I’m half asleep when he comes crashing into the room, soaking wet and trembling so hard he can barely walk. I’m on my feet instantly, crossing the room all in one stride to catch him as he collapses.
“Crowley, Baz, what happened?” I say, putting my arm around his waist and half-carrying, half-dragging him towards his bed. He tries to push me off of him (of course Baz doesn’t want my help) but he’s too weak to move me in this state. Instead, he tucks his head into my chest and I feel his breath on my skin, cold as ice.
“Woods… trolls… couldn’t come down… trapped for hours… snowing,” Baz chokes out.
It’s long past midnight at this point. I had figured Baz was out on one of his mysterious hunting trips, but I thought he was safe from the storm in the catacombs. I never imagined he would have ventured into the Wavering Wood in this weather. It’s a miracle he made it back at all.
We get to Baz’s bed and he untangles himself from me, collapsing into it. He buries himself underneath the blankets and starts shivering so violently that the bed shakes.
Baz almost laughs, but it turns into a kind of cough. “Of course blankets aren’t as warm as the Chosen One. Fuck, Snow, you’re made of fire.”
I put my hand to my cheek, feeling the warmth of my skin. It just feels like skin, but maybe that’s because I’m used to it. I take a step towards Baz.
“No!” he says. “I don’t need you trying anything while I’m incapacitated, Snow.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, I say,” in as soft a voice as I can manage. I’ve never seen Baz so… helpless. His lips are practically blue. His skin is pale, even more so than usual, and his perpetually styled hair has come loose in a messy wave framing his face, soaking wet from the snow. Every breath he takes is a struggle, and he keeps trying to tuck himself deeper under the covers, almost disappearing into them.
It occurs to me that this could be a trap, but he looks so small, so fragile.
And I realize that I can fix this.
It was supposed to be short trip. I just needed a rabbit or a squirrel, something to keep me going until I could find some bigger game after the storm had passed. I already hadn’t drunk in days and I was so thirsty. The trolls showed up out of nowhere. I climbed a tree before they noticed me, but they pitched their camp right underneath my hiding spot. Of course they didn’t light a fire; trolls can regulate their body heat. I was probably up there for three or four hours.
When they finally fell asleep, I couldn’t feel any of my limbs. As I stumbled back to Mummers, all I could think about was Simon. Simon’s warmth, Simon’s fire, Simon’s arms.
And now, as he looks down at me trembling in my bed, I know he wants to warm me up, and I know I can’t let him. For one thing, I’m still thirsty, and he smells awfully good right now. And for another, I don’t think I would ever be able to let go of Simon Snow once I had felt his arms around me.
He comes toward me now, slowly, trying not to spook me, hands up cautiously in front of him. His skin is golden, practically radiating heat. It’s all I can do not to grab his hand and pull him into bed with me. So I close my eyes and try to pretend he doesn’t exist, a strategy that usually works for me.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
I can’t believe I want to do this.
Baz closes his eyes as I come closer to him, stepping slowly, praying that he won’t suddenly decide to bite me.
I lift up the blankets over Baz’s body and he flinches as his skin is exposed to the air. He’s still blue. As I put my weight onto the bed, he recoils away from me.
“Baz,” I whisper, my voice so full of feeling, I could swear I’m speaking with magic. “Let me hold you.”
At that, something in him relaxes, and he moves over, making room for me in his bed. Baz’s bed.
I climb in next to him and settle myself under the covers, wrapping my arms around my sworn enemy, and suddenly I can’t remember why I hate him. Baz’s head rests on my chest and I brush a strand of dark hair away from his eyes. He sighs. I try to think warm thoughts.
I’m dreaming. It’s really not that surprising. I’ve certainly had dreams like this before. But somehow, I know this is real. Snow’s arms are solid, stronger than I thought they would be. Being held by him feels like being encased in a bonfire, but it doesn’t hurt, and I’m not afraid of being burnt to a crisp.
I take a deep breath and try my luck. I open my eyes.
Baz looks up at me from stormy grey eyes. I always thought his eyes were blue.
Simon looks down at me, not with pity, not with disgust, but with something else I almost recognize. It can’t be… longing?
How could I have never noticed how beautiful Baz is? His eyes, his skin, his lips. Crowley, his lips.
I might die of frostbite. Or burn to death. Considering how hot Snow is right now (in every sense of the word) it’s a definite possibility. Fuck it. I’m not going to die without kissing Simon Snow.
All I’m thinking about are his lips. His beautiful, perfect, no longer numb lips.
And then they’re on mine.
I’m kissing Simon Snow. I’m kissing Simon Snow.
I’m not quite sure how that happened. I can’t remember whose lips met whose.
But I can taste him. (He tastes like smoke.)
I could kill him right now if I wanted to.
I don’t know how much time has passed. All I know is that my arms have never felt so much like arms as they do wrapped around Baz. My lips have never felt so much like lips as they do pressed against Baz’s, encasing and pulling Baz’s. His hands are in my hair and I forget that a world exists outside of this room, outside of his bed, outside of us.
Simon’s body heat warmed me up within seconds, so there’s really no reason for him to stay with me, but there’s no way I’m telling him that. He must be using magic to keep me warm. He feels like the sun.
I’m so tired, but I can’t fall asleep. If I fall asleep it will end. I’ll wake up and realize it never happened.
I move my lips away from Snow’s mouth, kissing his cheeks, his collarbone, his chest.
I settle my head against his heart and close my eyes. If this isn’t real, I can still memorize the sound of Simon Snow’s heart.
He kisses the top of my head and I let out a long sigh. He tightens his arms around me.
“Goodnight, Baz,” he whispers.
romaincrisis
snowghoul
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