Disclaimer: Rainbow Rowell owns the characters; Taylor Swift owns the lyrics.

A/N: I've written a Taylor Swift songfic before, but doing one for Carry On was inspired by morbidbookworm's "we are the kings and the queens." Check it out if you're into royalty AUs, or even if you're not. That fic will convince you.

SIMON

I feel like my insides are going to burst out of my abdomen and wrap around my arms, but he is nowhere to be found. He. I think my roommate is going to be a he. Watford doesn't do co-ed rooms, does it? That would be gross. Ew. Living with a girl. I'd probably get cooties or something.

I scan the kids time and again, watching everyone else pair off, wondering where my other half is. Not my other half. I don't mean it like that. The other half of my pair. There. Better. (Except it's not better, because my insides still feel like they're going to come shooting out of me any second.)

Finally, I see him, strolling slowly toward me, looking cool as January. He's got dark hair that's slicked back from his greyish face, and he's wearing the best-fitting suit I've ever seen in my life. He seems to glide toward me rather than walk, and I stumble in his direction in response, feeling horribly underdressed in my ratty white T-shirt and jeans.

By the time we reach each other, my hand is already out in front of me. It has been for ages, even since before I saw him. But his hands are by his sides, and he keeps them there for several seconds while I feel like I'm about to turn inside out from whatever spell is on me. (There are spells. Like, for real. Isn't that weird? I still kind of think I'm dreaming.)

After what feels like hours, he finally raises his hand, and I grab it before it's fully in position and start shaking it immediately, because I can't stand it anymore.

"I'm Tyrannus Basilton Pitch III," he says, and I almost laugh. What kind of a name is that?

"I'm Simon Snow," I reply, and then we let go of each other's hands.

"The Mage's Heir," he says, like I don't know.

"Right."

Neither of us says, "Nice to meet you." I bite back my question of "Where have you been?" too, since I don't want to let on the way I felt like I was going to die before he finally showed up. We just stand there next to each other, not talking, while the Mage gives a "welcome to Watford" speech. And I wonder where on earth you even come from, to look like my new roommate does and wear a suit like that. He looks like no one I've ever met, and I can't stop staring, like I stared at the Mage when I met him earlier.

"Quit staring; it's rude," he says when the speech is over.

"I'll stare if I want," I return, shoving him.

My hand suddenly goes cold and tingly.

"Anathema," he says.

"What?" I ask.

"You can't hurt your roommate. There's an Anathema. Where did you grow up, under a rock?"

I look at the floor. "With Normals," I admit. He's bound to find out sooner or later.

He laughs coldly.