SIMON
I'm not sure how long I've been lying on mine and Penny's couch for, but it was sort of light outside when I started. Now it's dark. I just can't seem to find the energy to move, other than the shivering that set in a little while ago. I'm cold, even with my wings wrapped around me, but there aren't any blankets nearby and I can't seem to get up.
So I'm cold, and I'm numb, but I think that's sort of comforting. I was too filled up with messy thoughts earlier, crashing round my skull like a hurricane. The numbness has quietened that down, I've hugged myself into a chilly, empty oblivion and for now, that's enough.
My eyes are sore from dried salty tears, and every now and again my chest shudders with a dry sob, reminding me I'm still here, in my flat, crammed with nothing but nothingness.
I want to disappear.
The front door opens and I jump where I lay, but almost immediately I curl back in on myself, only dimly aware of someone stepping inside from the bright light of the landing. "Simon?" Baz calls. "Bloody hell, what are you doing moping in the dark?" He laughs and closes the door, but something even icier slides down through my guts, and it's all I can do to turn and bury my face into the corner of the sofa, hands clasped and hugging to my t-shirt, wings tight against my body.
I expect him to flick all the lights on behind me, to bring me kicking unpleasantly back into reality, but he doesn't.
I hear soft shuffling noises, and I picture him toeing off his shoes and placing his shopping bags down. He'd left to buy presents hours ago, teasing me about how I wasn't worth the trouble and probably wouldn't appreciate what he was going to get me. I knew he was joking, I knew it, but somehow it had burrowed into my brain and dug up a shed load of stuff I had purposefully not been thinking about all December.
But here we were, on Christmas Eve, and there was no more hiding away from the truth.
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking Baz has shaken his head at me and gone into the bathroom, leaving me to my sulk, when a cool hand slips over my hip, and the couch dips with the weight of another body.
"What's wrong love?" he murmurs, a kindness that still surprises me clear in his words.
I manage a small shake of the head. "Nothing," I tell him, my voice coming out in a rasp. But he knows I'm lying, I don't have to see his face to know. He just presses his body up to mine, his hand clasping my tensely entwined ones, his lips brushing against the back of my head.
"Why are you sad?" he tries again, managing to get his other arm under my neck. He trails his fingers across my clavicles and sends shivers over my skin. (The good kind this time, it wakes me up a little bit.) "I didn't mean it, about the presents. You know I've spent half the Pitch fortune trying to impress you, which is pointless because I know you'll be impressed with little more than a pair of socks and a dog whistle."
I can't help but close my eyes again and let through half a smile. He must see it or feel it because his hands become a little more active, stroking my chest and my stomach as he plants tentative light kisses against my hair. "Are you fretting your present isn't good enough for me? Because I was serious about that thing you did to me the other night, I'll have that as my present any time."
I smile again, but it's short lived and I fold in on myself once more, the grief and anger I've been shoving down trying to burst its way back through.
"Love?" he whispers. He rarely calls me that. Only when he knows we're alone, and manages to shake off that resilient vulnerability that won't leave him be. Or if he's smashed off his face.
"It's Christmas Eve," I say. It seems like the best explanation I can muster right now.
He lifts his free hand and brushes one of my curls from off my forehead. "I know," he replies. "Is that why you're sad, because of Christmas?"
I swallow, wishing he'd just guess without me having to say it, but the silence stretches on and I know he's waiting for me to break it. "I..." I start, scrambling around for the right words. I've never been good with words.
My face scrunches up again, and I grab onto his hands like they're anchoring me in place. I can't hurt him, but I grip harder, wanting to make him flinch. But of course he doesn't, he just pulls me in closer, nuzzling his face into my hair and throwing his leg over mine.
My stupid tail betrays me by winding around his thigh and knee, and I let out a whimper. What a twat. I want him to let go, to be angry at me and shout, but I'm so selfish I'm just pulling him in deeper. "I ruined everything," I finally manage to spit out into the small crevice between the couch cushions. If I can't say it to his face, I can say it to the upholstery at least.
"Don't be silly," Baz replies without pause. "Whatever it is, we can fix it."
There shouldn't be a 'we', that's my point, why is he making this difficult? "You should be with your family, it's Christmas Eve," I try again.
This seems to genuinely throw him a little. "We're seeing them tomorrow?" he says, rubbing my knuckles that I can see have gone white, even in this dim light. He can see everything of course, just another way he's better than me. "After presents, we'll drive down, it's absolutely fine I promise."
"But it's not fair," I counter. "You should be with them, they're like you."
Baz sighs, and I can hear the hint of impatience in it. "There's no one like me Snow."
"They're magickal," I counter. "They share your history, they're your world, you should be with them."
He pulls away slightly. Good, I snarl at myself, ignoring the fissures growing in my heart. "And not with you?" he asks.
"I'm not like you," I whisper. "I destroy everything – I destroyed it."
He sighs once more, but this time it's tender, and I panic. Before I can move though, he's got me in his clutches again, his grip tighter than ever. "It's Christmas Eve," he says, and this time, I know he understands.
"It was me all along," I breath, determined not to chicken out. "It was me, I caused the Humdrum, and he took so much magic from so many people – from you. Your family. Why-" My voice cracks but I growl it out. "Why would you pick me over them?"
"Because I love you you idiot," he insists affectionately, and starts kissing up my neck, nibbling lightly at my earlobe, which is just playing dirty. He knows I love his sharp teeth as much as he loves my tail and wings. Snakes we're so fucked up.
"I'm broken," I argue. "I lost my magic, I deserved to lose it. I killed the Mage, I ruined Christmas-"
"No," he says firmly. So firmly, I blink and actually look back at him finally. He's lifted himself up and is looking down at me with fierce grey eyes.
"No?" I say.
"No," he repeats. "You haven't ruined Christmas." He softens a little and kisses my shoulder, his eyes alive and fixed on mine as he rests his head between my arm and where my wing is curled. "I know it's been a year, and I'm sorry but I was ignoring the anniversary on purpose. I know how bad with dates you are, I stupidly hoped you'd forget."
I scowl at him, and he rolls his eyes.
"Okay, long shot, but Snow. That doesn't matter. That was just one day. That's not Christmas."
"Then what is?" I ask. Because I've been flinching away from carols, crackers and Christmas trees for weeks. Everything festive just reminds me of how much I failed, how I'm not worthy of being with someone so powerful as Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I almost destroyed all of magic, fuck, I ate up enough of it over eight years. And on Christmas Day I gave it all back and became nothing.
"Christmas," Baz begins, kissing my neck and jaw and ear between words. "Is you showing up on my doorstep, covered in mud, no idea what you were doing other than getting to me. Christmas is you not being able to think of any other way to stop me killing myself other than kissing me. Christmas is you sleeping next to me for the millionth time but sleeping with me for the first time. Christmas," he emphasises, his voice heavier. "Is when I stopped loving alone. It's when we found each other, and you saved the world and then I saved you, even though you didn't really need it. You just let me hug you and that was enough. Christmas is us Simon, and I won't have you trying to tell me it's anything else."
"It was the end," I say, but my heart's not really in it anymore.
He manages to turn me a bit so we're face to face, and he places a tender kiss on my lips. I've been cold, freezing, for so many hours, but the feel of his cool mouth on mine relights the spark, and warmth floods through my skin. "It was the beginning," he argues, and I feel like I haven't really got the fight in me to rebuff. He senses victory, and smirks. "People think Christmas is about presents and food and getting time off work and school – but it's not."
"It bloody well is," I argue. I know what it's like not to have Christmas as a child. I made the most of every second if it since I started at Watford, but now it's been spoilt all over again.
But Baz just grins indulgently down at me before kissing me again. "Okay it is."
"And it's about baby Jesus," I point out.
"That's for Normals."
"They invented it."
"Stop changing the subject." He's managed to worm his way completely on top of me, limbs entwined and hair falling into mine. "Christmas comes down to one thing." I'm tempted to say something stupid, I still want him to stop being nice to me. But I don't.
Because I'm weak. And I love him so much.
"It comes down to love," he says, reading my mind, fingertips ghosting along the side of my face, and shivers, the best kind this time, flurry down my body. "Being with who you love, showing them how much you love them. And I hate to break it to you Simon Snow, but I love you enough to fill a dozen lifetimes. So stop trying to ditch me."
I try and swallow down the tears, but I feel one slip down my face. He wipes it away, regarding me fondly and warmly, making my heart beat like a drum. "I love you too," I whisper.
"Good," he says, and I feel like there's genuine relief in his features. "Because I doubt your presents are refundable."
I crack and give him a light wallop, but he's laughing and wrestling back, until we're a panting mess amidst a pile of dishevelled cushions. His hands are lost somewhere up my shirt and my lips are tender from grappling with his. "When are you going to stop fighting me Snow?"
"It's a hard habit to break," I say, trailing my hand through his hair.
He's searching my face, and if I had any room I'd shy away, but he's got me pinned into the sofa and there's no escaping just yet. "I'll never give up," he murmurs. "Not until you see."
"See what?" I ask. It comes out a little pitiful, but I don't really care. Baz has witnessed everything I have to give, he knows me inside and out. And one day I know he's going to realise it's not enough. But he's in my thoughts again, and he rests our foreheads together.
"That you're not broken," he says. "That you may have lost your magic but you're still magickal to me. That you were never a fraud, that you were always the Greatest Mage and I love you even more because you gave it all up. To save us. To save me."
He's saying all the things he said at the leaver's ball, but they're harder to take in with Christmas hanging in the air. So I swallow and close my eyes, the best I can do in lieu of an escape.
"Do you think I'm lying?" he asks.
That makes me look at him again. "No," I stutter. "That's not-"
"Then what?" He's not being hostile, if anything he's pleading.
I take in a deep breath, slowly. "I think you believe that," I concede.
He looks at me a moment, then nods. "Okay," he says. "And...do you trust me?"
That's a stupid question. "Yes," I answer hastily. Even though, after so many years swearing I could never even think about trusting my vampire roommate, it seems almost laughable. But I trust Baz with my heart and soul. "But it doesn't make you right."
"Yes it does," he sniffs good naturedly. "But that's okay Snow, I don't have to convince you tonight. I know it'll get better, and next Christmas, it won't seem so bad, and I'll have to convince you a little less. In the meantime, I think I'll just keep loving you, incessantly, I'll make you sick with it, and you'll start to forget to be mad at yourself more and more."
"You really think that will work?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "You're going to love me into distraction, kiss me so I stop hating myself?"
"Yes," he says, pleased with himself. "In fact I'll do one better."
I pause, but he's waiting for me to bite, so I do. "What?" I ask. "How?"
He cards his fingers through my hair, and I shiver lean into his touch. "By reminding you every chance I get how much you love me. That you make me sick with it."
He's got me there. My love for him is like a beast that aches in my chest, and it's very easy to give into it. "You think that's enough?" I ask, the tiniest hint of hope in my voice. "You think love will be enough to heal us?"
"It's Christmas," he replies firmly. "All you need is love."
The End
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