I missed him.
I missed him and his now long dark hair. I missed that posh cedar and bergamot perfume of his. I missed his voice. That deep and clean voice. The way he pronounces every word in such an elegant way that I can’t help but look at his mouth - when he’s not looking - and lose track of the meaning of words (not that I usually know the meaning of the ones he uses) because all I can think about is kissing him. Kissing him. I miss kissing him. Merlin, I really do. I miss feeling his cold iced lips. But then, I don’t. Because to kiss him means he’d have to kiss me. I don’t know when that became a reason to panic. I guess we could say it was when I realized he’s so much more than I am. He’s always been. And he deserves someone on that level. But I just keep being selfish and weak. I don’t totally let him go. I tell him to leave for all the stupid reasons: it’s getting dark, Fiona might be waiting for you, Penny’s getting tired of your face, We should give her some space (though this one is not stupid at all). And he does go. He leaves. And he comes back.Â
I don’t answer the door anymore. Even though he can use magic - and I think he also owns a key -, he used to make me get up and open it for him just so I’d move out of the sofa. I stopped opening. He started using the key just to avoid using magic for banal things in front of me. Because he pities me. He does. And I can’t fucking stand this.Â
But I missed him. And I called him. And I didn’t know what else to say except come home. And I regret calling the second I said it and the line went silent for a while. No, Baz, I’m not sure I want you to come. I’m not sure of anything anymore. How do we trust things this way? I had no idea how I’d feel when - if - he came.
I didn’t answer the door. I didn’t even hear he arriving. I only saw him by the corner of my eye when he silently sat in the armchair and his perfume filled the room.
“Hey.” I say without turning my head because I don’t know what else to say.
He asks me to come home (how long has it been since I’ve been home?). He says he wants to see me. I’m at his flat in record time, and I should be embarrassed. I should have refused him, I could have, I’ve every right to. But I have never refused Simon Snow anything. I don’t bother knocking, he won’t answer. Instead I let myself in with the key Bunce had given me weeks ago, and softly shut the door behind me with trembling hands.
Simon is lying on the sofa. (At least he’s not drinking - small miracles.) He looks as if he’s freshly showered, and smells of cheap soap. His hair appears washed and his clothes are clean. I thank Merlin for that. He’s bathed, which means he’s gotten up sometime today. I wonder if he’s eaten, I wonder if he’ll rebuff me if I ask him if he wants me to get him dinner.
I take a precarious seat at the edge of the armchair across from the sofa. An insurance, if I don’t get too comfortable it’s easier to leave. He’ll push me out eventually. He’s been pushing me for months and the divide between us is large, a canyon of unsaid words stuck to the roof of my mouth. America has done nothing for us but cause the rift to expand, he’s within reach yet I can’t seem to touch him. I want to reach for him, but I don’t think I can handle the sting of rejection again.
“Hey” He greets me after I’m situated. He hasn’t done that in weeks. Then again, he hasn’t called me on the phone in - I can’t even say. Months. Still, the acknowledgment causes my eyes to burn, I blink hard.
He said he wanted to see me but he hasn’t looked at me once. He’s got the telly on, but it’s silent. We’re sitting in silence. I can’t help but wonder why I’m even here. I’m weak for him, a tender hearted fool. I love him, I’ve loved him for so long that I don’t know how to not love him.
“Hello, Snow,” I manage to say, but it’s a scraped whisper. Softer than I intend it to be, shakier than it has a right to sound.
I take the sight of him in. It hurts, being here, because I’m afraid that this is it. This is the last time he’ll allow me near him. He’s lovely, and I wish I could say that to him. I wish I can tell him all of the wonderful things that he is to me. Instead I swallow the lump in my throat and prepare myself for the worst.
I showered earlier just so I could be busy enough to not think about stuff. Do you have any idea how hard it is to bath with giant dragon wings on? And then, how humiliating is depending on your best friend to spell it dry? I try not to look in the mirror and – surprise! – I fail. My hair is a mess of disproportional curls, my belly is way more rounded than it used to be. I have dark circles under my eyes that are contrasting with my white skin – this one's paler than ever.
I miss feeling the sun on my face. I remember when I used to lie on the pitch at Watford or under some tree with Penny during summer. That when I wasn't in some mission, fighting and blowing everything up with magic. My magic. Which probably was never supposed to be mine in the first place. Now I’m just what comes next the blast. The radioactive fallout. Â
I don’t mind the silence. I definitely don’t mind not moving the most I can. It’s like maybe if I don’t move or talk at all, I can finally disappear. So nobody has to deal with the burden I became anymore. Penny would have the place all for herself, could fill up the rooms with magic without restringing her. And Baz... Baz wouldn’t be struggling to be in the same room as me.  I can feel he’s trying his best. Carefully breathing, hesitant with every millimetric move. As if it’s hard to be here. As if he rather be somewhere else. With somebody else. Someone who’s not a total loser. Â
I made him come here because I was selfish once again and I’m not even glaring at him. I’m too weak for that. Â
I notice that I’m biting my thumb. My leg won’t stop shaking. I feel guilty for wasting his time and an urge to say something, to do something comes to my chest. What should I do? I can’t kick him out again. He just got here. Or maybe I should do that. So he’d stop feeling sorry for me and actually see how bad I’m being. So he’d get mad and yell at me and never come back again. So he’d be free.
I get up in a rush and move myself to the kitchen without looking at him, my stupid tail whipping into the air. I hope he doesn’t come in now. I lean over the kitchen sink with my hands on my face. I lower my head and let my fingers slide into my hair. Suddenly It’s hard to breathe. Â
Tea. I should make some. I look for the teapot and all the supplies with trembling hands. I hope I don’t fuck this up. Am I capable of making a bloody tea without messing everything up? My eyes start to water. What the fuck. This can’t be happening now. Not with him here. Â
I try to breathe deep before I allow myself to say.
“Do you-” I clean my throat. “Do you want tea?” I ask as if there’s any chance of the answer be no.
