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Baz
I bump into Simon under the doorway. He'd stepped outside for a moment, it had all gotten too much for him, I think. Penny and Shepard are chatting on the couch. Fiona is flicking through the channels on the TV. There's cookies on the table and Christmas music from the radio. It's not quite a party, but it's nice. A nice way to spend Christmas Eve. But I don't think he wants to be here at all. I think he wants to be at home, in his bed, doing nothing. It's what he wants most of the time.
Simon jolts back as soon as we touch. I keep my gaze carefully controlled. His gaze flickers around, like he's ambushed, like he's looking to escape. I should step back. We're both in the frame of the door, face to face. It's been a long time since I was so close to him. I count the moles on his cheek. His curls are a golden mess on top of his head, shining in the glow of the fairy lights. A stray curl is hanging over his eye – I should really step back.
He should step back. It's him who doesn't want to be here.
So I keep still. I'll stay as long as he'll let me. I'll take whatever he's willing to give. Why is he not stepping away?
His gaze flickers up, then down, then over my face. Come here, I want to say. Escape here .
And I shouldn't indulge these thoughts. Simon, escaping into me instead of from me. Escaping into the two feet distance I don't let anyone in except for him.
Crowley . I should step back. But I saw him smiling tonight. And if I'm lucky I might be able to get him to laugh, later. And he looks so much like Simon Snow.
Simon looks up again and this time I follow his gaze.
Fuck.
“Uhm,” he says. I hear him swallow.
It's a mistletoe. Green leaves, red berries. Definitely a mistletoe. I wonder who thought this was a good idea. Maybe it was Bunce with a scheme. She doesn't understand.
Simon meets my eyes, then... I think he's looking at my lips. And, fuck. I don't want him thinking about me thinking about kissing him.
Simon
I'm thinking about kissing him.
Baz
I like to think about it. Too much, probably.
Simon's eyes are wide. He's petrified. I'm petrified, too.
Too much, definitely.
Whenever I shouldn't, I like to think about it. (I always think about it.)
For one excruciating moment, I close my eyes and let the music drone over me.
At night, in Fiona's flat, I like to imagine he's next to me. Especially today. I would wake up earlier than him. I would bake him sour cherry scones for breakfast.
I draw in a breath, nearly overwhelmed with how much I want it.
Sour cherry scones for breakfast. We would watch Christmas movies all day. Simon would make me watch the cheesy ones, and I would pretend to hate it. There would be snow outside and I would initiate a snowball fight. We'd laugh and get snow in out clothes.
Then, later, I'd give him his anniversary gift. A cheesy snow globe, because Simon's ridiculous.
A pocket watch, because I know that I'm running out of time.
A rubrics cube, because it helps with his anxiety.
A stuffed sheep, so he can remember without remembering .
A heart-shaped pendant, because he owns my entire heart.
I had no idea what to get Simon for Christmas.
I imagine Simon knitted me an ugly Christmas jumper, because he loves to embarrass me. And we'd celebrate that we got this far. And he wouldn't hate me. He'd forgive me. For eight years of antagonism. For never knowing what to do.
I'd kiss him in the snow outside.
I'd kiss him next to the fireplace.
I'd kiss him under the mistletoe.
I'd tell him I love him and he'd say it back. For one moment, I let myself imagine it, as if the best answer I could expect from him wasn't I know .
I open my eyes again, letting go of the dream. He's too close. There's something so frightened in his eyes. He's going to break up with me. I'm going to kiss him.
I'm going to kiss him, and then he's going to break up with me. On our anniversary.
Simon
Everyone is looking at me.
Baz
I can tell that Bunce is trying to look at us without looking at us. Shepard and Fiona are just openly staring. They can all see what's between us now. What should be between us, but – isn't.
They're expecting us to kiss.
It's what couples do. Couples caught under the mistle toe, everyone's blushing, oh, they're so adorable and everyone's having a laugh. But not us.
There's no hiding from it now, that we're – not.
I take a deep breath.
“You don't... have to...”
I trail off.
Reality is Simon looking distinctly uncomfortable. Reality is that we're not – not really.
Simon Snow is going to break my heart on Christmas Eve.
His mouth is hanging open.
Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you.
Simon
I always want Baz. It's a sort of inevitability. But it's been some time since I've felt pulled into him like this. Something is tugging at me. Social expectations? No. Wanting to be a normal couple just once? Maybe. Or maybe it's just Baz, and the perfect line of his eyebrow, and the perfect quirk of his lips and a mistletoe hanging over our heads as if we were in a Hallmark Christmas movie. And I want it. I want the romance, I want the happy ending. But I don't want him to see me.
He's looking at me. He's thinking about me. Everyone is.
I squirm under their gazes. I could just turn my back on him and run back out. (I didn't use to run from battles. But it's gotten harder.)
They're looking at me, and I come up short. And I'm not the Chosen One. And I'm nobody's hero. And I'm clearly not anyone's perfect boyfriend. And I'm not kissing the boy that I love under the mistletoe...
“Baz...” I say quietly. “I don't want anyone to see me. I don't want you to see me. I don't want you to realize -”
I draw in a breath and shake my head. Baz is closer than he's been in weeks. I don't want to let him go again.
Everyone is looking at us . Baz and me. He's right here. He hasn't left so far. All eyes are on us , and it's not as scary.
And I'm still Simon Snow. Despite everything. I put a hand on his arm.
Baz
Simon, do you want this? Are you doing this because you feel like you're supposed to? Never touch me out of obligation. (I couldn't bear it.)
I'm sure he can read a thousand question in my eyes – and he answers them with a tentative smile.
“Is this okay?” I whisper, even though he's the one leaning into me.
“I'm going to do something brave,” he whispers into the space between our lips.
“Because you don't want it?” I ask, pressing back into the door frame.
“Because I want it,” he says, “so much.”
Aleister Crowley. I think he's going to kiss me. Simon Snow is going to break my heart tonight. (Because I can't handle this.)
“I'm going to let you see me,” he keeps whispering. His hands come up to me face. “Because else nobody will. Because else I'm going to fade out of existence. And I don't want to.”
I can feel his breath on my face before I can feel his lips. And I press into his face until my nose nudges his. Come here. Come back to me. I draw him into me, against my chest.
It feels like I'm taking from him. But he's taking from me. I take his face into my hands. He's taking mine.
This is what we look like, then. Simon Snow kissing his boyfriend. Under a mistletoe.
I want to tell him I always see him, but I know he wouldn't believe me. Maybe next Christmas, he's going to let me tell him I love him.
I place my palm against his hand on my cheek and link our fingers. Come with me, onto the patio. I take his hand and he follows me. Just for tonight.
I only see him.
Together, we escape.