Chapter Text
12
SIMON
I allow Baz to drag me back to our room.
We trip up the stairs, and I can’t stop myself from laughing. It comes tumbling out of my mouth, ringing brightly in the empty stairwell. Baz glares back at me, but soon, he dissolves into laughter as well. I’ve never ever heard Baz laugh, and the sound strikes me dead in the chest. I pause and lean against a wall, the handrail digging into my back. One tug of Baz’s wrist brings him careening into me.
He takes a tiny step backward, so he can look down on me. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever been thankful for the three inches he has on me. I peer into the lovely muddy colour in his eyes as I reach up for his head. He watches me do it with wide eyes, but he doesn’t try to stop me, so I pull his head down until it collides with mine.
The calculations of my projections must be off because his lips barely hit my own. His forehead hits mine, knocking my head back. And, not for the first time today, my head bangs hard into the wall behind me. I reach up and feel the tender spot with a hiss.
Baz backs up to give me room, cackling the entire time. Unlike the first time when I saw a hint of concern in his eyes, all that his eyes are mirroring is pure amusement.
He takes another step backwards, but, this time, his foot is hanging over the edge of the step. I see the moment he realizes he can’t keep his balance. His eyes widen, and he flails his arms uselessly, trying to grab one of the handrails.
I lunge for him as he’s falling backwards, but since my arms are occupied with Baz, I also don’t have anything to catch myself on. We hit the next step with a loud thud, and we tumble down the rest, a mess of limbs. We land on the landing between the third and fourth floor, grunting and panting.
The door unceremoniously swings open at the same time, and a women walks through it. She gives us a weird as she literally steps over us. We listen to her heels click down the rest of the steps.
Baz shoves me off of him when the coast is clear. His face is as red as it’s going to get (which, in reality, is a bashful pale pink). He stands up, and I watch him dust the practically invisible dust off of his pants. He ungraciously stomps up the steps, leaving me sitting on my ass. I hop up and jog after as fast as I can, but Baz is walking pretty fast. Curse his long legs.
He makes it to the room before I do, and I have to catch the door before it shuts close. I burst into the room, confused as hell. I open my mouth to ask Baz if he’s mad at me, but before I can even close the door, I’m shoved roughly into it. Baz swallows the words out of my mouth with his own.
The first kiss we shared was very brief. It was nothing more than a nervous peck. I didn’t even have time to process what was going on before Baz pulled back. But this is something else entirely.
Baz’s lips are cold and smooth. He tastes like brown sugar and pumpkin and cinnamon. Its intensity makes me shudder. His intensity makes me shudder.
It feels like he’s trying to consume me alive, and I have to say I don’t hate it. However, I have to breath (mouth breather, Baz has called me several times), so I pull back and look up at Baz.
His eyeliner is still smudged around his eyes, so I wipe a finger over it. His eyes flutter closed, and I give him a small smile that he can’t see. I press my lips into his, so he can feel it.
“Simon,” he whispers vehemently into the small space between us, and my heart spasms. (When I ask him later to say my name again, he vehemently swears that he never did in the first place, but I take my time unraveling him until it’s the only thing he can remember how to say. It’s incredible.)
“Baz,” I reply. I can feel his lips curve up to return my smile.
Merlin, I think, he’s going to be the death of me.