch, crossing his legs.

"Jeez, okay. Pessimist." He exhaled heavily. "I'm trying to make sure you don't go insane from boredom, you gotta work with me here. Tell me what you want, and I can probably get you most of it. Or some of it, at least."

"I don't want things, Beckett. I want ideas. Or. . . thoughts. It's hard to explain." He didn't look at Beckett and instead at Zelda.