Carry On SnowBaz

Snowday (2)

Penelope

Simon sits up and shrugs. He looks bad. His eyes are swollen and his skin is pale and sweaty. Like always, when he had one of his nightmares and laid the whole night awake, thinking about everything. He's wearing a black T-shirt (I guess it's one from Baz) and grey flannel pyjama bottoms from Watford. (I'm sure he still would wear his uniform at day if this wouldn't bring up too many memories.) His wings hang wearily on his back.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly, even when he obviously isn't. It's one of those bad days.

"I'm fine, Penny," he grumbles and turns away from me. They are rare but they exist. The bad days. When he's in this deep hole again.

I sit down next to him. "Do you want to talk?" I ask unsure. I always don't really know what to say when he's in that bad mood. Should I act like he's okay? Or let him alone? Or try to talk to him? I'm quite sure he doesn't know either what helps him.

Instead of answering, he clings his fists into his hair and shakes his head.

"Should I go? Or call Baz? Can I do anything for you?"

"I'm fine," he says more roughly this time but without looking at me. "I just...need to think."

"Maybe you should -"

"Shit, Penny!" he interrupts me. "I'm good. I just slept bad, okay?" He lets go of his hair and looks at me with tired eyes. He looks so fucking tired.

"Okay," I mumble and clear my throat. "Then I leave you alone." I get up. "Just ...take a shower."

I shut the door behind me and rest the back of my head against it. I hate these days. I always feel so helpless. He'll be grumpy for the whole day and won't talk to me. Neither to Baz. What would be okay. I completely comprehend it, when he sometimes needs time to think. To grieve. But I don't think it does him any good. He just hurts himself and gets depressed. He falls back in that hole. Last time (a few weeks before Christmas) we needed days to get him out of it, Baz and I. That was a rough time.

I give him one hour. One hour to get changed and out of his room. But he doesn't. When I come in the second time, he lays in a coil on his bed. I can't see his face but he probably doesn't even recognize me.

"I made tea," I say. "Do you want some?"

He doesn't react.

"I even made a second breakfast. But I won't bring it to you. You have to get up when you're hungry."

"I'm not hungry. Thanks, Pen," he mutters into his pillow.

"Simon, I know you for almost nine years now and I know you're always hungry. Especially in the morning. Come on. Eat something."

He takes a deep breath.

"Please," I add.

"I. Am. Not. Hungry," he hisses at me and finally turns his face in my direction. He looks even worse than the hour before. His eyes and nose are red and his lips tremble a bit.

"Okay," I say slowly and nod. "I'll call Baz."

He wants to complain but I'm already back in the kitchen and grip my phone. I search for Baz's number and call him. But this moron doesn't answer. So, I text him.

"Pick up your phone!!" I write. Only a minute later he answers.

"Can't. I'm in class. Why?"

"Simon. He isn't well."

"?"

"He won't leave his bed. Guess one of the nightmares. Won't stop crying."

"I'm on my way!"

"Thanks. Bring scones!"

"I'm there in ten."