Baz
The rain flooded the sidewalks and ran through the streets like little rivers. It had thoroughly soaked all of my clothes, and they were now clinging wetly to my skin. My once slicked back hair now hung loosely around my shoulders, dripping water as if I had just stepped out of the shower. I had left my umbrella on the bloody Tube, and now I was freezing, standing in the doorway of Simon and Penny's flat, like some sad, stray dog. I kick off my trainers and shut the door behind me, and it muffles the sound of the rain hitting the metal steps outside.
I quickly shed my coat, and then call mockingly into the oddly quiet flat, "Hey honey, I'm home!" I listen for a response, but the only thing I hear is the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the pitter-patter of the rain. Penny's out with Micah, (she told us excitedly last night, and made an emphasis on the 'don't wait up' part), but Simon should be home… "Snow?" Nothing. Okay, now I'm worried. Whenever I come over, (which is a lot), I'm usually greeted with a bump or a crash. (Simon's tail has a mind of it's own, and it gets really worked up and over-enthusiastic whenever I'm around.) Honestly, you don't know true pride until your boyfriends cartoon devil tail starts breaking things because of how happy he is to see you.
"Simon?" I ask the flat, in a slightly more stressed tone. A strangled sob resounds from the living room and that does it. I rush in, and horrible scenarios of what could've happened flash through my mind, like a sick movie. My teeth are bared and my hands are balled into fists as I observe the room before me. And then everything clenched and taut inside of me relaxes. I sigh and shake my head as I walk over to the sobbing mess of bronze curls and wet blue eyes.
Simon is curled into the corner of the couch, red dragon wings wrapped around his trembling frame, sobbing loudly, with an object clutched tightly to his chest. I scoop him up, wings and all, and plop myself back down onto the couch. I pull him close, my arms snaking around his waist, as he buries his face in my shoulder. He's still sobbing, though it's much calmer now, and I try to talk to him. I bend my head down, lips brushing over the moles on his neck, as I breathe into his ear. "What's wrong, love? What can I do?" He shivers, and raises himself away from me long enough to remove the object he was holding and place it on the couch between us. It's a book. I look at it closely, and can see it's the same book from a couple nights ago.
The cover includes a boy and a girl listening to a pair of headphones, and the grey light that filters in through the windows is bright enough for me to read the title. Eleanor and Park. I turn away from the book and gently rest my cheek against his thick bronze curls. I breathe in his delicious smell of sugar and sunshine, and his sobs get even quieter. "What's wrong, darling? Talk to me."
"Just three words," he breathes, then dissolves into more sobs. I sigh and squeeze him tighter, because there's not really much else I can do at this point. He gets like this sometimes, especially when he's reading, and I know to just sit with him and talk. He loves the wonderfully sad, heartbreaking stories. The rain probably wasn't helping. It's just one of those days.
There's only so much I can do. I would give him all the love that I have, but he already has it. And if I give any more, he might explode. So instead, I bring him as close as I can and I ask him another question. If I stayed quiet for too long, I'm afraid he'd never stop crying.
"What was it this time, Simon? Did someone die again?" He shakes his head, and hugs me so tight our chests press together and I can feel his heartbeat. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"
He gasps in a breath and cries out a no. My heart twists painfully, and I wish I understood what caused him to break this time. An idea comes to my mind, and I think it might help. I shift Simon around so I can use both of my hands, and I pick up the book. If Simon can't tell me what's upsetting him so much, then I'll just have to figure it out on my own. I turn to the first page and begin reading.
"XTC was no good for drowning out the morons at the back of the bus."
Simon
My eyes feel puffy and dry and the room is dark. I didn't know what time it is, but I'm curled into something that's warm and soft and smells like cedar and bergamot. Baz. The memories take their sweet time getting back to me because my head is so foggy right now, but I don't really mind. Baz is here, cuddled against me, and breathing softly. He's so warm and soft. I never want to move. I feel his chest rise and fall, and I almost fall asleep again, trapped in my boyfriends embrace. But his breath hitches, and I raise my head to see tears fall from his stormy grey eyes.
The light coming from the lamp on the side of the couch gives everything a soft glow. His skin is warm, his hair is wavy, and his shirt is wrinkled. He's lovely. But why is he crying? I crane my neck to see what he's reading, and he hasn't even noticed me yet. More tears stream down Baz's gorgeous face, and he looks so vulnerable and so exposed I just want to hide him away and never let anything bad touch him.
He's reading Eleanor and Park… and all the memories come crashing in. I remember finishing the book and not being able to stop crying. I just shook and trembled and sobbed. I don't know why. I remember Baz coming home in the afternoon, coming in from the rain, and being cuddled against him. He must of picked up the book after I fell asleep, and now, with shining eyes and shaky breaths, he's reading it too. I can't believe he's crying over it. That's my job to be the weepy sad boyfriend when it comes to books. It's always books and I'm always crying. And now he's crying. The great Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, crying over a book. He looks so beautiful…
I lean forward and gently kiss away one of the tears that just slipped out of his wide eyes. It's salty and warm. I giggle softly. He looks surprised, but happy that I'm awake. Tears are still falling down, over his nose and cheeks and jaw, and he looks so sad and happy and beautiful that I start crying. Again. He smiles, presses his forehead against mine, and whispers, "Just three words."