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Simon's POV
I don't leave his hand, not for one second until we're finally in our room. I almost follow him into the bathroom in my trance; and he has a strange, soft look in his eyes that looks eerily similar to his plotting look, except the sneer is missing. . . Maybe that look doesn't mean he's plotting at all.
My eyebrows furrow as I realize how wrong I was about Baz and his cockiness. It's all a show. . . To hide how broken he is.
Stepping out of the bathroom gracefully in silk pyjamas, his smooth, shiny black hair damp and his face glowing, I can't help but stare. He looks sad again for a moment and then turns to his bed and attempts at drowning in the duck-feather mattress. Tears begin to pool in his eyes again, the soft light grey turning stormy, the flecks of color invisible.
I don't consider the fact that Baz might be uncomfortable with me wearing boxers in his bed; so I climb out of mine, and he stares at me, pain flashing in his expression. I slip under his sheets right next to him, the same way I would back in second year. . .
That was three years ago, back then we would both have horrific nightmares that we couldn't face alone. I remember so many sleepless nights. I remember how he'd wake up in cold sweat, and I'd almost light the room on fire. I remember watching him thrash around under his blankets, fear and pain contorting his perfect features. It almost hurt to look. And it made Penny question how evil he was, "Afraid a vampire with night terrors will kill you? Simon you're crazy."
(But we both knew, or thought we knew, that he would try at least—to end my life. For his family's sake. And maybe his own, since he put up a believable facade.)
One day I asked him if I could sleep with him when he had also woken from a nightmare. He was too tired to refuse and I knew it, so he grudgingly let me sleep beside him, pressed into his side. Sometimes he'd even wrap an arm around me, and other nights I'd let him lay his head on my chest. But no matter how distanced we were in the night, I always woke to a tangle of limbs. Holding each other and listening to the other breathe always calmed us down. The nightmares got better.
After a few months like this, we got into a particularly nasty fight; the arguments were still normal since the only time we were civil was when we were alone in the dark, in each other's arms, desperate for sleep. But then I went ahead and punched him during class for no good reason.
That night Baz wouldn't let me in his bed. . . I even cried. . . but it made no difference to him, he threatened to "Cat got your tongue," me! (I had to shut up cuz I didn't wanna lose my voice) Hissing that I could never again crawl into his bed, and he would never hold me until I fell asleep after that. And I had the worst nightmares that night, and he couldn't sleep at all. Since I punched him for no reason, I couldn't blame him for being furious. . .
I hear Baz sniffle beside me, and am dragged back to the present. Turning to face him, I wrap my arms around his defined waist. Baz nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his long hair tickling my face. Resting my chin on his head quietens his sobbing, but his grip on me gets painfully tight.
I scoot up a little and press my lips to his forehead, "Baz," he looks up at me, like a little lost doe. "Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask gently.
Suddenly he's on edge. He almost leaps out of my arms, and stops at the confusion on my face. He's sitting up now and I'm still laying down, I take his hand in mine—I'm not quite sure why—and he visibly gulps.
"Just stop, Simon," he whispers his voice hoarse, pained.
"Stop what, Baz?" I ask, genuinely confused at the sudden change in his behavior.
"Stop acting like you care. . . I don't deserve it," his voice cracks at the last two words.
"Shut up, Baz." I say sternly, "You deserve to be cared for, and you deserve to be loved," I beg him to understand; I didn't even know I felt this way until now. I press a whisper of a kiss to his knuckles.
"No I don't, Simon, I'm—a monster. . ." he whispers into the darkness.
Baz's Pov
"It's alright, Simon, you can stop fucking pretending I matter, but please. . . just don't tell the Mage. . . you know what's bound to happen if that arsehole finds out," I almost wince at the uncertainty in my voice and the lack of control over my words, I know Simon idolizes that dickhead, so he's less likely to listen to me if I curse at him.
"Baz, I'm not telling anyone, I've always known you're a vampire. . . anyway, how could you even suspect I would do that after. . . ," Simon doesn't finish his sentence. He rarely does.
"After what?" I ask sharply. I don't want to scare him off, I want to be back in his arms—but I cannot, I just can't. . . Because it means nothing to him, and it's tearing me apart.
I cannot. . . every time he looks at me and I realize he hates me, it's a stab in the heart, a stab in the gut, and right to my fucking throat when he says the words, "I HATE YOU, BAZ!" . . . and he does that quite often.
"After—after you let me. . . touch you." He murmurs, his blue eyes looking anywhere but me.
"What—What does that mean?" He can't be saying. . . he felt something? He wanted to touch me? Just the words coming out of Simon's mouth, the mouth I never expected to hear this from, makes a shudder run down my spine and hope leap up in my heart at the same time.
Hope is a dangerous thing.
"It means. . . you—you let me in. . . I held you, Baz." He tugs at his curls , "You cried in my arms. . . you showed me vulnerability." Then he looks directly into my undead soul, and I'm certain my eyes light up, they always do for Simon.
"Baz, I would never hurt you—not after I held you. Not ever, after you allowed me to see the real you. . . the Baz that isn't flawless, and untouchable. . . you're human—okay not really, a vampire, but—you're not so untouchable anymore. . . and I couldn't ever bear to see you like that, not if it's my fault." Simon's words sound sincere. Begging me to trust him with those pleading, angelic blue eyes. It does sting though, that he's seen me in one of my weakest moments.
"C'mere, Bazzy," He smiles, and pulls me down into his arms. Who could resist this beautiful blonde? It's only now that I realize he doesn't have a shirt on. . . or pants. He's in his boxers. Fuck, this could become a problem.
Snow's left arm snakes up from under my head and rests, tangled in my hair, which he occasionally twirls around his fingers, cute. His right arm is wrapped around my waist, with another leg swung over mine, any left over limb is tangled enough you wouldn't know whose it was if not for Simon's golden skin, bright against my pale complexion. My head is resting on his bare chest and my eyes roam his body.
Looking at Simon Snow is like staring into a universe in which the black empty void called 'space' is exploding gold. The freckles on his body glimmering in the moonlight, like stars forming stark constellations. His big blue eyes, the color of the morning sky as the clouds part. His blonde hair brighter than the fucking sun.
Simon Snow is the sun. . . He doesn't smile, he beams. And he glows, leaving me breathless.
"I care about you, Baz." Simon whispers into my hair, "I really do."
I inhale sharply, leaning into him further as he kisses my forehead again.
I don't understand what way he cares about me in and I don't know if I should say, "Fuck caring, I'm in love with you, Simon." So I just keep my mouth shut, before I ruin everything with my stupid words.
Simon's POV
Baz is in my arms. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch. My nemesis, a vampire, a boy. All the things I never thought I saw coming. I'm falling in love with a snarky, sarcastic, and affectionate boy.
A boy who's tall, lean and yet muscular with raven hair that reaches his shoulders, that he's obsessed with styling, and mesmerizing grey eyes that make me stop dead in my tracks. A boy talented and intelligent enough to speak and cast spells in multiple languages, play the violin, excel at every class, and win every football game. A boy who's self-conscious, scared and lonely. A boy whose mother died. Who turned into a creature feared by everyone around him. A boy who had no one to rely on, but himself. . .
I finally understood Baz.
And I held him even tighter.
I'm in love with Baz. . . And he's in my arms, he's nuzzling into my neck, tangling his long porcelain legs with mine. I feel warm and fuzzy all over, and his long dark hair tickles me. I smile so hard, my face hurts. And those beautiful, smoldering grey eyes look up at me and there's a small, sleepy smile on Baz's perfect lips.
"Go to sleep, Bazzy," I whisper in his ear, filling all the space between our bodies. He only cuddles further into me, and his breathing gradually slows. Watching him sleep in my arms; hearing his soft, muffled breath, I feel complete. I feel whole.
And I press my lips against his, feather-light, while he sleeps. My heart races in my chest, Aleister Crowley, his mouth tastes better than scones, and his soft pretty lips are slightly parted, drawing on all my strength to avoid slipping my tongue in between.
Threatening to burst out of my chest, my heart beats faster than ever, because I can feel his warm breath on my mouth! This boy. . . I thought he was the bane of my existence, until I realized he is the love of my life. I fall asleep thinking, I have to tell Penny about this! 'Cause I'm so overwhelmed and excited. I kissed my sworn nemesis!
I kissed Baz Pitch!!
Love is pouring out of my heart, flooding my veins, and filling every hole in me.
I'm in love, and I love it. I love him, I love Baz, like I've never loved anyone before.