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This is how it ends, then.
It feels like the sky is collapsing on itself, an angry red hue blazing like fire across it. The smoke is so thick, I can barely breathe. There's an ear splitting roar and the cloisters come crashing down in a monstrous mound of bricks and rubble.
The world might not be ending but it sure feels like it. It's like an apocalypse as Watford goes down burning in front of my eyes. I can hear angry shouts, desperate pleas for help, spells being flug about and yet, I can't find it in me to feel bothered about it.
Not only because my blood is soaking through my shirt, pooling around my body steadily, but because Simon Snow is crouching over me.
His eyes are wide with terror and he's dropped his sword, the very same sword he ran through me. He's wringing his hands, tearing his hair out and looking at me with horror.
“Sorry. I'm so sorry.” He says over and over again.
It's no use. Why doesn't he see that?
“Shh.” I say, lifting one of my bloodsoaked hands and gently cupping his cheek. “Shh. It's okay. It's okay.”
“It's not!” He retorts, his breath stuttering in his throat, tears welling up in his plain blue eyes.
I don't say anything but hold his gaze steadily.
I should tell him. I should tell him and let myself feel his dusty lips against mine at least once before I die. The world's already dimming, though, and I don't want to die so soon now.
I'm hungry. I'm so hungry for Simon's eyes and his bronze curls, his moles and his freckles and his golden skin. I'm hungry for him. There's an aching hollow pit in my stomach and I'm only drinking in Simon Snow.
I lived like a coward and I'll die like one. I'd never be able to tell him how much I love him. I'll carry the words to my grave.
And what about my love? What about the love I harboured for him for years, the one I nurtured, the one which kept me going, the one which warmed my cold heart, gave me hopeless hope?
Will it get buried with me too? Will it soak through the soil, dissipate and get lost somewhere where he'd never be able to reach it?
I don't want that. I want him to have it. It's his and his alone.
“Simon.” I whisper. Everything is going dark, the smoke is barely affecting me. I can only see his brilliant blue eyes now, blurry and yet shining like the clear sky. His bronze curls are indistinct and I can no longer see his freckles and moles.
“Baz. Baz, please don't die.”
Oh, love.
“It's okay. You're- you're... fine. Just... Take it.”
“What? What?” His words ring in my ears. What? What? What?
What indeed?
Whatever my heart has for you.
I know I won't be able to say it, my throat feels clogged up and when I cough to clear it, blood spurts out.
So I let my palm squeeze his face, caress his cheek, comb through his hair and finally settle on the nape of his neck.
Please understand me, Simon. This is all my heart had.
He sobs and holds my hands in his warm ones.
“Baz.” He says. “Baz.”
Simon. Simon.
Simon.