Boxing day, 5:30 pm

Simon

I hear the front door open, close. I hear footsteps walking to the back. They're not Ebb's. My heart flutters at the thought that it's Baz. I stomp down hard on the butterflies. They're doomed anyway. It's not a crime to step on something beautiful when you know you're saving it from a slower, more painful death.

It's not Baz. I don't even want it to be Baz. Baz hurts. I got away, and I want to stay away. I might sleep here tonight. I have to be back early anyway. I don't want to see him. I don't.

I look up. It is Baz. It's actually Baz. My heart flares. It refuses to let me stomp anymore. I sense the butterflies quickly fleeing to refuge, waiting to see what will happen next. Stupid fucking bugs. This isn't how self-pity tantrums are supposed to pan out. Can't I just be angry in peace? Why does he make me smile even when I'm trying to hate him? Asshole. I stop smiling.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. I try to make my voice match his for sheer cold indifference. He blinks. He looks kind of ragged. I blink again. It's just in my head. He's never ragged. He's sharp. Always. All ways. Lines and angles. Hairline and cheekbones on crisp display. I shake my head to clear it.

"It's not fair," I say. I'm not sure what I mean. So I keep trying. "You shouldn't. It's just. Not." And then I know, but I don't say it. It's not fair to come here if you don't want me. You can't make rules and then track me down so I have nowhere to hide. You can't have it both ways.

He smirks at me infuriatingly. "Use your words, Snow." I want him to hurt. I want to hurt him. It scares me. I'm not like this. This isn't like me. I don't want this to be me. I have to get a grip.

"Fuck off," I mutter unconvincingly. He laughs. And then he looks repentant. He takes a hesitant step towards me. Hesitant is nice. I feel so tired. So tired of this. I don't know what he wants. I don't know what I want. I don't know what he's doing here, in my space. I wish Ebb had told him to leave. I'm acting like a petulant child. So I shrug it off, adjust my posture, and suck it up. Make the best of a bad situation. My fucking forte.

"So," I say, turning back to the flour I'm measuring. "Lock yourself out of the room or something?" He doesn't say anything. I keep myself from rolling my eyes, but just barely. Fine. Whatever. I can play nice. "Sorry," I go on. "What's this about? Did I forget something? Was I supposed to call? What time is it, anyway? Are you-"

"Stop talking, Simon," he says.

"I think I like Snow better after all, coming from you," I let myself say. Going for the lowest blow. The student surpasses the master.

He flinches, but acquiesces. "Snow," he says. "Be quiet. Let me speak."

I want to be angry, but his voice stops me cold. He sounds terrible. I turn around. He's gone pale. Now I am kind of alarmed.

"Baz? What's going on?"

Baz

I'm such a fucking coward, even when I'm trying not to be one. Even when I drink myself to conviction and think I'm acting on it. I still fail. I immediately slip back into the person I'm trying so hard not to be. I smirk. I make fun of him. I act completely opposite to how I feel. I hate myself. I see him take me in, turn his back, make his choice. He asks polite questions. Treating me like a stranger. Like an imposition. Not even worth his time to be properly angry with. I did this, and if I can't undo it, I don't deserve anything more.

I have to make Simon stop talking. If I don't say the rest, this whole humiliating episode will have been utterly pointless. I promise myself not to breathe until I finish what I came to say.

Simon

"I," he starts. Then stops. Then closes his eyes. "I know it's fucking idiotic to close my eyes but fuck it. I've already been a complete idiot. And I'm scared to look at you in case I don't go through with what I want to say. I am seriously no fucking good at this."

The words are ominous but his voice is pleading. I let myself focus. Listen to what he's saying.

"I'll close my eyes too, Baz," I whisper. I don't know why. It seems like a good thing to do. To say.

He takes a breath, and speaks. If it were me, I'd rush though whatever I was trying to say. I know how quickly courage leaves you when you speak. But he doesn't. He speaks slowly, clearly, deliberately. And I'm shocked by the power words can have when spoken like that. The power to make me believe.

"Simo- Snow. I'm sorry." His eyes stay closed, but his voice steadies.

"I put it all on you. I'm scared. So I made it about you. And that was a seriously shitty thing to do. And I know it. And I usually get away with it. Making it about everyone else. But the thing is, I can't stand it. I couldn't stand it last night. I hated this morning. Now that I know what's it's like to be near you when you're here. I mean, really here. Now that I know, then when you're not, I hate it. I hate it when you're hiding and now I know you're hiding and you're hiding from me and it's reasonable because I'm being an absolute ass. And now I'm going to open my eyes because I am not going to be such a fucking coward when I apologize to you."

I'm stay silent, but I open my eyes. I don't recognize this person who's talking to me. I've never seen this version of his spirit inhabit this body. He is ragged. I could see, and then I made myself blind, and but now I make myself see again. His ripped edges. His gripped fingers. His sad eyes in his pale face. His shaky breathing.

He opens his eyes and looks straight at me. Eyebrows down where everyone else's usually are. Mouth a straight, earnest line.

"S- I'm sorry. I said less. I said less, slow. I said, less. But. I don't want less. I want more. I want everything. I want you. I want this. I want it all. I'm terrified. I don't know how to want the right way. I know how to not care. I know how to be addicted. I don't know if I can manage something in between. When I care, it becomes too much. But that's me. Not you. It's not your problem. It's me. It's mine. The too much. It's me. I thought it would be better to not have. Not want. But it's terrible, Simon. It's terrible. It's terrible. I don't want to not want you. I. I'm falling in love with you. I want all of you. And it's too much. But of me. Too much of me. Not you. Never you. I want all of you."

I'm still frozen. I take it back. I don't want to hurt him. Because this is awful. Like watching a tiger lose its fur. I don't know what the fuck that even means. Like watching something glorious fall apart. I don't know what to do.

"How about some tea?" I ask, wanting to offer him something, but unsure of what I have. What he wants. Tea is a stupid substitute for love, or hope, or forgiveness. But it's easy. Such a simple syllable. A single letter. It's kind of British, like he is. It rhymes with "me." I'm babbling inside my own head again.

"No," he says, reaching out "Don't, yet. Don't say anything, yet. Ok? I have to. I have to finish this because I'm pretty fucking sure I'll never manage to do this again."

I don't really want to listen to this. I'm scared of where this is going. I don't know if this his confession precedes a withdrawal or an advance. I'm terrified either way. I make myself listen. I can at least have the courage to listen, when he's found the courage to speak.

"I'm really sorry, Sim- Snow. Snow. I'm sorry and I want you to give me another chance. Even though I'm probably going to fuck it up. That's my thing. Fucking things up. I shouldn't even ask. But I am. Please. Don't go away like that again. Ok? Don't. At night. Go quiet like that. Don't smile at me like that in the morning, like I'm someone else. Don't listen to me when I tell you to be less. Don't let me be an asshole. Don't let me lose you. Because I'm so fucking afraid. So afraid. So. Ok, I'm done now, I think. Snow. I'm sorry, Snow."

I don't realize I'm crying until he reaches his hand slowly toward my face and runs his fingers along my tears.

"Simon," I say into his hand. "You can call me Simon. Ok?"

"Simon," he breathes. "Simon. Please. Simon. I love you, Simon. Please."

I don't want him to talk like this anymore. I can't stand to watch him like this. So I quiet him. I step forward, I press my lips to his. Just barely. I breathe in his scent. He smiles. There's nothing sharp about it. I step back slightly, and he moves forward.

"Simon. Simon, Simon, Simon," he repeats my name, a song, a chant. A spell, pulling me towards him. Our faces are close, his hand still on my cheek. "Simon. Thank you, Simon. Simon, I love you. I've loved you. For a long, long time. I love you."

I take his lips gently in mine, and then move back a fraction of an inch. I pause. I know I have permission. But I want him to give it to me. I want him to show me that he means it. And he does. He smiles again. I feel it more than see it. He whispers Simon warmly against my lips, and then moves slowly to breathe it along my jaw. Simon. Against my ear. Simon. Down my neck, across my shoulder. Simon, Simon. Back up along my Adam's apple, my chin, to my lips. Simon. Everywhere his breath touches me comes alive.

I stand perfectly still. He keeps moving until I'm shivering. It feels so good. He keeps his hand on my face but wraps his other arm around me. He stills me, pulls me against him. He whispers again. Simon. And he kisses me. He brings both his hands up to my face, and holds me gently in place as he kisses me. Gentle but fierce. My arms slip around his back, my hands span his waist just above his hips. I pull, and he's against me, and there's nothing else. We're both making sounds that weave together. Breathing and speaking. Crying and laughing. Murmuring, humming. All so quiet and still and full.

He moves his lips away from mine and rests his forehead against my temple. "I want you," he breathes. "I want this. Whatever this is. Whatever I can have. I want it all."

I want him too. I know it will get painful again. There's still so much silence separating us. It's not the end of hurting. But it's not the end of loving, either. It's not the beginning or the end. It's everything in between. And it's good. Holding him is good. Being kissed by him. Forgiving him. Being seen. Wanted. Being wanted, after being seen. Being loved.

So I say yes. There was never really a question. He already had me. But it's different, to have someone when they want you. And when they know they're wanted. It all tumbles around. The wanting and having, the moving and tasting, the grasping and aching. Boundaries blur. My boundaries always do. But now there's someone safe to catch me when I start to dissipate. For now. And now is all there ever is.