Snow's face is so close to mine and his eyes are narrowed to slits. His nose is nearly touching mine, but it's not out of affection, rather aggression. He speaks more like he's spitting, every word like a flame.
"Go to hell, Baz!" he snarls, his eyes no longer soft and watery, a new sharpness taking over them instead.
"Oh, Fuck off, Snow," I sneer back at him. "You're the one who started all this. It's ridiculous, really. I hardly did anything." I step away from him and gesture at his desk, a disbelieving look on my face. All I did was spell his stuff stuck to his desk. All it will do is complicate his schoolwork until he figures out how to undo it (which won't be long if he asks Bunce, anyway.). It's hardly a bother - it's not like I tried to kill him.
"It doesn't matter!" He's moved away and is shouting across the room in a high-pitched voice. It's whiny, like a small child's. "You do this kind of thing all the time and I'm sick of it! You're never nice to me. And I know I'm not the best to you either but at least I don't spell your stuff to the desk! I even said good morning to you this morning, Baz! Why can't you be nice to me just once?" He has tears in his eyes now, they're back to their softer tone. They're vulnerable. And I want to cry along with him. I want to hug him and tell him I'm sorry and take away his pain. I want to hold him until we both feel better. Because I don't feel good about this either. It's not like I enjoy making his life a misery. I love him, but this is what I have to do. It's what's expected of me. He's looking at me with his watery, pleading eyes, and all I want to do is reach out to him, but I stop myself. I can't. He'd never forgive and then I'd never forgive myself for being so weak. But I do allow myself to say: "I'm sorry, Simon." And then I can't stop myself this time. I walk over him, spur of the moment, and he's just staring at me, tears falling down his cheeks. It's finally too much for him, and it's finally too much for me as well. If I just do it this one time, maybe I'll be fulfilled enough to never do it again. I take him by his back and hug him. I can hear his sniffling as I pull him into my chest, resting my chin atop his head. I say it again.
"I'm sorry, Simon," I murmur softly. He's not shoving me off him, and I think I'm crying about an entirely different thing because of it. I touch my nose to his hair, closing my eyes and inhaling his cinnamon/smoke scent. Simon Snow, you beautiful nightmare. He pushes away from me gently after a while, looking up into my eyes.
"Thank you, Baz," he says, then gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. All the blood I have in me rushes to my cheeks. Simon. Snow. Just. Kissed. Me. On. The. Cheek. I try not to let my feelings show too much across my face, but then I think 'Crowley, I'm already bloody crying,' so I let myself smile and close my eyes as I feel the blush intensify. When I open my eyes, Snow is blushing too. He's adorable- standing there in the half dark with his golden curls and pink apple cheeks. I kiss him on the cheek.
"I promise never to spell your books to your desk again, Snow," I tell him. He hugs me again, resting his head on his shoulder.
"I guess this is a truce, then," he murmurs.
"Sure Snow," I say, "a truce." Because I'm wrapped up in the moment and that's what I want, a truce. I want it so much. I want to hug Snow without thinking about how my family will probably ask me to poison his scones one day. I agree. Truce. It's nice. And then he looks up and kisses me with all the confidence I've never had to do the same to him. Like it's no big deal and incredibly important at the same time. I lean into it, placing my hand gently around the back of his neck. The soft-lipped, golden-haired, mole constellated boy I've always dreamed of is kissing me, and I want it to be infinite. I want 'truce' to be infinitely true.
"Truce," I mutter, chuckling when we break apart. "Truce." I kiss him again. I'm in love with him, and he kissed me and called a truce.