Simon was having a hollow day. That's what he called them, inside the safety of his own head. Every day was a little hollow, really, but there were some days that were worse than others, so much worse. Days where he woke up and blinked up at his four-poster and wondered why he should even bother going to class, getting his NEWTs, having a career, living, doing any of it. Days where even his usual mantra of "go to class, learn, do well, that's what school's for, Simon" had little effect. Days where he would be forced to ask himself "what would Wendy do?" just to leave his bed. The wizard wondered if he should get that tattooed somewhere, with the frequency he asked it of himself. But then people would ask questions. Wendy would ask questions. And that wouldn't do. The teenager had, however, scrawled it upon his palm in ink sometime between Charms and Ancient Runes. He hadn't even noticed himself doing it.
Apparently the news of the day, Simon had been informed as he picked at his dinner, was that the girlfriend of one of his dorm mates had cheated on him. Simon had nodded along, making slight faces as the story was shared with him, unable to muster up any more fake emotion than that. Pretending to care was draining.
It wasn't until around one thirty am, that Simon had given up on trying to sleep. Quickly changing into clothing slightly better suited to the cool night air, Simon tossed a full pack of cigarettes into his pocket, and headed outside. Simon waited until reaching the forest to light his first cigarette, ducking just a few meters into the trees, and following the forest line. When Simon had walked as far as he could without leaving school grounds, the teenager turned back, retracing his own steps. As he passed by the greenhouses, Simon spotted little trails of smoking rising toward the sky.
Changing trajectory, the Slytherin began striding toward the back of the greenhouse, eyes registering the burning embers of a cigarette a moment before recognizing the face of the person holding said cigarette.
"Molly," he greeted, sinking down beside her, unsure if he could even be heard over the girl's music, but knowing it didn't matter either way. Laying back to stare at the sky, his own freshly lit stick of nicotine clamped firmly between two lips, Simon traced his left thumb over the ink on his right palm that had yet to fade.
What would Wendy do? Not this.