Welcome to another Rogermon (Roger x Simon) fan fiction of Walter. Story is originally written in Filipino as, "Namalikmata Lang" and is now translated for the rest of the world to enjoy. I dedicate this fic to my Tumblr buddies, especially the following:

To chrishcc: For being excitedly patient. Thanks for the kind words of encouragement. I needed that kind of push to finish this, believe me.
To speartherear and bloodyrogeraptor/ ruuujah: I've roleplayed with a lot of Roger's, have seen them come and go, disappear and then be back again, but as for you two, I hope you never leave! MWAHAHAHA. I won't only cry, but I'll be so sad to ever be sunny again. Please don't take my sunshine away from me.
To the-beast-is-us: You are the cutest Simon and your art is just as cute as you. I bet your face is adorbs, too.
To dudethatsmyghostking/ billnyethehunterguy: Just because. Don't ask why.
To shinkainocelty/ Kismesis: Hai. Please ship them with me. And ship Jalph, too. Please. Glub-hate you for all eternity.
And lastly, to retrograderiding/ my Moirail: I know you'll read this someday, so I just want to say that my heart is so pale for you, and my less than symbol fits perfect to your greater than sign. Huehuehue.

MERE HALLUCINATIONS

At times when these two yellow butterflies spot me, my reverie shatters in a blink of an eye. They'll make me come out of the huts, quickly, without a doubt; I will have to follow them.

Ever since then, rumours that I'm insane is the only thing that others care about. Perhaps it's true, yet it's unacceptable, especially since I can lucidly see them. They always find me. I can hide by the signal fire, inside the huts, by the fallen tree trunk nearby, or in Castle Rock—literally anywhere!—yet they manage to find me. Always, those two. Always, those yellow ones. Always, bugging, flipping their wings overhead, calling me, and beckoning me to the forest.

Come join us! Come join us! The two of them say. I never have the heart to reject them, so I quietly come along.

Ralph and Piggy says that there are no butterflies, that they have been exterminated by the Hunters. But when I ask Jack, he simply calls me batty, merely answering me with questions like, why did I ask that? Why do I ask such? Why do I even care? And with that, he pokes a stick right at my butt's cheek.

Yet those two insects do not care about what the other boys claim. They never fail to find their way to me, and for that, I keep coming back to the forest, again and again. For me, they're real, and it's impossible that they're mere hallucinations, or daydreams. Whether the other boys believe it or not, those butterflies really do exist!

~Mere Hallucinations~

Being lost is no big deal. It's pretty exciting to lose my way and find myself still standing, still alive, in the middle of these giant greeneries! It's definitely an adventure! I feel like Alice, who has gulped a heavy amount of shrinking potion. My surroundings have grown to become bigger and taller than my short figure. Trees unfold with their branches, praising the heavens above. Fruits lay all about, littering the ground. Some are still hanging, attached on their respective plants. And oh—how sweet is the fragrance of the blossoming flowers. Wide leaves seem to pop up in every spot, creating a dim atmosphere, despite the morning's (or afternoon's) illuminations. And since no one ever notices I've fled, it's perfectly fine to be lost from the world of reality.

Once I tail behind these butterflies who lead me, I know they will take me to the quiet place. I call this my little paradise. This deserted part is my paradise. It's also my favourite place in the whole island! This is my private corner where a hundred—no, a thousand!—or possibly more fluttering butterflies. And this is the very reason why I don't believe Ralph and Jack. Look at them go! A thousand of colourful wings, folding open, shutting close, folding open, shutting close…

I'd find a spot on the ground where the grass holds me in an embrace and I'll lie there, right beneath them. My scintillating friends merely fly above me. Sometimes they tickle my stomach, my toes, and my shoulders, but they'll never, ever, touch my face. They have never even landed anywhere near my face.

Sweat trickles down my forehead as I watch the multitude of them. I can, unquestionably, fall into a short nap like this. Its fine, no one ever searches for me, especially not in these parts.

In my paradise, I'm a lone ranger who ponders like a philosopher. Many things boggle my mind, questions that loop into eternal circles that holds no concrete answers.

What's happening to the other world now? How is my family? What date is it today? Is it time for school yet? I wonder how is the dog back at home, wonder if the maid still remembers to feed it? Will we ever be rescued?

"Don't hope about that."

A resounding voice disrupts the forest. I hastily stand, eyes cautiously darting all around, and I see Roger's dark face, floating amidst the leaves that spread out like wide green fans. He advances toward me, pushing away the hurdles of stretched branches. Soon, he audaciously sets foot in my sanctuary.

"What're you doing here?" He darts the question right at me.

"Nothing. Eh, how about you? What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing as well." He huffs off his nonchalant reply and starts to pace in an imaginary circle, circling around me in an intimidatingly closed space. A smirk played upon his lips. "Oh, what's this?" He dashes to me, snatches something on my right hand. My fingers have been wrapped over a… rock? Surprise slaps my own face. I have been, unconsciously, holding a rock?

"Is this supposed to be for me? Did'ya had plans on hitting me? Well, well, didn't know you're that bold."

"Did you follow the butterflies, too?"

The words have merely fallen out of my mouth of its own accord. Roger intently stares at me, before shaking his head.

"There are no such things as butt—"

"No, they're real!" I swiftly cut him, pointing at the butterflies overhead. "There!"

However… my only proof has already fled before my hand even rose up. Not a single one of those fluttering butterflies are left in the scene now. They have disappeared without a sense of a parting good-bye. I have forgotten that, sometimes, with friends, they tend to leave without bidding farewell.

"Sorry," I shamefully whisper to the boy who takes jokes in a bloody serious manner. I bow my head, hoping my black locks will be enoughto cover my eyes, or my whole face, too. I sit down on the grass again, bringing myself to an isolated trance where I continue to stare into space.

"It's okay," Roger says, sitting right next to me. "It's also okay even if you're crazy."

"Huh?"

"Oh, please! What's with the "huh"? You're a damn batty, kid!"

"N-no, I'm not!"

"That's so scripted. Meh. Don't know about you."

"I said no!"

"Alright, alright, then no it is!"

Using the mossy rock he took from me, Roger brings it to the ground. He buries a part of it on the soft surface, and begins to write. I cannot understand his handwriting, so I proceed into a state of silent observation. Without a sound, I watch; watch even the beads of sweat that fall from his dark and maturing face. I fix my gaze upon him, stare at his every move, the way the passing breeze ruffles his shoulder-length hair, the way his reddish eyes glisten darkly and without a care.

Then he stops, yet I cannot help but prolong my eyes to feast upon his attractive features. Oh no… my thoughts quietly scream. He looks inexplicable handsome…

"Well, well, now you're now quiet. Why? Is it true?"

Shaken out of my thoughts, my face reddens a bit, slightly ashamed about the secret opinion I have in my head. Then my eyes travel down on his words.

"HEY!" Then I dare to slap him. After one slap, I unexpectedly have sustained a continous slapping spree, hitting him all over him. He merely laughs, possibly feeling ticklish instead of feeling pain from my attacks. "Why?! What the heck?! Could you possibly be more aggravating, ugh! You're so infuriating! Curse you!"

For this is what he has written: "Simon is batty. Amen."

"Me?" My voice ascends a few notes high with a bubbling rage almost peeling off. "I'm the one who's batty now? I just said no! I'm not even doing anything!"

"That's exactly why you are!" His voice climbs higher and angrier against mine's. "You're not doing anything, and yet you manage to drive me mad about you! You can ram yourself into my brain, I see your face swimming in my dreams at night! You make someone like me crazy for you—and that's not right! No, not me! I'm the one who's supposed to be deprived of these kinds of emotions, so thanks a lot for making me feel this way! Curse you, too! You're just as bloody exasperating as you bloody are!"

The outburst confession seems to have paralysed me, causing me to merely gawk at him, unable to move an inch. He continues the ramble. "Why do you think I found you here when there are so many dark corners in this damn forest? You know why? It's because I heard you! You were talking to yourself again. You always do that, don't you know? So I followed the sound of your voice. And then, just a moment ago, you've been going on about butterflies again—butterflies who never existed! There aren't goddamned butterflies in this godforsaken place!" The forest trembles briefly from the echo of his voice.

"Alright," I say, rolling my eyes. "Fine, I'm the silly one. There." I raise both arms up in a surrendering position. "But still, did you really have to rub it straight in my face? Honestly, Rog, I knew I was insane before you did. So there is no need to point it out. But thanks a lot! Thanks for rubbing it in!"

A few seconds pass in silence, and then Roger breathes into my ear, "You're one sassy, fucker." And he bit that very ear.

"Ah!" An unexpected moan surges out of me. I quickly clap a hand to my mouth to stop the odd noises from falling off.

"Don't," Roger cooed in between bites and licks. He holds the hand I held over my mouth and pulls it away from there. "Don't stop now."

My jaw drops and forms a large O, profusely emitting weird noises like, "Ahh!" and, "Hmm—" and, "Uhh…" but the naturality of it merely flows out of my mouth, and I find that amazingly shocking. How long have I been in this kind of peculiar spell, I couldn't tell, and who cares? I cannot even comprehend what exactly is happening.

Then his lips planted a kiss on my jaw, just below my ear. How soft his lips are, how sweet his kisses feel, such kisses that shower my skin, on my cheek… on my nose… back to my jaw… travelling down, down, down, ghosting over my neck.

Hungry kisses. Very greedy, as if deprived, and it feels that he is ready to devour me. The pressure of his kisses turns into unfathomable passionate ones, growing stronger and stronger, the push of his lips has sent me to stumble backwards.

My back hits the ground. He looms over me. My racing heart thumps wildly. There's nothing I can do from here, not from the bottom. Fear. Panic. Paranoia. Horror. What's next?

He slowly steadies himself on top of me, and here we lie, chest-to-chest, so close that I can hear the rampage of his heart pulsating from his ribs. The other raven gazes right into my soul, the look of his eyes are farther than deep, swimming through the emerald irises of my own stunned stare. Without a sound, he closes those bottomless rubies and moves closer, closing the space by mere inches, centimeters, millimeters, until nothing can bar our lips from meeting at last.

Dread. Desire. Yearning. Doubt. The battle of these mixed-up emotions creates a wild pounding madness in my ribcage. They have turned into unbreakable knots that have tied themselves in my insides, making it hard for me to tug off these feelings. Helpless with guilty longing, my eyes drowsily shut into a black space where the taste of Roger's lips matters the most, the only thing that drives me to hold on to this very moment.

Swift and adroit, he is skilled in these kinds of special interactions, moving ever so fast against my quivering lips. I still find the urgent need to gasp for air every other second as I, literally, drown in his obsessive kisses. When our tongues have met, he swirls around mine's and sucks it like a popsicle treat. Heat mounts up between us. A strange sensation starts to form at the pit of my stomach, just between my thighs. I can feel the other boy's weight brushing his own bulge against my lower region.

I slightly open my eyes, peer through the slits it offers—then my eyes rounds into an astonished surprise.

"There!" I manage to cry out, despite our lips locked together. I point upwards, where above our heads, a shimmering multitude of butterflies suddenly emerge.

Roger cranes his neck to look up. From there, I know he will finally believe in me, that there are still butterflies on this island. He will have to believe for there they finally here, descending from the canopies, coming right at us. We watch them lower themselves into sight, and for the very first time, they land on both of us, on our sweat-coated bodies.

A whirlwind of colours, opening and unfolding right before us, looking so much like thousands of bright lights. Yellow ones brighter than the sun, blues float all over, contradicting reds and greends, some purples, some whites, some blacks, all blossoming right before us. They begin to fill every corner of our sight, painting every little space left, until there is nothing I could see, nor feel. I have succumbed into a deep and dark pit, void of senses.

~Mere Hallucinations~

Time floods me by. I wake up on my own accord. And I'm still on the island.

Most of the time, Ralph finds me. He lets me lie out underneath the sun, right on top of the scorching hot sand. He knows that I wake up easily with the stingy touch of the hot afternoon sun. If it's Jack who finds me, then I get a coconut-filled with water all over my face as a wake-up call.

Only time dictates how they manage to find me, Simon, who merely has fainted yet again. I often ask both chiefs, wondering how on earth they've found me. Their replies are always the same: "Simon, it's just in your head. You're hallucinating." For in truth, I have not left, have not moved, and for heaven's sake, there are no such things as butterflies on this island. What do I care about them anyway, and why do I keep on persisting about this idea.

I stand up, taking small and slow baby steps right after getting all conscious from the faint. Looks like its Ralph who has found me today because I haven't been woken up with a splash of salty water. Weakly, I walk by the shore and pass by some of the boys. I wave at Samneric, beam a smile at Walter, and Piggy notices, then hollers, "Hello, Simon!" I pass by Ralph, who is seated by the signal fire. He asks if I was fine, I nod, and continue my way to Castle Rock. I just need to confirm something.

Outside the mouth of the fort, a voice calls out to me.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"It's me, Simon! I know you know who I am, Roger!"

But from above the fort, he casually throws a rock, right down at me.

"Ouch!" And I tenderly rub my reddening shoulder. Lucky it hasn't bled yet. I pick up the stone, intently stares and observes the rather mossy cloak it had, then shoots a stare right back at Roger. Oh, god, he still looks ever so handsome, even with the fading lights of sunset.

I put the stone to my lips and left a kiss, before throwing it back where it first came from. The painted savage skillfully catches it with one hand.

Before I turn tail and go back to the huts, I think I saw Roger put the rock to his lips. It appears that he has kissed it, too, but I can't be so sure about it.

Oh well. Perhaps it simply is a mere hallucination.

Well, I hope that was enjoyed. Please review/ fave, and no, please don't follow this fic because this will remain a one-shot. FOREVER. But I'll have other Rogermon fics coming up. Some will be more angsty. And the other will be fluffy. And the other, I have no idea. Huhu, someone take my ideas away from me.