PENELOPE
I have my wand out and pointed at them as soon as they walk up to Micah and I. "Speak of The Devil, and He Shall Appear." Baz yelps, patting the top of his head and groaning when his fingers find horns.
"Bunce," he sneers, "I can't have devil horns and fangs, they'll clash."
"Well once you invest in a watch, I'll do something about your new accessory."
Micah leans forward, his arm hanging loosely from my waist. "I think she's serious."
"It wasn't my fault," he protests, tugging Simon into his side. I narrow my eyes at them, wondering what's happened. Simon never manages to smirk like that unless he and Baz had a late night.
I, unfortunately, have first hand experience with this very fact.
"Princess here wouldn't get out of bed," he glares at Simon, who is too busy looking smug to respond.
"Well I can't give Simon devil horns, people will think Halloween came early." I stare pointedly at his tail, which has someone worked itself free from his jeans. "Now we're late for our breakfast reservation."
Even though the restaurant is a twenty minutes walk away, it's warm enough to go by foot, and I like the feeling of strolling around with Micah. We still haven't talked about the last three months and his radio silence, but it's easy to fall into a pattern with him.
He can talk about the entire world with me, wants to know as much as I do, and then maybe more. It's nice, feeding into each other's curiosity the same was Simon and Baz add to one another's utter ridiculousness.
And there's always the added benefit of him being from America. He's untouched with everything that happened at Watford. He wasn't there when I cast that final spell that changed everything, he never saw the Insidious Humdrum.
Sounds like a cure for unfortunate bowel movements.
Something I'll never forgive Simon for? The fact that the voice in my head has taken on the arrogant lilt of that git Basil.
"What're you thinking?" Micah murmurs. I don't like loaded questions, not when I'm on the receiving end of them. There never seems to be a safe way to answer, so I pick the only choice that doesn't deal with him.
"Simon," I say it loud enough that it'll carry to him. "There's one thing that he isn't, and that's quiet."
Baz huffs, and I'm almost positive that it started out as a snort. "I know something that you don't," Simon sings, skipping forward. Or trying to. Baz tightens his grip on him, his smile disappearing underneath a threatening look.
"Snow, don't."
Simon adopts his "I'm mischievous, deal with it," look. "Penelope would love it."
"What would I love?"
"Oh please Baz," Simon pleads, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "please can I tell her?"
"Crowley Simon, no." Exasperation leaks out of him the same way Simon's magic used to, the same way his excitement does now.
I push Micah away and bound over to them, taking them both by the arm and holding tight. "Now you have to tell me, what is it?"
"That's it, now I really will have it removed, and then I'll…I'll…agh!" He goes to run his hands through his hair, only to snarl when his hand catches on a horn.
I decide to take pity on him. "Make A Wish!" They disappear just as quickly as they popped out, but it does nothing to help with his foul mood. "Get what removed? Tell me now or next thing to come out of your body won't be as pleasant."
"Pretty, pretty please with Aero bars and cinnamon icing on top?"
"Christ, fine!" He pulls us into the closest alleyway, scowling at Simon before raising his top.
My hand flies to my mouth as I stare wide–eyed at his chest. "You didn't!" The giggles come unbidden, fast and relentless. I try to hide the first few, swallowing them back as they hiccup throughout my body, but soon Simon and I are leaning against one another, laughing like it's all we're meant to do in this world.
I don't think we've ever laughed like this before. Not when we were eleven and Simon put Baz's hand in a bowl of warm water while he slept. Not when we were seventeen and Dev slipped on an actual banana peel trying to catch Agatha's attention. Not even when Baz walked into the flat and found us trying on his suits. He just had so many.
No, this definitely takes the cake.
"It was a gesture!" He roars agitatedly, sweeping his hand over his tattoo as if it'll disappear.
"Oh, it's adorable Baz," I wipe at the corner of my eye. "God, eight years of thinking you were evil, and you're just filled with love and cuddly thoughts and cute gestures."
Friendship or not, Baz is not fond of teasing. "Don't underestimate me Bunce, I'm pretty sure I've got plenty of vengefulness in me."
"Sure, sure," I brush away his threat, "and it's right beside all those delightful feelings."
"I'm leaving."
Simon's choking on his laughs, he's in no position to be helpful. "Don't go, Baz."
"Micah and I can go and eat. For all I care, you two can starve." He storms out of the alley, leaving us clutching our sides. His head pops back in, begrudging concern warring with the annoyed expression on his face. "Come on Snow, if you don't eat now I'll have to listen to your damn stomach grumble for the rest of the day."
It just makes us laugh harder.
BAZ
What can I do now? I used to be able to wish terrible things on Bunce at least, but now that she's one of my closest friends I can't even get any satisfaction that way. Now all I can do is stomp away and grit my teeth.
And this. "Fuck off, the both of you."
SIMON
Baz spends the rest of the day pouting, which only seems to delight Penny, which only infuriates Baz more.
"Baz," I say patiently, snagging the seat behind Baz on the tour bus. It's the double decker type, like the ones from home. It's oddly comforting. "Basil," I repeat when he ignores me. "Basilton, are you upset?"
He twists to sneer at me, the only answer required I guess since he says nothing. I just stop myself from saying Words Mr. Pitch, they were created just for you in that teasing way he does whenever I'm flustered.
"I can't believe you told Bunce," he snarls, folding his arms over his chest and angling his knees away from me.
"Why?" I rest my chin on his shoulder and smile.
"She. Laughed. At. Me."
"She thought it was cute."
Baz's expression darkens. "I don't like being laughed at."
"It aids character."
"Then you must have had a laugh track following you around during the disaster that was your teenage years."
I jump forward as the bus stops, sitting in the seat beside him and grinning. "I'm not sure if you realize it, but you've just complimented me."
"Don't hold your breath, Snow."
I exhale, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Nothing."
"Not anything?" I brush my cheek against his. "Not a single thing?"
He takes a page out of my book, shrugging silently. "We have a busy day, and if you bring up the tattoo again, or complain, or even let out a single snicker, I'm sleeping on the coach."
My eyebrows furrow. "But it has no lumbar support."
"Simon."
"Fine, deal."
He relaxes almost immediately, leaning back into the chair and giving me a small smile. "Fantastic."
We sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the tour guide, but I can't help myself from turning to him. "Wait, but can I–I just have–the thing is–"
"What, Snow?"
"What can I do to the tattoo?" I ask excitedly, legs swinging.
"Aleister almighty, I wasn't aware that I was dating a nymphomaniac."
"That's hardly true," I snort, a blush burning its way through my cheeks.
"And this is hardly the place," he's just as embarrassed as I am, his eyes gluing themselves to the back of the chair in front of him. "Can we please just learn about the history of The Book of Mormon?"
I throw myself back, frowning at my knees. "I don't even like musicals."
He rolls his eyes. "You adore them, Simon."
I knew I should have locked the door when I was listening to the Hairspray soundtrack. He'll never let me live that down.
"Not the ones that're still running."
BAZ
He looks at me so defiantly that I can't help but remember all those nights in our dorm.
...
"Do you even own clothing or do you just enjoy being half–naked all the time?" I asked, my body screaming for me to race over and grab him. I wasn't exactly sure what I would do when I had him in my arms, but it would be an upgrade from the current situation.
His head was buried in his pillow, curls askew and his handprint on his cheek. "If you'd let me keep the bloody window open maybe I'd actually sleep with a shirt on."
"So, the only way I can avoid being visually assaulted every night is to freeze to death?"
"Shut up." He lobbed his pillow at me. I plucked it from the air, hugging it to my chest and taking a quick sniff.
How could someone who literally only ever used Irish Spring soap smell so good?
(Stop it. Stop it right now you ginormous idiot. You cannot care about how Simon smells.) (Even if I would bottle it and sell it if I could.)
"Anathema."
He groaned and rolled onto his side, scowling at me. "I doubt you'd be very hurt by a pillow. All you'd have to do is bite into it."
"And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" I quirked up an eyebrow, acutely aware of the scraping of my fangs against my cheeks. I wished he would just say it, throw the word out there so that I could maybe, finally admit it.
I wouldn't, he'd be the first to drive a bloody stick of wood into my chest. But it would be nice to have the option.
Knowing him, he would miss and I could end up with plywood in my shoulder.
He growled, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes. "Nothing," he sighed. "Now can I actually get some sleep, or do you plan on asking any more idiotic questions?"
"I leave that to you, Snow," I leaned back onto the headboard, grabbing a book and glowering down at the cover. "Go on, get back to your beauty sleep. I'm sure Wellbelove would appreciate it." I couldn't help the disdain on my voice, just like I couldn't help the jealous hatred in my heart. You try knowing that the person you love sucks the tonsils from someone else everyday and stay sane.
He leapt up, his hand going to rest on the hilt of that ridiculous invisible sword. "Don't talk about her." He bit out through bared teeth.
I was up on my feet and in his face in seconds. "Or what, Chosen One?" I snarled, my anger getting the best of me. He was just so…so. Why couldn't I kiss that annoyingly stupid mouth of his? Why couldn't he ever jump to my defense like this, even though Wellbelove wasn't in any real danger from me. "Do something, get kicked out. It would make my life ten time's easier."
"I never did anything to you," he spat out, and I could taste his magic, seeping out of his pores. My stomach twisted with it, threatening to push out my dinner (although losing rat blood wouldn't be the worst thing to happen tonight).
Calm down, Snow. Leave, walk out, take a deep breath and ignore me. See through me. Be better than me.
"You were born," I hissed back, because if I didn't say something, my thoughts would come out. Or worse, I would kiss him.
With the amount of time I spent considering kissing Simon fucking Snow, I could end this war. I could stop world hunger. I could rule the fucking world.
"You showed up in my world," I continued, my legs inching me forward without my permission, "and you won't fucking leave." I never got this close to him before; he had the tiniest of moles right underneath his right eyebrow. I stored that piece of information away for later. "So please, throw a punch, make my day, if you could even manage it."
Please don't.
His eyes bored into mine, and they were so blue that I could scream. There was a moment where I thought he might take me up on my offer and give me the black eye I bloody well deserve, but at the last second, he stepped back, his chest heaving.
"Good night, Baz." My name sounded like a curse in his mouth, and maybe it was. I was sweating and if he didn't calm down soon, I would be sick. All I could see was red and Simon and I'm pretty sure his magic was trying to hurt me even though he wasn't.
"Nothing good about it, Snow." I sat back on the bed and dug my fingers into my knees, hard enough that I left bruises. He turned so that he was facing the wall, and slowly the room went back to normal. I could breathe without pushing down dry heaves, and I couldn't feel him anymore.
I considered apologizing (it would be the first of many if I started) when I noticed how his shoulders quaked. I inhaled sharply, pulling my hand into my side so that I wouldn't touch him.
I'd never met someone who cried like Snow did. But maybe it was because I'd never met someone who could destroy someone as well as I destroyed him.
...
And that's why I can never stay annoyed with him for too long, not when he has a lifetimes worth of reasons to hate me, but doesn't.
"Sometimes I listen to Hairspray when you're not there," I concede, thanking all that is good in the world (Simon's high up on the list) that I don't blush nearly as much as I should. "Zac Efron has the voice of an angel."
He eyes widen, just as quickly as his smile. "Really?" He asks, completely and utterly in awe.
"Well, what else am I supposed to do when I'm waiting for you to come home? It's not like you have anything for me to do, and Bunce's books are too long and hexed against intruders."
He snuggles into my side, and I don't care about my memories, not with his hair tickling my chin and him mewling like a damned cat.
(I think he might have actually been a cat in another life.)
"Would you please shut up and get a room?" Penelope hisses, "some of us are actually trying to learn."
Micah, with an arm strewn over the back of her chair, looks just as enthralled as Bunce. "She would be talking notes if I haven't made her leave her notebook at home." There isn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He sounds remorseful, regretful. I've never seen two people more fit for each other.
"We should listen to The Little Mermaid tonight," Simon decides, jiggling his ankle. "You'd make a perfect Ursula."
I'm the heir to the Grimm–Pitch line. One of the most powerful magicians to graduate from Watford. Avenger of my mother's death. And I will very willingly dance to a movie made for prepubescent girls to make him happy. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
PENELOPE
"This vacation is wasted on the two of you," I cross one leg over the other, scratching underneath one of my socks before meeting Simon's eyes. Baz and Micah, neither of whom contains Simon's appetite, went to check out some of the stores around midtown. Hopefully they become friends, but Baz is more of an…acquired taste. It took me eight years to trust him, and the Simon of it all fast-tracked the process.
He shoves a cupcake into his mouth, his fifth, and licks at the icing on the corner of his mouth. "Why do you say that?"
"You two have spent the entire two days ignoring the amazing buildings around us and alternately flirting and sulking."
He reaches over and steals my half–eaten sandwich, wrinkling his nose at the pastrami on rye and then taking a huge bite anyway. "As if that's any better than you and Micah."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He gives me a knowing look, the kind that makes me think he's in my head, poking around. For someone as missing as Simon is, he can be incredibly astute. "Penny, you've been torn up about Micah for the last couple of months. I know you thought me and Baz couldn't tell, but you've only been reading books where women killed their husbands for ages. It's quite telling."
"So, I enjoy a good revenge novel every once in a while," I say defensively, mixing my tea absently. "It's as mindless as reality TV, which reminds me, I forgot to DVR that Kardashian show you like so much."
He bangs his hands on the table, aghast. "Penelope! I'm going to miss so much!"
"Yes, because there's just so much you can miss between women going shopping and women talking about shopping."
He waves his hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. Have you and Micah talked about why he was avoiding you?"
"We don't fight, we never fight, and this feels like the sort of topic I'd want to avoid so that the nonfighting will continue."
"I've never known you to avoid anything." He pushes aside his plate, which still has at least three cupcakes, so I know he's serious. "You've thrown yourself in front of dragons, fought one of the biggest threats to magic, and very easily accepted me and Baz. You're fearless."
"I've got plenty of fear," I mutter, "I just never had the chance to let it out. But I've had months of worrying about Micah, and now I don't think it's worth bringing it up." Even as the words leave my mouth, I know it's a lie. Three months of nothing, and four more of barely anything is definitely worth bringing up, but I'm scared of what he'll have to say.
"Well, I wish I had better advice," he shrugs, reaching up to scrape at the back of his head, "but it's been almost three years with Baz and I still feel like a damned eighth year." I cock my head to the side, waiting for him to explain. "Sort of lost, kind of going by the seat of my pants."
"Simon," I giggle, "that's how you live your life. I'd be astounded if your relationship was anything different."
"That's not true!" He exclaims, tugging on a curl. "I'm extremely organized," I hum, rolling my eyes, "and super mature," I snag a red velvet cupcake, poking my finger into the frosting, "and wonderfully proficient at loving boys!"
"Get off it, Simon," I snicker, taking a bite and lifting a hand so I can talk and chew. "You barely knew how to date Agatha, and you prove again and again that you have absolutely no idea what you're doing with Baz. It would be sad if he wasn't as ridiculous as you."
He studies me carefully, and then nods begrudgingly. "Stop eating my cupcakes."
"I'm the one who bought them," I remind him. He yanks back the plate, watching as I begin to laugh. "Like the blind leading the blind."
I plan on teasing him some more, one of my favorite hobbies, when Baz and Micah walk in. A bag dangles from Baz's fingertips, an easy smile hangs on his lips, and it doesn't look as if he's about to make a snack of my boyfriend, so I consider the afternoon a success.
"What are you ladies going on about?" Baz saunters over and kisses Simon's forehead. Simon bats him away, growling at the "ladies" comment.
"How long it would take you boys to return," I lean forward and rest my chin in my palm. "Simon said it wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, but I, of course, realized that Basilton would take a million hours trying everything on, just as he does at home."
"Keep sassing me Bunce and no one will see the presents I bought," Baz replies warningly.
"Maybe we don't want to see them." One look at Simon and I have my answer. We do, as soon as possible.
"Get on with it," I say, hurried on by Simon's obvious impatience. Baz smirks, reaching into the bag before flinging something into my face. Two years ago, I would have figured he was trying to hurt Simon, me, or us both. Now, I regard the red piece of cloth curiously.
"What are these?"
Simon holds it up to his stomach. "I love New York?" He's already laughing. I think Baz could kill the first–born child of family in the World of Mages and Simon would still find him endlessly amusing.
"You actually spent money on this Baz?" I quip, taking mine between two fingers. "These are terrible."
He's too busy watching Simon, who's trying to get his wings into the shirt without knocking anything over or being too obvious. "I like them."
"So then where's yours?"
He scoffs. "Please, I'd never wear one of those."
"Right," I drawl, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "Anyway, unless you boys plan on getting something to eat, I think we should head out. The show is about to start soon and I need to run to the washroom before we find our seats."
I tug Simon up from his chair, and loop our arms together, pulling him ahead so that Micah won't hear when Simon inevitably brings him back up.
"You should talk to him." Right on time.
"Yeah, and you should stop talking all together."
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