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SIMON
Penny’s late.
It’s not like I’d expected her to be on time (she even turned up late to her own wedding) but it’s been more than an hour now, and I’m getting impatient.
I suppose I could just catch the bus home. But I hate walking around near our flat at night. It’s not that the area we live in is particularly dodgy - although it’s certainly not Kensington Square – I just have a feeling around there. Like something’s always around the corner, lying in wait.
I can’t drive, so that’s out of the question too. And I don’t have nearly enough money on me for a taxi. I guess I’m stuck here until Penny shows up, then.
It’s quite a busy street, so I don’t feel too uneasy sitting here, even as the last faint bits of sunlight fade away and night-time settles in properly. It’s nice, almost, just to sit and watch everything.
I glance over to the lit window of the tiny music shop directly opposite me, and see a man staring right at me. His face is pale and slim, with high, angular cheekbones, and dark hair swept out of his stormy grey eyes. He looks lonely – I wonder if he’s hoping I’ll come in. I smile and wave tentatively at him, but he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he scowls and turns away from the window.
Right. Guess not then.
After a few more minutes, I take out my phone to message Penny. Again.
Simon, 6:02pm: pen, 4 the last tim, where r u???
this time though, she replies.
Penelope, 6:03pm: Sorry! Took an impromptu trip to Wales with Shep, and got stuck in traffic.
Simon, 6:03pm: U WHAT???
Penelope, 6:04pm: I’m only about 45 minutes away, Simon. Calm down.
I sigh and shut my phone off. The whole situation is absolutely ridiculous, but also so undeniably Penny. Shepard doesn’t help things either – at least Micah used to discourage her from doing anything too bonkers. Ever since she and Shep got married, though, her number of spontaneous crazy adventures has skyrocketed.
It’s times like these I wish I had more friends. Maybe I shouldn’t have broken up with Agatha – at least she had a car. I’m actually sort of considering calling her when I feel a raindrop on my shoulder.
And then another.
And then a whole lot more.
I watch as all the passers-by hurry to put up their umbrellas, before searching in my backpack for my own. I come up empty.
Fuck.
I glance around for someplace to shelter until Penny gets here, but all the shops are shut.
Except one.
The window of the music store is still glowing with golden light, and I can just make out the sound of someone singing.
It looks like I have no other options, so I reluctantly make my way up to the shop door. The sign is very clearly turned to ‘CLOSED’, but I know there’s at least one person still inside, so I knock anyway.
The soft singing stops abruptly, and a tall shadow makes its way towards the door. A key turns, and the door opens slightly. The man from before pokes his head out the side, and grimaces when he sees me.
“We’re closed,” he says shortly.
“Why’d you open the door, then?” I ask.
“I thought you might’ve been from Tandoor House,” he says, raising an unfairly graceful eyebrow, “I ordered a curry.”
“If I buy you a curry, can I come in?”
“No.”
He slams the door, but I stand my ground. I’m not giving up – it’s starting to pour now, and I don’t want to catch a cold.
Besides, there’s something about the bloke that makes me want to find out more about him. I knock again.
“Go away!” the man shouts.
“I’m cold!” I yell back.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
“Well considering I can’t see you, I guess not!”
The door opens a little. I grin.
“Hi, I’m Simon.”
BAZ
“Do you happen to have a surname?” I ask, undoing the latch.
“Snow,” he says, his grin widening, “My name’s Simon Snow.”
“Come on in, then, Snow.” I say, throwing the door open, “Do try not to irritate me too much.”
He bounds over the threshold and I try not to stare too hard. I’ve never seen him up this close. I have seen him before, though. Every afternoon he just sits there, on the footpath across the road, bronze curls and blue eyes shining in the afternoon sun. Sometimes he sits there for hours, and I get to just stand in the window and stare.
And now he’s in my shop. And it’s so much better, and so much worse, because he’s right here, and he smells like scones and brown sugar, and it’s getting exponentially harder to pretend I’m not desperately attracted to him.
I walk over to the counter and start to pack away my guitar. When I finish, Snow’s staring at me, his unremarkable blue eyes wide with curiosity.
“Do you play?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply, “And violin. And a little piano.”
“Was that you singing, then?”
I flush. I hadn’t realised he’d heard. I never let anyone hear me sing.
“Uh, yes.”
“It was lovely. Would you sing again?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Did you just call me lovely, Snow?”
“Oi, fuck off. No. I said your singing was lovely.”
"Oh. Well, uh, thank you."
The uncomfortable silence which follows that whole exchange is broken by Snow asking me where I live. Which is so much better.
“Sorry, that was creepy,” he says.
“It’s fine. I, uh… I live here.”
“Really?” Snow says, evidently puzzled, “In a music shop?”
“Well, no,” I say, “Not here. Upstairs. I use the shop to practise after closing.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“You really are a fascinating conversationalist, Snow.”
“Fuck off”.
I smile, despite myself.
SIMON
We talk for ages (well, I talk, mostly. He interrupts with sarcastic quips), and I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that he might not hate me quite as much as I first thought. I think he’s just a little awkward, to tell the truth. He kind of reminds me of Colin Firth's character in that Pride and Prejudice miniseries Penny made me watch after I told her old books were boring. He's definitely as gorgeous.
He tells me his name is Baz (short for Basilton, which is so ridiculously posh, and so hilariously perfect) and I tell him about my fencing classes. That’s why I’m here so often, I explain - I’m a competitive fencer. I’m not good at much, but I’m brilliant with a foil. His curry turns up, eventually, and I offer to pay - it’s the least I can do after basically forcing my way into his home - but he refuses. Just hands the delivery girl the money and sticks the takeaway container on the counter. It's just as well - after she leaves I realise I left my wallet at home.
We don’t talk for a while, after that. It’s nice, though, just sitting here with him among the keyboards and drum sets. We’ve settled into a comfortable kind of quiet, and he’s humming a Taylor Swift song. Quite an obscure one, I think. Figures ‘Mr Serious Musician’ would be a closet Swiftie. I’m getting ready to tease him about it (do we tease each other, now?) when my phone buzzes.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Go ahead,” Baz says.
It's from Penny
Penelope, 6:51pm: Si, I’m here! Where are you?
I glance outside – It’s stopped raining. I can see Pen and Shepard’s car parked outside, the engine still running.
“My friend’s here to pick me up,” I say, “I’d better go. Thanks for, you know, giving me shelter.”
“Right,” Baz says. “Goodbye, then.”
I start towards the door, but he stops me halfway.
“Alternatively,” he says, rather nervously, “You could stay for dinner. I... never manage to finish a whole curry by myself.”
I stare at him suspiciously.
“I barely even know you, and you’re asking me to come upstairs and have dinner with you in your flat? How do I know you’re not, like, a vampire or something?”
Baz does the eyebrow thing again. It’s weirdly hot.
“You think I’m a vampire, Snow?”
“I didn’t say that! Just that, well... you could be.”
“Right.”
I sigh.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll stay for dinner.”
“Alright, then,” Baz says.
I shoot Penny a quick text.
Simon, 6:57pm: change of plans - u can go home
Penelope, 6:57pm: What, why? I
Simon, 6:57pm: is typing...
Simon, 6:58pm: met a bloke. staying 4 dinner
Penelope, 6:58pm: Well, that’s great for you, Si, but I’m not coming back later to pick you up.
I glance up at Baz.
“Hey,” I ask, “Can you drive me home after dinner?”
“If you like.”
“Thanks.”
Simon, 7:00pm: no worries baz will drive me
Simon, 7:00pm: c u later
I shut my phone off and look up at Baz again.
“Okay,” I say, grinning, “dinner.”
BAZ
This is strange. We’re sitting on my couch, eating curry and watching Doctor Who, and I still can’t believe he’s here, in my flat. His bronze curls resting against the leather of my sofa, his blue eyes sparkling as he grins at the television. Snow chuckles at something, and I let myself laugh, too. He looks at me and smiles.
“Your laugh is weird,” he says, still smiling.
“How kind of you to say, Snow,” I reply, trying not to sound as hurt as I feel.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing! I… think it’s cute.”
Well, fuck.
I get up from the couch and try not to let him see the bright red flush colouring my cheeks.
“I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer,” I say, “Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
My mind’s racing as I scoop out generous helpings of mint choc chip. He called me cute. Well, he called my laugh cute. We're friends now, I think - something about Snow seems to fast-track the friendship process - and friends compliment each other all the time, surely. It doesn’t mean anything. Right?
Right?
I sit back down next to him on the couch, a little closer than before. He yanks the bowl of ice-cream from my hands and starts eating it far too quickly.
He must see me staring, because he shrugs.
“What?” he says, “I’m hungry.”
He’s adorable.
He’s everything I ever imagined he’d be – but then he’s also so much more. He’s glowing, godlike. But he’s also so, so human. I love that about him. I love him. I know it’s ridiculously, unreasonably early. I mean, Jesus. I've known him all of two hours. But I do. There’s no doubt in my mind.
He’s smiling at me, now, and I think I might kiss him. Because I want to. Because I’ve wanted to since I first saw him. Because I can’t not.
I think I might kiss him.
And then, he kisses me.
EPILOGUE
SIMON
When I come into the room, Baz jumps.
“Relax, Mr. Paranoid,” I say, “It’s only me.”
“Oh,” he says, looking a little embarrassed,
“Hi, Simon.”
“Hiya, love,” I say, kissing him on the cheek, and settling down next to him on the sofa. We’ve been dating for about six months now, and at this point I think I spend more time at Baz’s place than my own. His flat is spacious and comfortable – and mine still gives me the creeps. I don’t mind it as much when he’s there, though. His smile lights up every shadowy corner, and his laugh (if I’m lucky enough to hear it) could make anyone feel invincible.
Right now, he’s got his guitar clutched in his hand, and I can tell I’ve interrupted him in the middle of composing. He always gets jumpy when he’s writing – he’s terrified of someone hearing. He won’t even let me listen, which drives me absolutely bonkers.
Something makes me think I should try my luck today, though.
“What are you writing?” I ask, lacing my fingers through his and resting my head on his shoulder.
He looks at me nervously. “Just a song,” he says, looking anywhere but at me, “Actually, it’s… about you.”
I grin.
“Really?”
“Yes. Don’t look too excited, though, it’s not finished.”
“I don’t mind. Can I hear it, please?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on, Baz!”
“No.”
“Please”
“Maybe someday," he says, and I grin. Someday. A time well into the future, where Baz is here beside me, playing me a song he wrote. I don't care what else happens, if we make it there, I'll be satisfied.
"Why don't you play something else for me, then?" I ask. "Something by Taylor Swift, maybe?"
"Simon, if you tease me about liking Taylor Swift one more time - "
"No, I'm serious!" I say, laughing, "I'm in the mood for some good old T-Swizzle."
Baz groans, but smiles as he starts to play. I recognise the song as the one he was humming that first night in the shop - it's an old one, I think - and it's sad and sweet. I close my eyes and just let Baz's voice wash over me, warm and smooth.
i'll leave my window open
cause i'm too tired at night to call your name
just know i'm right here hoping
that you'll come in with the rain
The song finishes, and I smile at Baz.
"I like that one," I say.
"Yeah... me too," he says, absentmindedly.
His expression is unreadable - something's clearly up. I don't want to make him talk about it if he isn't ready, though, so instead I just shift myself so my head is resting in Baz's lap. He strokes my hair, and we just lie silently for a while, until Baz finally speaks.
“Hey, Simon?”
“Yeah?”
"I've, uh, been thinking. And I just... I need to know."
"What?"
"Where do you see this relationship going? I mean, how long is this going to last?"
I can tell he’s nervous. I wonder how long this question’s been racing around in his head. He looks so worried, and I'm astonished he can't see that obviously, I'm in this for the long run. I mean, how could I not be? I grin, and squeeze his hand.
“A really, really long time,” I say.
And it does.