If You Must Promise

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When I open my eyes, there's a Simon Snow on my bed. (Or I guess I could say there's Snow on my bed). (Pain meds make me punny).

His arms are wrapped around me, carefully weaved through all the tubes and wires sticking out of my body. Silvery moonlight from the window illuminates his perfect, sleeping face, turning his golden skin silver.

Both my arm and my nose are wrapped in layers upon layers of casts and padding and gauze and splintsI guess I must have gone in for surgery while I was asleep (how long have I been out?). My head throbs dully, the headache resonating throughout my entire body. Even the cuts that were deep enough to warrant stitches ache. It's difficult to keep my still-swollen eyes open, but I fight against the leaden feeling.

"Simon?" I whisper. Simon stirs, opening his eyes. For a moment, I could swear they flash gold. But it must be a trick of the moonlight, because the colour's gone as soon as I blink.

"Hey... how are you feeling?" He asks, voice croaky and hoarse (it's just a tiny bit sexy). Carefully, he pulls me closer, the gesture feeling almost protective. I nestle my head on his chest, letting my eyes drift shut. I feel his hand in my hair, stroking it back ever so gently.

Aleister Crowley, I'm in love with this boy.

"Sore. Tired," I whisper, my tongue heavy from drowsiness and pain meds.

"You scared me, Baz... for a while, I thought I was gonna lose you." Simon's breath is warm on the crown of my head. Tears well in my eyes at his words, and guilt shoots through me like an icy bullet.

"Simon... I'm so sorry... I should've listened to you. I shouldn't have gone out on my own... I was so fucking stupid..." my voice trails off. I can't bring myself to say more.

Simon's grip on me only tightens.

"No. Baz, none of this is your fault. You aren't stupid, you're brave. You're a courageous fuck, remember? An absolute nightmare. There's nothing whatsoever to apologise for."

I manage a faint, tearful giggle that comes out sounding more like a whimper (there's something surreal about having my own encouraging words quoted back to me). However, my weak smile fades with my next thought.

"You're too nice to me, Simon Snow," my voice is softer than a breath of air, barely audible, "why... why aren't you mad at me?"

A pregnant, stunned silence fills the small room as Simon processes my words. Anxiety curdles in my stomach as I wait for his reply.

"Baz..." he finally whispers, "why would I ever be mad at you? How could I ever be mad at you? All you've ever done is save the day. I'm not too nice to you, I'm in love with you, Baz. You're brave, and you're powerful, and you're so strong, and you're better looking than anyone has the right to be, and you're mine, and I'm yours, and that's all that matters. So... no more apologising allowed."

It's my turn to be stunned speechless. For the life of me, I can't think of a good reply.

In the silent warmth of his arms, with tears still rolling down my cheeks (I can't fucking get them to stop), I think back through all I remember of this whole ordeal. Getting the call. Driving to Swansea. Interrogating that barkeep. The ramshackle houses. Opening the door, only to be knocked cold by some unseen force. Waking up in that clearing. The pain of my bones being broken. Drifting. And then Simon... Vague memories of golden magic and desperate pleas float to the surface of my mind. Flotsam on the sea.

"Did... did you mean what you said? In the forest?" I ask tentatively, almost afraid that his answer will be a big, fat NO.

"Which part?" He sounds half-asleep. I almost don't answer.

"Simon Snow," there are tears in my eyes again and I don't know why. The next part comes out as the barest whisper. "Do you want to marry me?"

Simon's finger hooks gently under my chin, tipping my head until I'm looking into those perfect blue eyes. Simon Snow, you're so beautiful...

And then he kisses me. It's a kiss that's gentle and soft and simple, his lips warm and open against mine. It's a kiss that takes takes the edge off the chill I've felt since I was in that dammed clearing. It's a kiss that holds a promise.

"Very much," he murmurs against my open mouth. "I want to marry you very much, Basilton Grimm-Pitch."

I'm panicky, so Baz gets to be panicky too (because I'm a terrible person)

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I'm panicky, so Baz gets to be panicky too (because I'm a terrible person)

This might be one of the last chapters for a while (I'm getting my wisdom teeth out and will be incapacitated for a few days), so enjoy! I'll update as soon as I am able :)

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