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Simon Snow is thinking.
I can almost hear the gears in his brain turn as he ponders over whatever he's silently mulling over. I'm not too worried right now, though. Mainly because I know that whatever is currently occupying his thoughts is not making him anxious or depressed. I can hear his heartbeat, it's fine and even, and his breathing is normal too. As long as Simon is not working himself up, I'm fine with him thinking about whatever he wants to.
And anyways, he and I are pretty comfortable right now. I'm reading a book, half lying and half sitting on our bed, while my fingers play with his soft bronze curls, his hair cut neatly. Simon's got his head resting on my chest. I have a sneaking suspicion that he does this because he wants to catch the slightest thrum of my heartbeat, like the day he finally catches it, he'd triumphantly use it as proof to convince me that I'm alive. I know it's a futile effort, he'd never be able to hear it, but I don't have the heart to tell him so. And even if I do tell him that, he'd never accept defeat. That's Simon. He may fall and lie in the dust in pain for a while, but he always gets up in the end.
Snow's fingers are rubbing my stomach and it feels so good (so good). His wings are covering us like a blanket and many a times I've sighed with pure contentment and bliss tonight. It's fucking perfect, really.
I like it when we spend our nights like this, doing nothing but enjoying each other's quiet presence in our flat. It took us time to get like this and for him to start picking himself up again piece by piece but when I experiance the happiness I feel right now, it makes it all worth it.
“Baz?” Simon asks quietly, breaking the silence. I hum in response, my eyes still scanning the pages of my book.
“I want to get a tattoo.”
I stop reading and look at him just as he lifts his head to look at me.
“Okay.” I say slowly, putting aside my book and giving him my full attention now. “Why this sudden desire to get a tattoo?”
“It's not sudden, to be honest.” He answers, shrugging. “I've always wanted one, ever since I was a boy, yeah? And now I think I'm ready to get one.”
“And what are you going to get inked?”
He grins brightly at me, and my heart melts at the sight of his sunshine smile. “Let me show you.” He says as he disentangles himself from me, reaching across me to get his phone while I frown in displeasure. I already miss his warmth and the familiar pressure of his body against mine.
“Just wait a second.” He shushes my needy whine with an impatient wave of his hand as he goes through his phone. A moment later, he turns the screen towards me with a triumphant expression.
“This! I'm getting this.” He practically shoves his phone in my face and I gently swat his hand away before I see what he's trying to show me.
It's tattoo design.
Of the Moon.
Weird. I never knew he was fascinated by the Moon. Fascinated enough to get a tattoo of it.
“Why?” I ask, curiously. “Why the Moon?”
“Because,” He says, tossing his phone aside and clambering onto my lap. “I love you.”
Typical Snow. What kind of answer is that?
“I'm not sure how loving me means you getting a tattoo of the Moon.” I sneer at him and he shoves me slightly before giggling a little.
“The Moon reminds me of you.” He answers, “You told me I was the Sun-”
“You still are.”
He rolls his eyes but there's a smile on his face and he continues, “You told me I was the Sun and now I'm telling you that you're my Moon.”
I'm sure I'm blushing like a red rose right now.
“How?” I demand. “You are my Sun because you're so bright, beautiful and warm, because I can't imagine my life without you, because you light me up. How am I the Moon?”
“Fucking sap.” He mutters before he kisses me. His lips are warm, soft, so him and he tastes like scones (he must've eaten some after dinner.) I'm starting to enjoy it and get worked up when he pulls back and I feel mortified when I whine at the loss of his lips.
“We'll go back to snogging but let me answer your question first.” He says, giving me a quick peck on my lips. Like a promise. “What is the Moon's speciality? It's the only source of light when the night is dark.”
“Well technically-” I start but he interrupts me with a pointed look.
“Yeah, I know that it doesn't have any light of it's own or whatever. But will you let me be poetic for one fucking second?”
I roll my eyes, giving an exasperated sigh, though I'm dying to listen what he wants to say. “Go ahead, then.”
He grins and kisses my forehead.
“You're my Moon because you were my only light when it was dark everywhere else. You were the one who kept me grounded, who made me believe that things could get better. You were worth fighting for. You are why we're here right now, happy and together. You, Baz Pitch, are my moon.”
Sometimes I forget how much Simon Snow loves me. He doesn't let me forget that for long though, he always reminds me in some way or the other. Sometimes he'll bring me flowers, sometimes he'll make me cookies. Sometimes, he'll just say it.
He just said it right now. And goddamn, if it isn't making me almost cry all over him.
“I love you.” I whisper, my words almost getting choked up in my throat as me emotions threaten to overwhelm me. And before I know it, I'm grabbing him by his waist and kissing him with everything that I've got. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He's laughing, slightly embarassed but highly amused, and kissing me back just as eagerly.
The Sun and the Moon.
How poetic. How fitting.
I always knew we matched.