Chapter Text
Simon
Oh. Oh.
I roll off of Baz, but I don’t let go of his hand. He sits up and hangs his legs off the bed, so I do the same.
“You don’t have to go to Oxford, do you?” I ask. “You’ve already been here for over a semester.”
Baz stares down at his empty hand. “He says I have to transfer after this semester is over. Or he will refuse to pay for my school.”
I squeeze his hand harder. “Baz.”
“I’ll drop out,” he says, clenching his empty hand into a fist.
“No. You can’t.”
“I can, Snow. And I will.”
I let go of his hand and run my fingers along his shoulder. He shivers slightly and looks at me. His eyes are heavy, and the grey reminds me of storm clouds right before the rain.
“I don’t want to be the reason for you not finishing school,” I say, and I feel my eyes becoming equally heavy.
He furrows his brow and frowns at me, then stands up. He walks to the middle of the room and stares up at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, and I watch the muscles in his shoulders briefly tense up, then flatten out and relax. And I think about how I want him to do that again. And then about how perfect his shoulders are; strong, yet graceful. And then I look at his hair. And think about how I want to run my fingers through it.
“Come back over here, Baz,” I say.
He lowers his head and runs his fingers through his hair but doesn’t turn around. He makes a small sound, something that might be a sniffle, and I immediately stand up and make my way to him. I stop behind him and wrap my arms around his chest. He stills momentarily, but seems to relax, placing one of his hands over mine. I lean my forehead against the nape of his neck and kiss him there. And then again. And again.
“Baz,” I say, and I lean my head against his shoulder.
“You’re the reason I’m in London, Simon,” he says suddenly, and the words echo through his back. “And I don’t want to leave. I love it here.” He grips my hand, then sniffles deeply. “I love it here,” he says again. “I love it here. I love it here. I—”
“I love you,” I say. And I startle myself. Those are words that I’ve never said before. They’re foreign, yet familiar. And they feel strange, but taste good; like tapioca pudding. And Baz would kill me if he knew I thought of it like that.
I feel Baz inhale sharply, like I just punched him the chest instead. He grips my hand tighter, and I feel his tears drop onto my arm.
I bring my head up and kiss him on the back of the neck again. And again. And again.
“I love you, Baz,” I say in between a kiss. The words echo in my mouth, and they feel less strange this time. And taste even better.
He gently pushes my arms away from his chest and turns around to face me. There are a few tears on his cheek, and I wipe them away. His eyes are still heavy, but they seem to be startled. They dart across my face, from my eyes to my mouth to my cheeks and then back to my eyes. I wrap his hands in mine and tilt my head to the side.
“I…” He seems to be speechless, and I want to laugh because it’s always the other way around. I don’t though, and instead, I tuck a few loose strands of his hair behind his ear.
“Simon,” he says, staring deeply into my eyes. He lets go of one of my hands and slides his against my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
“Do you want to snog?” I ask. And Baz looks at me like I’ve offended him; like I said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. But then he tries to fight the grin that’s forming on his lips. And he fails.
“Yes,” he says, and then he kisses me.