SIMON

Baz takes me to a place he's picked out near the theater. It has low lighting, and he's specifically requested a corner table, so he's practically invisible to the other diners. I understand that he's done this for me. He knows how much it bothers me when we go out and he won't eat. I understand that it's because he's worried someone will see his fangs, which could be a serious problem, so I feel like an arse for giving him trouble about it, but the fact is that I think he should lighten up. No one's going to notice.

"Thanks for eating with me tonight," I say.

He raises his wine glass, and an eyebrow, in my direction. "Don't get used to it, Snow."

"I don't see why I shouldn't. I'm having a nice time, and I'm pretty sure you are too," I reply, rubbing my ankle against his under the table. "I think we should do this more often."

"We'll see." He scowls, but recovers himself when the waiter comes to take our order.

I thoroughly enjoy my dinner, which is large and filling. Baz has soup, which he seems to think is less risky. I suppose that's better than nothing.

After dinner we join the crows heading towards the theater. I look around me at all of the people entering with us. Some are milling in the foyer, others are in groups or pairs, and a few are on their own. They are young and old and everything in between, different skin colors, different levels of dress, several straight couples and a few that I think might be queer, like Baz and, I guess, me. Everyone is different, but the one thing they all have in common is that I'm pretty sure none of them has a magic wand up their sleeve. Except for Baz, I saw him stuff it in there before we left. Seriously, what kind of person brings a wand with them to the symphony?

As it happens, the conductor does. Baz seems to think I really might actually believe it's a wand and makes an elaborate raised eyebrow show of explaining to me that it's just a fancy stick and it's called a baton. I raise my eyebrows right back and point out that I'm not as much of an idiot as he likes to pretend I am, but then the music starts, and reality aside, I know a wand when I see one, and I can recognize magic when I hear it. The conductor isn't actually a mage, of course, but from the moment he lifts his baton, I am transported to another world. Honestly, it's not all that different from the feeling I got when Baz and I sat on his bed and he cast us into the stars. Recordings just don't do it justice. This is like going to a world where all of your senses can be filled at once. "This feels like magic," I whisper, leaning in Baz's direction.

He leans away and shushes me, sharply, but almost silently. He looks irritated, but I can tell he's also trying not to smile. How is he so good at looking angry and pleased at the same time? Was there a class on Contradictory Facial Expressions at Watford that I didn't know about?

The first piece is the Pavane. There's a flute player who spends most of the piece playing a hauntingly beautiful melody. The rest of the orchestra backs him up with swells of sound that tug at something in the back of my brain which makes me feel a wistful longing, although I'm not sure for what. It makes me feel a little sad too, but also ok, and I don't want it to stop, ever, but the piece is short, and then it's over and I'm clapping. I realize that I was so transfixed by the sight of the musicians moving in unison that I forgot to look at Baz. I'm still behind in the staring game, he's years ahead of me from all the time he spent watching me at Watford while my back was turned or while I was sleeping (something I always suspected, which he's finally admitted to). This seems like an excellent opportunity for me to do a little catching up.

As the next piece starts I open my program to see what it is (It's the Beethoven). I think I'm doing a good job of being quiet, but Baz fixes me with a glare and I think I hear him whisper "seen but not heard." Suddenly I find I can flip the pages as much as I want and it doesn't make a sound. I smile at Baz, but he's still glaring at me, so turn my attention back to the orchestra.

When Baz is done being disapproving, I sneak another peek, and my breath catches. As attractive as he looked at dinner, that was nothing compared to the sight of him now. He's leaning forward, straight-backed, in his seat, knees spread as far apart as the space will allow, with his elbows resting on them and his hands clasped in between. His head is up, and he's watching the musicians with an intensity in his eyes that he usually reserves for me.

Crowly. Who's he dating, me or the orchestra? Is taking me here kind of like introducing your significant other to someone you've been seeing secretly on the side? (and if so, which one of us is which?) I suppose this could explain some of his recent tension. I bet he felt weird trying to figure out how to explain that to me.

The first movement ends and Baz tenses, his eyes flick over to me, I can tell he's got his hand on his wand again. A couple of people in the audience clap once or twice before realizing their mistake. I am not one of them. I raise an eyebrow in Baz's direction and flick a bit of nonexistent lint off of my trousers, before resettling myself comfortably in my seat. He rolls his eyes, and relaxes back into his as well. He really was worried I was going to screw something up, wasn't he? The twit. I wish he'd have just said something to me about it.

Even though I find it frustrating, I'm still sympathetic about the difficulty Baz has talking to me about how he's feeling. Both of us spent years being so careful to keep anything personal out of our relationship. It was self defense, and I know how hard it is to break away from that. I have my therapist to help me through it, but that's not something Baz has been willing to consider. Besides, he has years and years of hiding his feelings about me to overcome, whereas I'd really only been ignoring my feelings for him since I came back to Watford eighth year and found him missing...or, maybe it was a bit longer than that, I mean, I must have had some feelings for him as far back as fifth year. All that following really can't have just been because I thought he was up to something. My therapist has helped me figure out that it's possible my real concern might have been that he was up to something without me, and following him around was my way of making sure he wasn't. It was also my way of making sure he was miserable. I really should apologize to him for that.

While I've been thinking, the second movement has started. It's a lot different to the first, slower, and much quieter at the beginning. Baz is fully focused on the orchestra again. He's leaning back in his seat now, his mouth in a thin line. I slide my hand into his and turn my attention back to the stage as well. This is a beautiful piece of music, and melancholy. About two and a half minutes in, the music is getting really intense, and Baz's hand has slipped out of mine. I steal another glance at him and I'm taken aback to see tears sliding down his face. He looks desolate but somehow peaceful. (Again, how does he do that?) I don't want him to be sad, but I'm also glad to see him letting his defenses down so thoroughly in front of me. I guess he knows I'm not about to lean over ask him to talk about his feelings just now. I do find his hand again and give it a squeeze though, which he returns. A couple of minutes farther into the movement the piece becomes less melancholy, and even starts to sound hopeful. Baz has stopped crying, but he still has wet lines down his face. In the pause after the second movement, before the third starts, I hear him whisper and feel him twitch his wand hand. Suddenly, his face is dry.

The third movement seems oddly chipper after the emotional ride of the second. Maybe it's the musical equivalent of a chaser. It changes character after a couple of minutes, becoming grandiose. I let myself get lost in the sight of the musicians moving in rhythm to their playing. The conductor is also really fun to watch. My mind wanders as the music washes over me, and I don't stop it. It's a comfortable feeling. No, better than comfortable. The music fills me up inside, in a way I haven't felt in a long time, and right now, in this hall, there's nothing else that needs my attention. Nothing at all that I have to think about. I sit back and close my eyes and just let myself be.

When the fourth movement starts, the only way I can think to describe it is triumphant. It reminds me of the scenes I used to imagine where I'd return victorious through the Watford gates, after defeating the Humdrum and saving the magical world, to be met by Agatha and an admiring crowd of mages. The only part of that fantasy that actually came true was the defeating the humdrum and saving the world part. I don't know whether to laugh or cry about how differently everything else played out. I guess the bits that happened were the important bits, and having Baz waiting for me on the other side of it rather than Agatha isn't what I'd ever expected, but I can't complain.

The fourth movement of the Beethoven ends, which means it's finally over and we get to clap. It also means we're at the interval and, much as I'd love to stay and talk to Baz about it, I was thirsty at dinner and my first priority has really got to be finding the loo. As soon as the lights come back on I give Baz's arm a squeeze and push past him towards the aisle.

BAZ

I think Simon's enjoying himself. It is truly an excellent performance. I'm hoping to use the interval to gauge how he's feeling about accompanying me, but as soon as the house lights are up, he's brushed past me without a word and is gone. I'm left looking after him with my mouth half open, like an imbecile. I'm somewhat taken aback and tempted to sulk, but I settle for stretching my legs, alone, in the aisle, while I wait for him to return, which he does just as the lights are dimming again for the second half. He gives me a peck on the cheek as he squeezes past me to get to his seat, which means I'm unable to get a good look at his face. Was he absent all this time so he didn't have to tell me how much he's hating this? Was it a look of boredom he was trying to hide with a kiss on his way in? I shake myself mentally and remind myself that Penelope would undoubtedly tell me to stop overreacting if she were listening in on my thoughts. I'm glad she isn't.

SIMON

The second part is going to be shorter than the first. It's just the Bruch violin concerto, which only has three movements. The audience stops its chattering and rustling gradually as the lights dim, until an expectant silence has settled over the hall. Then the conductor emerges from a side door, followed by a young woman in a gorgeous floor-length dress of what looks like crimson silk, or some other posh material. She's carrying a violin, and she stops in front of the orchestra, positioning herself so that she's facing both the conductor and the audience.

The conductor raises his baton, and the orchestra begins. They play by themselves for a few seconds, and then the violin starts. I draw in a sharp breath. I've heard this before!

BAZ

Not five notes into the violin solo at the beginning of the Bruch, Snow catches his breath and turns to stare at me with wide eyes.

Oh.

He's full of surprises tonight. I do practice when he's around sometimes, but whenever I start to play he puts in those infernal earbuds. I thought he was blasting Queen or M.I.A. over them to drown me out. It appears I have another item to add to the list of Ways I've Misjudged Simon Snow.

I realize I'm staring at him, probably not with a particularly nice expression on my face. I really am pleased that he recognizes this, so I reward him with a grin before I turn my attention back to the stage, I don't want to miss a second. This piece is technically challenging, and powerful, and beautiful, and I love playing it.

SIMON

Maybe now I'll be able to get away with telling Baz that I like listening to him play. I haven't tried bringing it up in a while, he used to just brush me off, or say something snide, so I stopped bothering. He's turned back to watch, but I keep my eyes on him. He's completely absorbed in this. It's fascinating. Right now he's staring at the orchestra, and the fingers of his left had are moving on his thigh, pressing down as though he's playing along on his own violin.

After a while I let myself zone out again, just me and the semi-darkness and the sound. Sitting in a room surrounded by people who are all silently focused on the same thing I am is completely different to listening to music at home. Here nobody, including me, is trying to get anything else done, and there's no nagging feeling in the back of my brain that I should get on with the washing up, or my course reading.

I realize eventually that I've lost track of where in the concerto we are. Several minutes have passed, and there was no pause like there was between the parts of the Beethoven, but I think the orchestra must have somehow moved on to the second movement, because something's definitely changed. This part has a really different feel to it. The first section was dynamic, exciting, but now there's much more of a "searching the woods and the towers for something you can't quite find" vibe. It somehow manages to be melancholy and uplifting at the same time. No wonder Baz likes it so much. It's full of contradictory emotions, just like he is.

I lift my program again (carefully) to see if I can figure out where we are. Then I realize the silencing charm hasn't worn off, so I flap it around a little bit, just for fun. There's something delightful about waving a piece of paper that should be making noise, and knowing it been magicked to be as silent as an owl's wings. Baz, without even turning to look at me, extends a hand and pins my arm down against my leg so I can't move it, or the program, any more.

There is a pause after this movement, and I was right, only one more movement and the concert is over. It was amazing!

BAZ

Simon is smiling - no, grinning - at me as he applauds at the end of the concert. I suppose I can take it that he did, in fact, enjoy himself. And, to my eternal relief, he managed to get through it without doing anything too embarrassing, although it's a good thing I had my wand with me. I turn and face the aisle, waiting for it to clear enough for us to exit. As we join the crowds pushing towards the doors, I'm fairly certain Simon, behind me, is using the crush of bodies leaving the hall as an excuse to press himself up behind me closer than is strictly necessary.

We emerge into the cool night air, and I pull Simon to the side so we have a quiet moment together, just watching the crowd go by. I'm in no hurry to get home. I'm feeling much more relaxed than I was at the start of the evening, and I want to savor every moment of this experience. There's something exhilarating about doing something new with Snow. I'm also postponing the inevitable. At some point soon I am going to have to talk to him about the concert. I don't think he hated it, he was smiling like a buffoon when it ended, but now his usually easy to read face is locked on the distance. He's looking somewhat inscrutable, which is irritating.

SIMON

We're standing apart from the crowd, with our arms loosely around each others' waists, just watching everyone go by. I'm feeling remarkably contented. Every part of this evening has been wonderful, and the feeling of Baz's cool form next to mine reminds me that this is only one in what I hope (what I assume) will be a long string of wonderful evenings that stretch out indefinitely before us. I sigh. It's a sigh of contentment, but Baz tenses and clenches the hand that's holding my waist. It's just for a split second, but when someone with super-strength tightness his grip on you all of a sudden, you notice.

He's loosened up steadily over the evening, and I have to assume he's feeling pretty content by now too, but there's something I have to say. I really want him to know what I think about coming here with him, because I don't think he's going to ask, and his reaction just now tells me that he's still worried. I've been standing to his right, with my left arm around his waist. Now I move around so that I'm facing him, clasping him low around the back with both arms. He looks at me for a second, and then turns slightly, to focus his deep grey eyes on something over my left shoulder. I reach up a hand and push his chin gently, until he's looking straight at me again.

BAZ

Simon's staring at me with an expression on his face that makes me catch my breath. It's intense, and open. The way he's looking at me makes me feel powerful and vulnerable all at once. It feels like too much. I start to raise an eyebrow and pull my lip up into a sneer. I'm all ready to say something sarcastic, when I remember Fiona's words. I take a deep breath and stop trying to defend myself. Instead, I let him in.

"So," I try to smile, "did you like it?"

Simon lets out a breath I didn't even realize he'd been holding. Instead of answering, he brings one hand up to the back of my neck and pulls me gently in for a kiss. He breaks away after a moment and looks right into my eyes. "Yes," he says," it was wonderful."

That's enough. It's more than enough. It's more than I hoped for, and so much more than I feared. But it looks like it's not enough for Simon, he's pulled away from me just a bit, enough so that he can look down at the ground, and his hands have moved back down to hold mine. I recognize the look of my boyfriend struggling to find the words. I wait. We have all the time in the world.

"Baz?" He brings his head up suddenly. Only my quick reflexes prevent him from giving me a bloody nose.

"I think this might sound a bit….mad, maybe, but...erm...I don't really miss my magic, you know, on a daily basis, or anything...it's not something I'm just thinking about all the time...but...that's..."

"Words, Snow."

I probably deserve the pained look he gives me, but he pulls himself together and goes on.

"It's that, all of that music? I could feel it, not just hear it, and it felt kind of like…it filled me up inside, in the places that have been empty since I lost my magic."

I can hardly believe my ears. Penny was right. She was so right. (I make a mental note to take her more seriously when she offers advice, not that I'm planning to start asking her for it.) Simon does understand, completely. I don't know what to say, so I wrap my arms around him, I just want to hold him close while I absorb what he's said. But it appears that he's still not finished. He leans into me for a moment, and then gently separates us again, so that I can see his face once more.

"There's more, Baz, and I know I'm not very good at saying this kind of thing, so I just want to try to go ahead and say it all until I'm done, ok?"

I nod.

"It's not just that being in the hall with the orchestra playing felt a little like my magic. It also, it was so...easy...to be there, to let everything else go. I could hear the music, obviously, and feel it, and watch the musicians - it's amazing when they're all moving their arms at exactly the same time, isn't it? I really liked that. All of it. It made me feel like I could let my brain relax - like I didn't have to think about anything, but my mind was still full. I guess that makes it kind of like my magic too. Do you remember how I used to get so focused when I was using it that no one could interrupt me or get my attention?"

I think of the last time I saw him using his magic, when he was pouring it into the Humdrum, and I shudder. I nod again. There was no way anyone could have broken through to him.

"Well, when that would happen, I couldn't think, my magic took over and filled up my head. This was like that, but different. I was in control, my brain didn't blank out like it used to. I got to make the choice to stop thinking and let the music fill up that space in my head. It felt really good, better than my magic ever did. Does it…does that make any sense?"

SIMON

For a moment Baz doesn't answer, and I can't really read how he's feeling. Finally he speaks, but he doesn't tell me directly if what I've said makes sense to him.

"For me," he begins, "the music helps me clear out my brain, but it's not quite like what you're describing. It gives me space to focus, and, if I want, space to think about things that I normally don't dwell on."

BAZ

"The second movement of the symphony?" Simon says quietly. He reaches up and traces a finger down my cheek, along the path I couldn't stop my tears from following.

"Yeah." I look down, and with a real effort prevent myself from turning my head away. "That part always reminds me of my mum. And about how lonely it was in my great big house when I was five and nobody knew what to say to me." I roll my eyes up, but this time, for a change, it's to keep a new tear from falling, not because I'm being a sarcastic bastard.

SIMON

I feel like we've done enough serious talking for the night. I lean into Baz and let him recover himself. Eventually he brings his eyes down from the sky and kisses my forehead, before saying, "Shall we see about a second dinner for you? I wouldn't want you to faint on the way home."