Chapter Two: Mild Pain

"Happy birthday, Simon!"

Horace could barely contain his excitement. It was- as he had said- Simon's birthday today. At least, that was what he had decided. They couldn't remember their real birthdays, so it had been necessary to pick them for themselves. It was Christmas Eve as well- the day that they had arrived here, at the orphanage, one year ago. And today, Horace decided, would be a day that Simon would remember forever, the day that his best friend gave him the best present ever.

Simon looked up from a drawing that he was working on. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"How's it feel to be seven?"

Simon hummed, tapping at his paper. "Well, not much different from being six. And we don't actually know how old we are, really."

"Well, it's a pretty good guess." Horace traced a picture on the ground with the tip of his shoe. "Anyway, I'm getting you a present later today. I bet you'll like it."

Simon blinked. "But I didn't get you anything yesterday."

Yesterday, the two had decided, was Horace's birthday. Horace had insisted that he was the older of the two, and Simon, apparently realizing that Horace wouldn't give in on the issue, agreed to let Horace be one day older than him.

Horace smiled. "Whatever. I didn't want a present. Anyway, it's my job to give you stuff… or something. I mean, it's more important for me to give you things than the other way around."

Simon rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

"Boys?"

A saccharine-sweet voice wafted across the courtyard.

Ms. Roland. She wasn't too old- eighteen or nineteen, maybe, but she was the supervisor of the orphanage. She had been nice to the boys throughout this year, because they both took extreme care to follow her every instruction. Horace wasn't sure if Simon had noticed, but he had spotted some of the other boys sporting bruises that didn't look as if they came from ordinary activity. He wasn't trying to judge, of course. There were older kids here too; it was a rough place. But never mind that now.

"We'd better go," whispered Horace. Simon slowly got up, tucking the notebook under his arm.

"Coming, Ms. Roland!" Horace hollered, pulling Simon by the arm into the office.

"Well, boys. I have some news for you." Ms. Roland shuffled some papers on her desk. "No one has come to claim you, and the police have turned up nothing about your pasts so far. As a result, we have to give you new names and register you with the government. Now," she began, leaning closer to Horace, "for the last time. Are you sure that you don't remember your last name?"

"No, ma'am," said Horace, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Ms. Roland had already turned away. "And how about you, sweetie?" she asked Simon.

Simon shyly shook his head.

"Well then." Ms. Roland pulled a list out of her desk drawer. "In the "K's" already, I see… Hmm…. Kendrick… already taken… Kenney… Keyes! Alright, sweetie, your new name is Simon Keyes. And for you, Horace…"

"Can we be brothers?"

Simon and Ms. Roland both turned to look at Horace, the former with bewilderment crossing his face, and the latter with a knowing smirk.

"We're not brothers," said Simon, all shyness and sweetness gone from his voice.

"But then we can stay together… and if we get adopted, maybe they would take both of us."
Ms. Roland clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "Sorry, honey, but you two are obviously not related. It's against policy, anyway."

"But why?"

She frowned down at him, seeming to grow more huge with every second that she loomed down. "It doesn't matter. And anyway, honey. What's the first rule that I taught you when you arrived here?"

"Don't ask questions," he mumbled. Before, though, he had never thought to ask questions! Simon was the curious one. He was curious in a sneaky way, preferring to find things out in roundabout, quiet ways. Horace had asked questions for Simon, to the other boys at the orphanage, mainly. He didn't want Simon to get hurt by any of the bigger children, so he had asked whatever questions were necessary.

This was the first time that Horace had asked an adult a question. He had only done it because it was something that he wanted so desperately that he would risk whatever punishment awaited him. He wanted to be Simon's brother, to stay with him, to protect him forever and always from whatever might try to harm him.

And surely Simon wanted this too...

"It's just- ma'am…" Horace began, with all the decorum that he could muster, "I'd really like to be Simon's brother… it was supposed to be his birthday pre-"

"Enough."

Horace jumped back, shocked. Ms. Roland had never spoken to him in that tone of voice before. The supervisor of the orphanage sat hunched over her desk, muttering. "Nobody ever listens to me… why did he give me this job…"

Horace and Simon stood, waiting, for, it seemed, several minutes. Finally, Horace felt as though he couldn't wait any longer. "Ma'am, could I…"

Her blood-red nails struck out faster than he could understand, and his hand flew up to his cheek faster than he could comprehend.

Ms. Roland stared at her own hand, then at Horace, uncomprehending. "I didn't mean…" she muttered. Then she snapped to attention. "Go to your room, Keyes, and you too…" she glanced at the list, anger and confusion in her eyes. "You too, Knightley. Don't bother coming to supper, either of you."

Stunned, Horace nodded. It was all that he could do to keep from running away from that office, now knowing the consequences of needless questions, but, worst of all, knowing that he had disappointed Simon.

They went up through the empty corridors, up into their "room," a long dormitory shared with other boys their age. It was quiet and dark in there, since most of the other children were having supper at that time.

Horace sat stiffly down on his bed, his hand covering the mark on his cheek. He could feel the red heat of where Ms. Roland had struck him, but it didn't really hurt. Not much. It was just the shock, and the realization that his birthday present for Simon was gone that hurt.

Simon sat across from him, staring with empty eyes. Horace tried to meet his scrutinizing gaze, but the look in Simon's eyes was so unnerving that Horace was forced to look away.

"That was…"

Simon was speaking now. "That was, well... Why make such a big fuss?"

Horace rubbed at his eyes, in spite of himself. "Well… I thought… I didn't think that being brothers would be such a bad thing…"

Simon turned to fluffing up his pillows. "I'm glad that you want to stick with me, Horace, but we aren't brothers. We never will be."

"W-well…" Horace trailed off. Then, he retorted. "How do you know we aren't brothers? We came here together, and it's not as if we remember our parents-"
"I do," Simon whispered, never taking his eye off of his blanket, his small hands smoothing out all of the little creases. "I remember my father. And he was only my father. Not yours."

Horace attempted to calm the strange feeling in his stomach, lying down on his bed, curling into a ball. Today was supposed to be a good day. A day to celebrate with his best friend. His best friend, the only person that he really cared about.

It was all so confusing. It was obviously out of the question to try and discuss it with Simon, though; the boy was once again staring with vacant eyes at the wall.

He couldn't help but feel that this situation would become a regular one.

So... this story exists. But I partially forgot that fact. Sorry about that, fellow Simon and Knightley fans!

I've actually had this chapter written for awhile, but I was never very happy with it; I feel like everything's a little too melodramatic, mostly because I was never quite sure what to do with Patricia Roland. I wasn't sure if she would actually go for a physically abusive route, but, given how she's always invading other people's space (I'm looking at you, Uncle Ray) in the game, it makes sense. If she really worked at the orphanage when the boys first got there, though, that would make her only about eighteen at the time, which I think partially explains her impulsive actions.

Knightley is surprisingly fun and easy to write, even as a child. It's Simon that's the tricky one, which is odd, since he has such a dynamic personality. I think Knightley's mental issues are closer to home for me than Simon's, so that helps.

Hopefully I won't take this long for the next chapter, but I think that I need to replay the game again before writing more, so that will take awhile. Thanks again for reading!