Breathless...

𝗔𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲

Don't forget to vote and comment!

Please check out my new poetry book, and snowbaz one-shots <3

Simon's POV ( After agatha tells him to go chase Baz)

Smoke. So much smoke. Reeking, clinging in the damp air, stinging in my eyes. The Catacombs are even more desolate than usual tonight. I sprint forward, my arms swinging in the thick, grey, fog—desperately attempting to clear the air. It almost resembled Baz's eyes.
          
There's no way I can magick the air clean, not without exploding. . . that would only cause more fog. So I wade through the sea of smoke, searching for Baz—who I'm certain caused this mess. After all, Pitch is the house of fire. Where else do you find all this smoke?
          
Panic bubbles in my stomach, as I desperately look around, scanning for Baz. I gulp in my fear, certain he's hurt himself—it's his only coping mechanism. And he's flammable!!

Then I spot it. There it is. The flaming orange that has taken over the Catacombs. What has Baz done.
"Make a wish!" I cast, and the fires suck in, disappearing, and my ears pop. Crowley, I hope I'm not too late. . . Baz could've done anything by now!
         
After much worry, I stumble upon the vampire, nearly tripping over his long legs. Unconscious. He's definitely unconscious. I bend down, lifting his head, inspecting the damage; and sure enough, there's blood— frozen in his hair (that are no longer shiny, that's a new) and the blood continues to trickle down his face. His blood. Stark against his snowy complexion. His colorless lips are parted, his whole body limp. I have to cover my mouth to hold in a howl of pain.
          
I've never been one to shy away from blood, wounds and grime—I cause all of the above— but seeing Bazzy like this. . . It's tearing at my heart. And it's my fault. I have to take him back to Mummers.
          
Hooking an arm under his knees, and another around his shoulders, I lift his limp body and carry him all the way to Mummers—its a real challenge considering he's much taller than me. Baz did not stir. Not once. I cast "Get well soon!" on his head and the wound seals and dissolves into nothingness, disappearing completely.
          
When it becomes apparent that he is not about to awaken, I peel off his dirty, stained clothes; bathing him because he is covered in dust and even torn cobwebs. . .
  
After he's clean, I start worrying for the umpteenth time tonight—what if he is dead? Technically he is undead. . . But what if he is dead, dead? Aleister Crowley, Vampires can't die, right?
           
I hold his naked body, kneeling on the cold tiles in our bathroom, wondering if he's even alive. Carding my fingers through his wet, silky hair; I gulp away the haunting thoughts. Simply because I can't imagine a world without Baz's sneering, his sarcastic remarks, and his glimmering, silver eyes. A world without his breathtaking smile, his sweet kisses and his unending love.
           
I scoop Baz up, after putting some boxers on him, and lay his cold, still body on his bed. Then I close the window, knowing he finds the chilly breeze uncomfortable. Settling into his bed, I wrap my arms around him and pull the blankets over us.
        
Sleeping is impossible. I can hardly even blink. Not with a motionless Baz in my arms. A cold, hard body that remains unnaturally still. It's scaring the hell out of me. I keep twirling his hair around my finger, keep playing with his fingers— I think I almost smother him. . .
        
The morning sun makes Baz's porcelain body glimmer as he twists in my arms, sleeping like the dead. I s'pose he is dead. Wait! Aleister Crowley—He moved, Baz is alive!!

His bed creaks beneath us as he wriggles around, his cheeks suddenly swelling, filling with his fangs. Shit. Must be a nightmare. . . I run my fingers through his hair slowly, pressing a kiss to his forehead— I'm so incredibly grateful he's alive—as he gulps and scrunches his face in pain.
         
Now that I know he can be woken, I realize I don't want to wake him. Its selfish, but the second Baz wakes up I know he'll push me away, slice my head off even. I need him. Need to hold him for a little while longer. Before he looks at me with stinging pain flashing in his stormy grey eyes again.
    
I stare down at my vampire; his beautifully-sharp face, white and smooth as freshly fallen snow. His soft, pink lips. His long, dark lashes, casting harsh shadows over his defined cheekbones. It takes all of my strength to keep my mouth to myself.
      
But it becomes easy as soon as I remember last night. As I remember how fucked up he was. . . because of me.
      
Luckily, the love of my life is very predictable. It's the only thing that ensured I would find him. And there he was, in the Catacombs, like always. Except this time I found him, he had collapsed against the cold, hard floor—that doesn't usually happen.