Disclaimer: Rainbow Rowell owns these characters and this setting. The title is from the fun. song "All Alright."

TW: THIS FIC CONTAINS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT. Please don't read it if you think it will make you feel worse. If you are suicidal, please reach out and get help. In the U.S., the suicide hotline is 1-800-273-8255.

A/N: For some reason, I'm celebrating my first full year in nearly a decade without a serious suicidal spell with . . . an incredibly angsty fic in which Simon and Baz talk each other out of suicide. I'm not sure if it's realistic, but I have been there, so I have some idea of what I'm talking about? Anyway, here goes.

Baz has stayed in every night so far this week. It's been torture, for both of us. Not just in the sense that we've been goading each other, either. I can tell he's been getting thirstier and thirstier. And I haven't been able to carry out my plan.

I've been thinking about this plan for weeks, ever since the Mage tried to get me to leave Watford at the beginning of the year. My resolve hardened when Agatha broke up with me. I just hadn't quite worked up the nerve before Baz got back, and since then it's been harder to find the privacy. The last thing I want is to have to explain myself.

I keep almost apologizing to Penny. I'm rubbish at keeping secrets from her. But I have to keep this a secret, or else she'll try to talk me out of it, and that'll just make everything worse for both of us, because I won't let her talk me out of it, and then she'll feel like a failure. Afterward. And I'll have her grief on my conscience even more than I already do.

But tonight, finally, Baz heads out for the night. I know it's my chance. I wait for about 20 minutes, just in case he forgets something and comes back, and then I leave the room. It's cold—it's November—but I'm just wearing my button-down and my uniform trousers. I don't want extra clothing in case it acts like a cushion.

I don't pass anyone on my way out of Mummer's House. I walk along the path past the White Chapel and into the Weeping Tower. Everything is silvered with moonlight, empty and eerie, and the wind makes me shiver. The spiral staircase takes me several minutes to climb, and each step leaves me more out of breath, which in turn makes me more determined to carry out my plan. What kind of hero am I if I can't even climb stairs without getting winded?

I reach the top of the stairs, panting and sweating, and step into the observatory. The windows are glassless, just empty holes in the masonry, which is why I came here. That's the whole point.

There's a figure at one of the windows. They have one foot on the ledge. And I recognize that hair. And I can hear—just barely over my own loud breath and the blood pounding in my ears—sobbing, coming from their (his) direction.

"Baz?"

He puts his foot down on the floor, turns to me, and sneers, but there are tear tracks on his cheeks, and the moon is even reflecting off rivers of snot running from his nose to his upper lip. "Snow. Followed me here, did you?" His voice is wobbly.

"Uh, what? I—no—I mean, yes, of course. Why else would I be at the Weeping Tower after curfew?"

He narrows his eyes. "You tell me, Snow. Why else would you be here?" His voice is a little more under control now.

I don't know what to say.

"Use your words, Snow."

"I—"

He whips out his wand. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!"

"I was going to jump out of the tower. I want to kill myself," I say. The words literally force their way out of my throat, and I have to cough afterward.

Baz crosses the observatory in two long strides and grabs my arms roughly. "Snow. Simon. You can't." His voice catches on the last word.

"Why not?" Now I'm the one sneering. I think. I'm not sure if I've really mastered the expression.

"Don't you have to save the World of Mages?"

"You know I can't do that. I'm the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen. God, how often do you tell me that? Just because you're a git doesn't mean it's not true. I know I'm hopeless. Even the Mage doesn't seem to think I'm fit to save anyone anymore. He hasn't talked to me since the beginning of the year, when he tried to force me out of school! Agatha's given up on me too. The only person in the world who loves me is Penny and I know I'm just holding her back."

"That's not true." Baz's voice is low, almost a whisper, but it's more intense than I've ever heard it, so intense that I think it might be a spell.

I laugh, feeling a bit hysterical. "Yes it is."

"No, it's not. I love you, Simon Snow. And I never meant it when I said you were the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen."

My head spins. I might have fallen over if Baz didn't have my arms in a death grip. "What?"

"Fuck," Baz mutters, looking at our feet. Then he looks up again, meeting my eyes. "I know you don't want to hear this, and I don't blame you for that, but I love you. I have since fifth year, if not since we met. You're so—heroic and brave and strong and good, and I know you're straight and I know you hate me and it doesn't change anything, but please, please know that I love you, and that you deserve to live."

"Look who's talking," I retort, seizing on the one part of this situation I can possibly hope to handle. "I saw what you were doing when I got here, Baz."

Baz's eyes drop again. "It's not the same," he whispers. "I'm a vampire. A monster. I don't deserve to live. My mother sacrificed her life to take out as many of my kind as she could." He meets my gaze, and his eyes are shinier than they have any right to be. Also more beautiful, especially in the moonlight. "You are goodness incarnate, Simon. And you've always been right about me—I'm evil. I'll be staked when they find out what I am, so please, Snow, at least let me do this on my own terms."

That's when I choke up, for whatever reason. It's just so heartbreaking to listen to him talk about himself that way. Before I can start sobbing, I go up on tiptoes just a bit and lean forward so that I can kiss him. I capture his lips with mine, and, despite everything he's said tonight, I'm surprised when he doesn't immediately pull back. His lips are cold, but they work against mine eagerly for a moment before he leans back.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"It's what you want, isn't it?"

"That's not what I was asking."

"I just don't want you to die."

Baz shoves me away, his hands leaving my arms for the first time in several minutes. "What, so you get to kill yourself but I don't?" He's breathing hard. "I don't want your pity, Snow. Especially not when you're in the same damn situation I am."

"Were you lying about loving me?" Damn it, why does my voice have to wobble so much?

"What? Simon, I could never," Baz says, and it sounds like a promise.

"Then"—I make a rash decision—"let me take care of you."

"What?"

I reach out my left hand and take his right one. He's got calluses on his fingers from holding his wand and playing the violin. "I don't think either of us is supposed to feel like this. I don't think this is a good place, where we are right now. And I'm not sure we're really meant to die this way, either of us. So take care of me, Baz, and let me take care of you."

"Snow. You don't mean that. Wouldn't you be glad to be rid of me?"

"Given that you're one of the two people in the world to give a shit about me? Given that you're one of the few constants in my life and I nearly lost my mind when you were gone this fall? Given that I've always loved to look at you, even though I'm just starting to accept what that might mean? No, Baz, I wouldn't be glad to be rid of you."

"Simon. Please. Don't do this to me."

"If you jump, so will I."

Baz lights a fire in his palm. "What about this?"

I gasp. "Baz, you're flammable!" Then I realize that's the point, and I say, "I'll jump."

Baz sighs. "Mutually assured destruction is supposed to work the other way around, Snow."

"Huh?"

"It's supposed to be, if you hurt me, I'll hurt you. Not, if you hurt yourself, I'll hurt myself."

"But hurting yourself would hurt me," I insist.

He stares at me, mouth hanging open, for a second before recovering enough to say, "Irreparably?"

"The crucible gave us to each other," I say, because I don't know how to answer his question. "Please, can we just fulfill what it wants from us?"

"So this is about the crucible." His tone is utterly flat.

"No, Baz, I—please. I can't seem to get my thoughts in order, but the one thing I'm absolutely sure I want is for you not to die. Please, can you give me that tonight?"

"I want to give you the world, Simon, but you're asking for something very hard." He puts the fire out. "Fine. Let's go back to Mummer's House." We both stand there for a moment. Baz gestures toward the doorway. "After you," he says.

I shake my head. "After you."

Baz sighs. "I suppose we have to do this together, then." He takes my hand and starts walking toward the stairs, so I start walking that way, too. He doesn't let go of my hand all the way down the stairs or along the path back to Mummer's House. I'm glad it's after curfew, for all that there's a risk of getting caught. There aren't any other students around to judge us for holding hands. Despite the fact that I kissed Baz earlier, I'm not sure I'm ready to be seen doing . . . anything with him.

We finally get to our room. Baz shuts the door and finally lets go of my hand. We stand and face each other, and the awkwardness is palpable. "Can I trust you not to jump out the window?" he asks after a few moments.

"If I can trust you not to light yourself on fire," I reply.

"You'd be better off without me," Baz insists.

"I'd be dead without you, so I don't think you mean that."

Baz takes a step toward me. We're very close together. I have to tilt my head up to look at him. "Just to be clear, Simon, I will never deserve you," he whispers. "So please, don't go falling for me. I can't let myself hold you back like that."

"You saved my life tonight, Baz. If that doesn't make you deserve me, I can't fathom what you think deserving even means."

Baz stumbles backward until his legs hit his bed and then collapses backward onto it. He covers his face with his hands, but I can hear the sobs. I surge forward, bashing my legs into his bed in my haste to join him, but then I hesitate for a moment. I've never sat on his bed before while he was in the room. Can I? Would it be an invasion of his space? But the sobbing escalates, so I flop down on the bed with him and run my hand down his upper arm.

He takes his hands away from his face, which is even more tearstained and snotty now than it was when I arrived at the observatory. Without thinking, I pull him toward me, and he presses his face into my shoulder. I'll have to do something about this shirt, but I don't care. I was going to wear it to die tonight. I can wear it to comfort Baz instead.

It takes several minutes for Baz to cry himself out, but he finally gets his breathing under control and pulls back from me just a bit. His eyes are puffy. I resist the urge to kiss his face because I don't know where the urge is coming from and I need to figure myself out before I do anything that confuses him.

"What was that?" I whisper.

"I—you're being nice to me. You're all I've ever wanted and you're so far and away too good for me and I love you so much and you might not hate me and I want to die but I think I might be able to live for you and Crowley, Simon, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for being in your life and for dragging you down with me and for all the times I've hurt you, and I don't deserve your care or your forgiveness or any of it, Simon, but there's a part of me that wants to live every day trying to be worthy of you, and yes, yes, I'll take care of you if you'll take care of me. And Merlin, I'm so sorry you have to."

Now I'm the one who's crying.

"Simon—no—I'm sorry—please . . . ," Baz murmurs as he strokes my face.

"You're—Baz—please stop being sorry," I choke out. "You saved my life tonight."

"After pushing you toward the brink for years," Baz retorts.

"I did the same to you," I push back. "I've hurt you so many ways, for so many years, and you've loved me? Baz, that's horrible. That was awful of me. I'm so, so sorry."

Baz wipes my cheeks, carefully, with his thumbs. I'm still crying, so it's of limited usefulness, but I appreciate the gesture. "No need to apologize, Simon."

I cry harder. How can he be so kind to me after everything?

"Oh, Simon, I'm sorry," he murmurs. I press my face into his shoulder and cry. I'm processing Baz's and my almost-suicides; I'm mourning lost connections with the Mage and Agatha; I'm trying to sort out my feelings and let it sink in that Baz loves me. It's so, so much, and I think I need to just cry for a while.

Finally I lean back, tears spent. "Thank you, Baz," I whisper.

"It's the least I could do," he whispers back. Then he yawns.

"Time for bed, Baz," I say.

"Not if you need me," he says.

"Can we—never mind."

"What is it, Simon?" He's looking at me more tenderly than he ever has before.

"I—I was wondering if we could push our beds together and sleep togeth—cuddle. Tonight. I just don't want to be alone right now. But that's probably too much to ask. I'm sorry."

Now Baz is just staring at me. "You want to cuddle. With me."

I drop my gaze. "Sorry."

"No, Simon, don't be sorry. I just—I get to touch you?"

"Yeah," I say. "I mean, not like—well, you can hold me."

Baz nods quickly. "Right. Yeah. That's what I meant." He yawns again.

"You can take the bathroom first," I offer. "I'll work on the beds."

Baz eyes me warily. "Can I trust you not to jump into the moat?"

I think about it, and then I sigh. "Yeah. You can trust me."

"Mutually assured destruction, remember."

"Please, Baz, you deserve to live."

"So do you, Simon." He says it sharply, not tenderly.

I sigh again. "Okay, then."

Baz gets up, grabs his pajamas, and heads to the bathroom. I stand, too, and the room spins a little. I think I hyperventilated a little with the crying, and I'm probably dehydrated from all the tears and the snot, too. I don't dare use magic to push the beds together—I wouldn't even if I were feeling my best—so I carry our bedside tables to the space between my desk and the bathroom door, and then I use my whole self to shove Baz's bed toward mine. I know Baz is going to take forever in the bathroom, so I change into my pajamas out in the room, and then I flop onto my side of our combined bed. Despite the raging storm going on inside my brain, I start to drift off.

The next thing I know, Baz is poking me. "Oi. If we're sleeping in the same bed, you need to brush your teeth."

I yawn and groggily blink my eyes open. "Fine," I grumble. I get up—the room spins even more this time—and stumble to the bathroom.

A minute later, my mouth now fresh, I stumble back and fall into bed. Baz's cool arms immediately wrap around me. "Is this okay?" he whispers. I feel his breath on my neck.

"Yeah," I breathe back. "Good night, Baz."

"You know what, it might be, in spite of everything," he whispers.