Happy Boyfriends.

How the boyfriend scene might have continued

Simon

We don't talk while we're eating.

It's hard not to stare at him though. Because of his fangs, I mean. (They look so sharp – I'm afraid he will cut his lip just by chewing.) But also because his hair is falling onto his cheeks again and there is a hint of a smile on his lips which keeps growing wider. His eyes glance over at me from time to time and I feel myself blushing when he catches me staring.

"It's creepy to watch someone eat, Snow," Baz says, without looking at me.

"Even if this someone is your boyfriend?"

His eyes meet mine for a split second and that smile from before wins the overhand of his face, though he tries to hide it by looking down at his plate again and shaking his head.

"Especially then", he says, shifting his position a bit.

We are still sitting on his bed. Baz sitting against the bedpost (with two creepy gargoyles staring down at me from above his head), his legs hanging over the edge and me sitting on my knees, facing his profile, the plate with the leftovers from his stepmother between us.

We both fall silent again, for a few seconds anyway, both of us just staring at the almost empty plate. (Me chewing on my fork. Baz sucking on his fangs.)

"So you really…", he starts then, suddenly looking up at me. He swallows. His cheeks blush. "You really mean it, do you", he says.

I shrug. Which makes Baz casting down his eyes again, bashfully, and I realise that this probably wasn't the best answer. So I put down my fork, my hand resting just a few inches next to his now.

"I do," I say then. "I really do mean it."

He still doesn't look at me but draws circles into the leftover gravy sticking to our plate with his spoon. Once again, I wish I knew what he is thinking.

"So you really want this?" he asks, without lifting his head.

"Yes," I say. And then again with more emphasis: "I mean yes. I…I really, really want this."

He lets go of the spoon and inhales deeply.

"But you have to cooperate a bit," I say and move my hand a bit closer to his. I feel his eyes watching my movement.

"Cooperate?", he says confused.

"I mean…" My fingers find his now and I slowly interlace one after another into his. He lets me. "You have to stop denying. All this I mean. I don't want to fight with you every morning whether last night really happened or not. I can't stand that."

Baz huffs, exasperated. "You were the one who said I was luring you here to kill you, Snow. After we spent the whole night snogging. And you were the one who used the first chance he got to join a sleepover party with his ex-girlfriend."

"I know!" I say and rub my forehead with my hand that isn't holding Baz's. "But I came back, didn't I? And you know I do dumb stuff all the time. That's who I am." I squeeze his hand. "But I will try to be better. To trust you more. But you have to trust me, too."

I smile at him.

"You are impossible, Snow," he says and shakes his head.

"You are impossible, Simon," I correct him. "You can't keep calling me Snow all the time and want to be my boyfriend. So much for cooperating."

For a second, I think he's going to sneer at me but then his face splits into a grin. Like a real grin. And just then I realise that I never actually saw him grin like this before. Not sadistically amused or a cruel smirk. But a true grin which lights up his whole face, his whole posture to be honest. As if he let go of something heavy wearing him down. (I should probably update my list of Baz's emotions. Apparently, I was terrible wrong with just four.)

He puts the plate and napkin still resting between us onto his nightstand. Then he pulls up one of his legs and shoves his foot under his thigh so we are actually facing each other. He cocks his head a bit and a strand of black hair falls into his face.

"Okay, Simon," Baz says then and lifts our entangled hands between our chests. "I'm gonna…cooperate," he rolls his eyes at that last word, "when you promise to not run after your well-beloved Wellbelove the first time you see her. That's not how the whole trust thing works."

"I promise," I say and scoot a bit closer so that our knees are touching. "I wasn't thinking back then. It was a dumb move. And I'm sorry for that." I reach for that loose curl and shove it back behind his ear. I feel a smile spreading across my face. "Can I do now for what I came back here?"

He looks at me, surprised. "What?"

"To tumble around and kiss and pretend to be happy boyfriends?"

Baz laughs. I start laughing with him.

"Your words – not mine!" I defend myself and bump my fist against his shoulder to make this sneering look of him vanish. He tightens the grip around my hand he's still holding and pulls me closer.

"Guess I was wrong with that last point," he says with a crooked grin and before I can ask what he means by that, he closes these last few inches left between us and kisses me.

(I guess I should add a new one: Happy.)

Baz

It feels different than yesterday. More absolute. Yesterday I was afraid that every one of his kisses could be the last one.

But he came back. He came back for me.

And asked me to be his boyfriend.

Simon bloody Snow asked me to be his boyfriend. Aleister Crowley, what I would have missed if I burned myself in that wood.

"So you never eat dinner with your family?" Simon asks me now, the two of us just laying on my bed, facing each other. We both got rid of our ties and suit jackets, as well as our shoes. Simon rests his head on his one arm now, his bronze curls tumbling on my red pillows. I'm holding his other hand and study every single line.

"Most of the time, no", I answer while I rub my thumb along his palm. His eyes lay on me, his brown lashes brushing against the pillowcase.

"But it's not like you have to hide in front of your family, isn't it?" Simon says, shifting his legs a bit so that one of his feet is touching mine. "I mean they know about your fangs, don't they?"

I place our hands on the pillow between our faces and look at him. "They do but I prefer to just hide them. And they do, too."

"But isn't it kind of cruel to call you for dinner every evening knowing that you will just sit there and watch the others eat?"

I shrug. "I grew up with it. You wouldn't accuse your mother of being cruel because she never gave you any candy if you grew up with it. It's just never been any different for me. From the day I grew fangs I ate in my room. It just felt better. And I wouldn't scare my sisters."

I watch how he considers this, chewing on his bottom lip. Then he shakes his head.

"Still," he says. "It doesn't seem right to me."

I lean forward and kiss the three moles on his right cheek. He closes his eyes. I squint at the Victorian wall clock hanging across my room. It's so dark that I can only read it because of my vampire eyes.

"Merry Christmas," I say softly, my face so close to his that our noses are almost touching.

I feel his breath on my skin. "What?"

"It's a few minutes after midnight. Christmas morning."

"Oh," he says and smiles sleepily. "Happy Christmas then."

I chuckle. (That's how far he already got me. Me. Chuckling.)

"What?" Simon asks.

"Nothing," I say and push a few curls out of his forehead, resting my hand behind his ear. "I should've known that you are one of those weird people who say Happy Christmas."

He grimaces at me. Then he closes his eyes again. I watch him for a few moments.

"We should probably sleep," he whispers, opening one eye to look at me. Even though he probably can barely see me in the dark.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Big plans tomorrow." And I need to hunt in a few hours.

"Sure you want to go back to the numpties?"

"We need to, I guess."

I mean it's not that I wouldn't prefer to spend the entire Christmas day with Simon in this room – even though my parents would probably get suspicious – but I feel like finding out more about my mother's killer can't wait until Christmas is over. She already waited for thirteen years. And I can't make her wait any day longer.

"We should change," I say and want to sit up but Simon stops me by laying his hand on my shoulder. I frown at him.

"Wait," he says, "I just…" He leans closer and presses his lips onto my temple. I freeze for a second because it's the same spot where my mother used to kiss me every night when she tugged me in. Nobody has kissed me there since.

"From your mum," he whispers. "She wanted me to give it to you."

I feel my eyes burning but I blink it away.

"We will find him," he says softly. "Whoever took her from you, I promise we will find him. We will bring her justice."

I grip for his hand and kiss it. "Good night, Simon."