Simon
It can't be him. But it is.
Why, after spending so much time looking for him, would I actually find him? I was never supposed to find him. I mean, how could I? My black-haired, grey-eyed Kleenex boys were keeping me alive. Barely, but alive. Use once, throw away, repeat. I didn't deserve to ask for anything more than that. I still don't now. But then tonight happened.
And I never said my name.
He never said his.
But they still rose up, unearthed from the darkness of that December night, and into the shared breath between us. And there's no way we can rebury them.
We tear away from each other so fast someone probably lost a limb. Maybe it was the leg I was holding to my hip. Or maybe it was the hand I had tangled in his hair. But honestly, being deprived of an appendage isn't my biggest worry at the moment, because his eyes are saying 'run', and the hole in my chest hurts like hell.
It would probably for the best, if he did run. Which doesn't make any bloody sense because what even is 'the best'. I still wouldn't blame him, though.
"What the fuck," he says quietly, "did you just call me?"
I swallow and shake my head, tears stinging the back of my eyes.
"How do you know my name," he asks, eyes glinting in the ill-lit bar corner.
My mouth is full of cotton and my tongue is heavy.
"You know why, Baz," I whisper, shrinking back against the wall, slowly sliding down until my arms are around my knees and my head is ducked.
He pretends not to hear me.
"Answer me, Snow!" He yells, in a way that's cruel, familiar, and infuriating.
But it's too much. The name, the voice, the words backed by cold hatred. That crosses a line, and he knows it. He slumps down beside me, and I can hear his head thud against the cement behind us.
His outburst brings it all back. Nightmares in a room of our own, magic sharing nursery rhymes, long denim legs, cold fangs and hot trees, and fire kisses.
I can't take this anymore.
A giant sob racks my already trembling body, and tears are falling from eyes. I can't stop shaking, and I'm choking on my heart. My chest hurts, and my mind can't stop screaming at me. I never should have left I never should have left I never should have left I never-
And then I'm interrupted.
"I'm sorry."
Basilton Pitch just apologized. I never thought I would see the day.
I look at him and smile, and then cry harder.
"I'm sorry too." I am.
His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. He shudders and a few tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn't bother to wipe them away. And I can see him. I can see Baz. Scared and hurt tears, but with the beginnings of a new flickering light in his eyes. Regret and worry at the surface, but proud and brave and sarcastic as hell just underneath. I found him. And Jesus fucking Christ, I have missed this lovely git.
"I never should have left you," I blurt out, staring at my feet and trying to ignore the tingling pleasure that shoots through me as he shifts closer.
He laughs, loud and sad and wonderful, until he starts crying right through it. Then he laughs again, only breathier this time.
I feel his lips on my ear and I can't help but shiver in response.
"I never should have let you go," he whispers gently, and then leans back, his cheek resting on the wall, watching me with a smirk.
I copy him, so now we're facing each other, sitting in the back corner of a bar, silently apologizing for all of the unsaid mistakes we made when we were kids.
He hasn't changed and he has. His jawline is shadowy and strong, but now is peppered with red love bites. His widow's peak is gone, but his hair is still just as soft. The skin on his neck and arms is ghostly pale, but is now dominated by the spiked and ragged lines of his strange tattoos. He's stunning, but that will always be true.
I move in close, and kiss him lightly. I break away, and he tries to drag me back, but I smile lightly and shake my head.
I grab his hand and stand up, pulling him with me. I take a deep breath and look into Basilton Pitch's grey eyes.
"My apartment isn't far from here. Do you want to come over?" I ask, putting myself and everything I want out in the open, so he can see it, clear as day.
And then I wait for the answer. The answer with the potential to change everything.
"Yes, I would very much like to do that," he says.
I smile.
Baz
If someone asked me how I got from the bar to Simon Snow's apartment, I would have no fucking clue what to say. We could have driven, taken the bus, or hell, walked all the way there and I would have been none the wiser. But if they asked me how many moles Simon has across his chest, I would be able to tell them exactly twenty-nine.
We still have a lot to talk about. We made so many mistakes when we were younger, and they haven't gone anywhere but stick around to haunt us. There are so many things that are still broken between us, and won't be fixed any time soon. We gave away so much of ourselves to those desperate one-night stands, that neither of us actually know how to have a real, functioning relationship.
But we can figure all that out in the morning, tomorrow, next week. Just not now. Not when the moonlight is drowning us both. Not when I can still feel his hot tongue on my hip bones. Not when I can still feel his soft lips pressing lovely words into my skin. Not when I can still remember how it felt to throw our clothes on the ground and finally see Simon Snow. (He's so beautiful, my god. But he's always been beautiful.) Not when I can still hear his exhausted but happy voice ask if I wanted to hear a secret.
"Yes, I do, love. What's your secret?"
He giggles and then says something that wouldn't have made much sense to anyone else, but makes perfect sense to me.
"I looked for you in all of them. Always."