The Meaning of Love
Summary: Simon's never really understood the meaning words like 'want,' 'family,' and 'love.' This is his journey, set after the events of the book, to discovering his own feelings and being at peace with the Mage, Baz, and most of all, himself.
Disclaimer: I don't own Carry On or Fangirl.
I tried to keep this fairly canon, and I wanted to wrap up all the things that I thought were still unaddressed in the book. I really wanted to explore Simon's traumas and help to heal them. Also, that tweet that Rainbow Rowell wrote about how Simon and Baz aren't happy really fueled my fire and made me NEED to MAKE them happy. I hope I accomplished this. This is basically my own little continuation of the book.
Once again, I started writing a one-shot and ended up with a chapter fic. This time what was supposed to be one short fic is going to be six chapters long. I have already basically finished writing everything, so I will be posting one chapter a day for six days. Please comment and enjoy!
Chapter 1: Inexpressible/Unknown
Simon had never been very good at talking or putting his own feelings into words.
By the time he'd said his first word when he was a kid, everyone around him had already assumed that he was dumb and mute. All the other kids his age had already started talking, making sounds even if they were nonsense. Simon stayed quiet.
It wasn't that he was dumb. He'd just spent his whole life tossed around different foster homes, and no one had ever taken the time to talk to him much. He wasn't around long enough for people to get to know him or to finally get him to open up. Of course he was having trouble learning. His life was confusing, completely void of a stable parental figure who loved him. It was understandable.
Eventually he caught on and finally began to speak. He learned non-abstract words like 'ball' and 'dog,' but even then, he struggled to articulate his emotions, to translate that feeling of want into words.
It wasn't as if he hadn't tried in those early days of being a kid. "More food pwease?" he remembered asking cheerfully one day after he'd licked his plate clean.
"No, there isn't any fucking more! Be grateful for what you have, you little brat!"
He'd already forgotten that particular foster parent's face, but he would never let himself forget their response. Simon hid his bruises for weeks after that. He never asked again.
Simon had always liked food. However, it was rare that he ever lived in a place that could offer him very much. Sometimes he would starve. He usually fell asleep to the sound of his own grumbling belly. But if he acted like he was ungrateful or unhappy with his current situation, there were often dire consequences, so he stayed quiet.
It wasn't always that bad, however.
Once he'd lived with a nice old lady who cooked him scones. They were nothing like the sour cherry scones he would come to covet at the Watford School of Magicks. She burned them, and she was too poor to afford anything fancy, but her heart was in it.
"You sure gobbled those down quickly!" she chortled. "Do you want me to make you any more? I have just enough to make another batch."
"I don't want to impose," Simon murmured, remembering his manners.
"Nonsense!" the woman cried good-naturedly. "You're part of the family now. I'll whip you up some more!"
Simon didn't understand what she meant by 'family.' A half a year after that, however, he was transferred to live somewhere else, so he never quite found out.
Everywhere he went, he was never in a position to ask for what he wanted. Sometimes he slipped up and wished for something (like the time he wanted to grow up to be a footballer, or even worse, the time he wished that his parents would somehow come back to find him). But then reality set in, and he realized that it was useless to think about it. Whenever something happened to him, it was always something that he had no control over. Dreaming, wishing, wanting: it was all pointless.
He began to make lists in his head of things to push to the back of his mind. It was better than wanting something that he could never have.
It hurt too much.
Watford had always felt like the place where he belonged, but after the Leaver's Ball, Simon never stepped foot there again.
Baz moved into a dorm at the London School of Economics after he graduated, and was doing really well there (of course he was, the prat was flawless), but in comparison, Simon had no idea what he should be doing with his life or where he belonged. He was lost.
Even Penny seemed to have her life put together. She had dropped out of Watford just the same as Simon, but she was smart enough that it hadn't affected her job prospects in the slightest.
Also, she still had magic on her side.
Simon was now about as Magickal as a Normal, albeit a Normal with dragon wings and a cartoonish devil tail. He mourned the loss of his magic. He couldn't even go out in public without relying on someone else to spell his wings and tail invisible for him. He could never be a mage anymore, but he could never be a Normal either. He didn't fit in anywhere.
He used to be the Chosen One, and now… he was just no one.
Despite his lack of purpose, life went on. He and Penny bought an apartment not far from where Baz went to school. He needed to pay rent somehow, so he applied for a job at a shop nearby.
The owners of the shop were a couple of mages, Mr. and Mrs. Stainton, the parents of Philippa Stainton. They didn't really approve of Simon dating Baz after he had been the one to steal away their daughter's voice, but they were friends of the Bunces and agreed to take Simon in without a second thought. They were some of the few people left who still believed that Simon was a hero. They forgave him for a lot of his faults because of what he'd done in the past to save the Magickal World. They never mentioned that most of those things only happened because of him in the first place. He always made sure to quickly change the subject whenever they praised him.
Simon didn't particularly enjoy the shop work either, but it gave him something to do and paid the bills. Besides, after everything that had happened, he was kind of glad for a life without adventure. No more fearing for his life every day. No more worrying about going off. He'd never considered what he would do after Watford. Honestly, he never thought he'd survive that long.
At one point while he had been dating Agatha, he'd let himself imagine a future with her. He'd imagined that he would just marry into the Wellbelove family and things would fall into place from there. He knew now that that had just been the easy way out, a way of escaping from actually having to decide what (or who) he really wanted.
No wonder it had taken him so long to realize that he was obsessed with Baz.
He never could have predicted that he'd end up with a boy, much less a vampire who used to be his enemy, but somehow that's what happened, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Maybe he liked girls too, he wasn't sure, but he knew without a doubt that he liked Baz the most.
After all their fighting and hating each other, it had only taken a moment between them and a desperate kiss for Simon to finally realize how he felt. Just as always, it was so much better for him to just go with the flow. What was the point of trying to think about the future when it was impossible to predict? He didn't want to think about the past or the future, so he threw himself into enjoying the present.
Even though he didn't like working all that much, he did love that the store was right next to a bakery. He spent a lot of time looking into the window and drooling. He often spent his lunch break watching them as they added finishing touches to the cakes.
This was happiness, he thought as he ate: no thinking, no feeling, just being.
"I love you, Simon," Baz whispered, his voice wavering with an emotion that Simon didn't recognize. "I love you so much."
Simon's eyes widened.
It had been about half a year since they had officially become boyfriends, but neither one of them had said those words aloud to each other before. Baz had been practically in love with Simon ever since puberty hit, and on some level Simon understood that by now, but he had no idea how he was supposed to respond. His mouth hung open dumbly.
When he didn't say anything back, Baz averted his eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly, his features twisting into a scowl.
Simon took Baz's hand in his gently, a silent apology, a silent answer.
Baz looked up at him, reassured by his touch. They were always holding hands. They did it more than talking. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Simon looked a bit sheepish. "You know me, Baz. I… I'm not sure what I'm feeling most of the time." He hated his own excuses, even if they were true. "But I do know that I'm so happy to be with you. That's the one thing that I'm absolutely sure of."
"You're happy," Baz confirmed, keeping his voice neutral, "but you don't know if you love me back."
Simon heard a small spark of anger in his voice, which Simon knew by now meant he was actually just disappointed and feeling defensive. He squeezed Baz's hand, terrified that this was going to mess things up between them. He wanted to say it back so badly. There was no one else he could ever imagine saying it to.
But he knew Baz, and he knew that Baz wouldn't want to hear it unless it was the truth.
The only experience he'd ever had with saying 'I love you' was with Agatha, but neither of them had actually understood what they were saying back then. They had both just been going through the motions, trying to keep each other by doing what they thought they needed to do. In the end, relying on a love that just wasn't there was what ruined them. He didn't want that to happen between him and Baz. He wanted to be sure.
"It's just…" Simon said, trying his best to explain truthfully, "I don't even know what that word means. I've never really… No one's ever really…"
Baz nodded silently in understanding. He should've realized that Simon would need time. No one had ever really cared for Simon like this, not even family. He'd always been on his own.
The side of Baz's mouth twitched up in an attempted smile, and he leaned over to kiss Simon on the cheek, pressing his lips against as many of Simon's moles as he could find. "Take your time, then," he said softly between kisses. "I'm not going anywhere."