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“Oh no fucking way.” Penny groans, hands scrubbing her face. The lights finally stop flickering and shut entirely, leaving the flat in a sudden blanket of darkness and only illuminated by the glow of car headlights and the far off moon.
Sighing in defeat, I’m already on my feet and heading to find the matchbox in our drawer of mildly useful shit. “Can you get those nice smelling candles from your room?”
“Already on it.” Her footsteps pound behind me, obviously carrying her agitation as she heads off to grab whatever.
And, shit. It already feels colder. Gotta love electric heating.
To: Prick ♡
hey love
just lost power bc the storm
hope ur safe xox
“You're texting Baz already?” Penny doesn't sound quite snarky, but there is a bit of mocking in her voice, so I send her a dirty look anyway.
“He’s stuck in Glasgow, of course I am,” I huff quietly, setting up the fireplace. The gentle ruffle of my hair tells me she’s just joking with me.
“I’m sorry you can't deal with a week of long distance,” she teases before plopping down beside me and striking a match to light a sickly sweet vanilla candle. I'd protest her, but she’s right; I'm shit at it. I worry about him constantly. Whenever I'm not directly worrying whether or not he's just okay (chalk it up to years of stalking), I'm just thinking about him and missing him being in the general vicinity.
Would've never thought of myself as the “clingy boyfriend” type, but yet here I am, texting him anytime anything happens.
From: Prick ♡
there's a thermal blanket in the bottom of your closet closet
and whatever you do don't open the bloody fridge i swear to crowley
Grinning at my phone deserves me a flick in the arm and a scoff. “You two are insufferable.”
I stick out my tongue as I finish setting up the wood stack, grabbing some paper kindling and lighting it before tossing it in. “I'm grabbing blankets. It's too fucking cold for this.”
Upon my return with all the warm throws I could find, Penny barely lifts her head from her phone screen to say, “Shit. Snow within the next hour or two.” Clicking off the screen, she sighs and lays back in front of the slowly building fire. “Think we'll get power back by tomorrow?”
Snorting helplessly, I roll my eyes. “Maybe with luck and monetary bribes.” After dropping all the blankets on top of her, I slump my shoulders and scratch my back whether the wings meet skin.
Under the thick pile, Penny's head still sticks out and grins up at me. “Oh Simon dearest…”
“Fuck. What do you want?”
“Want to get that box of wine?” she flutters her eyelashes up to me, smile stretching across her face. “Pleeeaaaseee?”
“I shouldn't enable you like this,” I mumble, dragging off to get it anyway while collecting two glasses with it.
Once back, I nudge her with my foot and settle myself onto the ground beside her. The heavy layer of blankets takes some effort to haul up, but it feels like a warm hug as it settles. Silently, I unscrew the ever-so-classy box cap and pour two glasses. We both hold our drinks, clink them together, and take a nice sip in peace. Tastes like a shit boxed wine.
After a few minutes of silent starting into the fire, Penn gets up and grabs the pillows off the couch to prop our backs.
We don't talk much, which is nice. Perfect, actually. I like not thinking about forcing out words that feel cluttered and unnatural.
It's amazing to just sit as her and I. After all the shit everyone's thrown at us, we need a fucking rest. We needed this break, even though it sucks that it comes in the form of inconvenience. Still, it’s something.
Our shoulders knock, and I lower my head to her’s in silence as I stare onward.
Fire makes me feel weird nowadays. The scent of burning logs and the waves of heat sends me into a moment of a transfixed stare and the flashing memories of Baz's face.
At first, I hated it. Now I just miss my boyfriend.
Penny's hand resting on my arm draws me back as she starts talking more into the room than at me. She starts going on about electricity and how odd the structure of city living is, moving through tangents of history and social injustices that I try to follow. In all honesty, I try to listen to all she tries to teach me, but Morgana is it a lot . Hats off to whoever retains this; I'd just figured we shouldn't be dicks to each other, and that it shouldn’t take effort to not be a bigoted. Apparently, other people think elsewise.
“It's funny, the centaurs have such an interesting societal system, which is needed due to the difficulty in hiding,” she continues, hand absentmindedly lifting from my arm and resting on my head to somewhat pet my curls down. “They supply backup generators by collecting the power from voluntary runners. While, of course they've adapted with time to use run electricity, many groups still use the centaur-powered generators at times like this.”
A few seconds of silence pass as I sip my wine before nodding. “Cool.”
She giggles, leaning against me. “As in… societies are different than other societies,” she explains, finishing her glass before raising it up to me for a refill. “More.”
“A please would've been nice,” I say, tipping the container slowly. Her fingers pinch my side, getting me to send her a glare. She just smiles, sticking her tongue out to me.
She goes back to rambling, cheeks flushed and eyes half closed as she goes on and on about differing magickal societies. Honestly, if she became a teacher, it wouldn't shock me in the slightest. After all, her and Baz use all their energy to try to teach me shit (even if it's a hopeless effort).
I go through two, maybe three glasses of wine, poking occasionally at the flames as I lean against her. She's soft, and warm, and still smells like Watford's magick. It’s comforting. It’s like being at home.
I don’t know when I started to doze off, but the knocking of Penny’s shoulder into mine jostles me awake.
“Si,” she whispers, nudging me. “You’re falling asleep with a glass in your hand.”
I blink drearily, managing a mildly coherent grunt as I settle the wine glass onto the hardwood beside me. “Put another log in, ‘m gettin’ cold,” I mumble, face planting back into Penn’s shoulder as she pushes some firewood in with a poker.
“Your back’s gonna hurt if you sleep here.” She always sounds like a mother; maybe she’s the proper replacement.
Shrugging, I sprawl back against the piled pillows. “Don’t care. Comfy now.”
Even with closed eyes, I can visualize her shaking head. “You’re ridiculous,” she utters as I feel the upward drag of the blankets. Suppose it’s the wine in my system, but I sleepily giggle up at her.
“‘Night, Penn.”
“Goodnight, Simon.”