Luke and Simon | Evening
Simon came the the Turning for the same reasons he always did; the food and drink were free, and his mother would scold him if he didn't. He came to watch Cal speak (twice!) and to show him, through his presence alone, support. Attention. He stopped himself short of love, not because he didn't feel it, but because it was uncomfortable. A stranger in his heart, in some ways. At least the love he felt for Calvin Llewellyn.
The love he had for Lukas Fox, though, was old and worn. It was a well-loved sweater with too many holes, but too comfortable to throw away. It went on easy, and smelled familiar. He pulled it over it head as he saw his brother kneeling in the firelight, already bare-chested, and sauntered towards him. Simon, for his lack of holiday cheer, was wearing slacks and a button down (kept on mostly by the few buttons still closed at the center). There was a flower someone had insisted he have shoved into his pocket, beaming up sunnily at anyone who might notice.
"Setting the bar high, don't you think?" He jabbed Luke teasingly in the ribs, and offered him his own (half) full mug of ale.