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~~*~~
Baz
I always knew Simon Snow would kill me.
It was comforting, in a sick way. Like knowing the end of a story. You’re left wondering how it will get to the end, not what the ending will be. One day we’ll be standing opposite each other, the microcosm of the War, and Snow will have that spark in his eyes that a weak part of me pretends is desire and I won’t fight him because I’d honestly rather die and so I’ll let him kill me.
That’s what’s supposed to happen.
But that’s not what’s happening.
Something must have gone wrong. But I guess not much is really different since the end of my story doesn’t really change. Simon Snow will still be the death of me. I just didn’t know this plot twist would be how I got there.
~~*~~
It started with a catch in my breathing.
I ignored it at first (vampires can’t get sick) but it didn’t go away. Eventually I had to cough to try and clear my throat. The operative word there is “try”. It didn’t work.
Then my throat started to get sore and my voice got raspy. Just a bit. Not enough for Snow to notice (at least not yet) but it was there none the less.
That’s when I started getting worried.
I’m immune to every kind of cold or cough so this must be caused by something I’m not immune to. And I don’t know of any disease that causes a cough that isn’t a virus or something.
For a bit, I thought maybe I was losing my vampirism but my fangs still drop when I haven’t fed. I’m still deathly pale. I still need blood. I haven’t changed. Which means I’m supposed to be immune to this. So why won’t this catch in the back of my throat go away?
~~*~~
It’s been three weeks.
I won’t say I’m sick, but this cough won’t go away. I have to cough more often now and Snow’s noticed. (“What’s wrong with you?” he’d asked me one afternoon, “I thought you couldn’t get sick.” “Why’s that?” I asked slowly. “Because you’re a vampire,” he stated plainly. “Has it ever occurred to you that this might mean I’m not?” I sneered. He seemed confused and didn’t ask about it again. Typical.)
He’s been watching me with what I’d like to be concern but is more likely just suspicion. He probably thinks it’s part of my elaborate, non-existent scheme plotting his downfall. Because that’s all he thinks I do. When in reality, it’s not his downfall I’m imagining; it’s mine.
I’m sitting alone in our room, studying, and treasuring the peace and quiet that settles over everything when Snow isn’t here. It’s easier to concentrate when he isn’t practicing his sword fighting and leaving scone crumbs all over the floor and generally being irritating and adorable simultaneously. I don’t know how he does it. But when he’s in the room, I can’t focus on anything other than him. And it drives me mad.
I clear my throat.
But it only makes it worse. I feel short of breath and dizzy all of a sudden.
I cough but it doesn’t help. I cough again.
And again. And again.
I can’t stop. I can’t breathe.
It feels like there’s something caught in the back of my throat. Gasping for air, I shut my eyes to the spinning room.
Then I feel something fall from my mouth. I look down.
At first I don’t even know what it is, but then I pick it up and I feel like such a fool.
It’s a flower petal.
Of course it is.
How did I not realize? I have the one disease that’s caused by something I wish I was immune to: love. Unrequited love.
Simon Snow is going to kill me. Or rather the lack of Simon Snow is going to kill me.
He’ll win without ever having to spill my blood. We won’t even have to fight.
I can’t help but laugh; a dry, humorless ghost of air that makes me cough again. Simon Snow is going to be the death of me. And he won’t even know it.
~~*~~
Simon
Something’s wrong with Baz.
He’s been avoiding me and he keeps quietly coughing when he thinks I’m not looking. He seems weak and tired and I don’t know why I’m concerned for him. I should be relieved that he’s not insulting me all the time.
But I’m not. I’m worried. And I don’t know why. It’s confusing.
I thought he couldn’t get sick and I know he’s a vampire. So I don’t understand how this is possible.
Maybe he’s faking it. That must be it. He must be faking it so that I can’t prove he’s a vampire. He’s such a sneaky git.
I’m sitting in the library with Penny, thinking about Baz under the pretense of studying. But I must have been staring at the same page too long because I catch Penny’s attention.
“Simon?” she asks, “Everything ok?”
My gaze jumps up to her face and I instantly turn the page in the hopes of making it look like I was reading. Her narrowed eyes tell me I failed.
“If you’re going to say something about Baz, Simon I swear to Merlin—”
“I wasn’t!” I cut in, frantically trying to come up with something I would have been thinking about. But all I’ve been thinking about is Baz so I come up empty.
“I was…just reading,” I try.
Penny sighs and gives me an exasperated side-eye.
“I just don’t understand how he can be sick,” I say at last.
Penny puts her head in her hands.
“Morgana, Simon. We’ve been over this. Unless Baz is being an immediate threat to your safety, I don’t want to hear it.”
“But he might be.”
“Merlin and Morgana!” she mutters, exasperated. “Just read your book, Simon.”
I sigh and turn back to the page.
But the words seem to be in all the wrong places and the letters are blurring together and I can’t focus.
I can’t stop thinking about Baz.
~~*~~
Baz
I’ve been staring at that flower petal for at least ten minutes. It’s sort of pretty, really. It’s dark red and velvety and I have no idea what it is. I’m vaguely curious as to what form my stupid love for Snow has manifested in, but I don’t even know where I would start.
All I can do is stare at the petal and laugh at myself. I should have seen this coming. I should have known.
Then all the sudden I’m coughing again and I can feel more petals falling from my lips, drifting to the floor. I’m gasping for air as I look around at the mess of red surrounding me. Snow will be back soon. I can’t have him see me like this. I pick up my wand and cast a weak “Into thin air!” and the petals vanish. I cautiously stand up and practically collapse onto my bed.
I wonder how much longer I have.
~~*~~
Simon
Baz is asleep when I get back to the room. He’s so wrapped up in blankets that I can barely see him. As I’m climbing into bed I notice something dark on the floor.
I pick it up.
It’s a flower petal.
I stare at it for a minute, confused. How did a flower petal get here? When has Baz or I ever brought flowers here? It must have blown in through the window (which is still open). (I’m kind of surprised. I thought Baz would have closed it.)
Weird. I toss it out the window and go back to bed.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I hear Baz coughing but I’m not awake enough to be sure I didn’t imagine it.
~~*~~
Baz
I’ve been getting worse. I’ve started skipping school and Bunce is officially top of the class. But I can’t bring myself to care. She’ll be top of the class by next week; why not start early? I’ve been spending most of my time in the Catacombs by my mother’s grave. I’ve been avoiding everyone including Snow (especially Snow) and the Catacombs are the only place that no one follows me (except Snow, but I think he’s actually afraid of me now.)
I’m sitting in the dark now, beside my mother’s grave, wondering how much longer I have. I’ve started coughing up whole flowers now and for whatever reason, that made it more real.
I’m going to die.
I wish I was more relieved.
But even though I’ll never admit it to anyone (even myself), I’m scared.
Just because I think I deserve to suffer doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it. I don’t want to suffocate from my own stupid, self-destructive love.
I feel a familiar shortness of breath and I shut my eyes, fighting the urge to cough and cry. I eventually succumb to both.
The flowers fall from my lips, uncontrollably and I can’t get over the smell. It’s intoxicating and overpowering and so intense and I can’t help laughing because Snow is all three of those things. So beautiful it makes the rest of the world dim. So perfect it makes me sick.
The coughing subsides and I try to put myself back together, (or as back together as someone as broken as me can get) and eventually drag myself out of the Catacombs and back up to our room.
I slip into bed without waking Snow. (Which is really no great feat. An entire army of trolls could attack Watford and he’d sleep through it.) I glance over at his sleeping face and my chest contracts with love and pain and helplessness and flowers.
I can’t handle this anymore.
It’s like seeing him causes me physical pain. (If I’m being honest, he’s been killing me without knowing it long before I had these cursed flowers in my lungs.) I turn and face the wall, trying my best not to cry.
I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.
(But a part of me doesn’t want to let myself sleep because I’m terrified that I won’t wake up.)
~~*~~
Simon
Our room has been smelling like flowers recently and I’m not entirely sure why. It’s a sickeningly sweet smell like gardenias or something. I went looking for the source for a few days ago but found nothing. Other than that random petal. But I don’t think they’re related. I don’t even think red gardenias even exist.
I’m sitting on my bed, studying with Penny. Baz is out (most likely in the Catacombs) and I’m trying not to worry. I always get concerned that he’s meeting people there, plotting against the Mage. He hasn’t done anything yet but still. I don’t like it when Baz isn’t where I can see him.
“What’s this?”
I look up.
Penny is holding a single red petal.
I almost drop my book. Another one?
“I don’t know,” I say, “I found another one on the floor a few weeks ago.”
Penny narrows her eyes.
“Where?”
“On the floor.”
“No, like where in the room?” Penny elaborates.
“Near Baz’s bed.”
Something washes over Penny’s face that looks like shock, understanding, and pity all mixed together.
“What?” I ask. She shakes her head.
“You said your room smells like flowers sometimes?”
I frown. “Yes. Why?”
Penny ignores my questions and asks one of her own.
“And this is the second petal you’ve found?”
I nod.
Penny lets out a breath and glances at the door behind her before speaking in a half-whisper.
“Baz isn’t faking that cough,” she says seriously. I’m so confused.
“What’s that got to do with the flowers?”
“Just listen to me, Simon,” says Penny, exasperated. She takes a deep breath before going on, her voice sad and quiet. “Baz has Hanahaki. He’s suffering from unrequited love so strong that flowers are blooming in his lungs and he’s suffocating. That’s why he’s been coughing. And that’s why your room smells like flowers.”
We sit in silence for a moment as my brain tries to process her words. Baz is in love? There are flowers in his lungs? He’s suffocating? Does that mean…?
“Penny?” I ask slowly, “Is…does it…will Baz…die?”
She drops her eyes and I feel like suddenly I’m the one that can’t breathe.
“Unless whoever he loves falls in love with him too,” she says, still not looking at me, “yes.”
I feel sick and dizzy and my breath is catching in spite of myself.
Baz is going to die.
And I don’t know why I’m not relieved.
~~*~~
Baz
The room is dark when I walk in. I’ve been at the Catacombs all day, crying and choking on stupid, stupid petals. I don’t have much longer now. I just need to sleep. And maybe (hopefully) I’ll just die in my sleep and Snow will never have to know why.
But as the door clicks shut behind me I see him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at me.
Fuck.
“Baz?”
His voice is small and hushed.
“What?” I respond.
His gaze is now darting all over the room and I can practically feel how nervous he is. Something has shifted and I can’t tell what. He’s acting so vulnerable right now. I need him to stop. I don’t know what to do with a Snow that talks and acts like this.
“Why are you awake right now?” I snap, trying to shatter whatever’s in the air, “It’s one in the morning.”
“I…I needed to talk to you,” he says carefully.
Aleister Crowley.
“Well be quick about it,” I say sharply. “And if you’re wondering if I’m off plotting your death; no I’m not.”
I’m so confused and concerned right now. Snow waited up to talk to me? And why is he using this tone? I don’t think he’s ever talked to me like this before. Not defensive or angry or hurt but gentle and vulnerable and careful.
What the fuck is going on?
“Baz, I found…a petal. Two petals. On the floor and…” he pauses and takes a breath. “Baz, do you have Hanahaki?”
His blue eyes snap up to my face and I try so hard not to gasp. How in Merlin’s name did he figure all this out?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snap, hoping I sound as convincing as I’d like, “but I most certainly don’t have some stupid fairytale disease.”
Snow stands and takes a step closer to me. On impulse, I back up. The last thing I need right now is Snow close to me. (The only thing I need right now is Snow close to me.)
“Baz you should just tell her how you feel,” he says. His eyes are so earnest. Why the hell does he care?
“For Crowley’s sake, Snow. I don’t have Hanahaki,” I spit.
No sooner have the words left my mouth then I feel the petals crawling up my throat.
I try to force back a cough but I can’t breathe. I cautiously take a breath but it catches and I start coughing. I try to stay upright to preserve any last shred of dignity I have but the room is spinning and my eyes won’t focus. Sinking to my knees, I turn away from Snow, trying to hide the petals spilling from my lips; a wordless confession that I swore I’d never make.
I need to get out of here. I can’t let him see me like this, so weak, so broken.
But the next thing I know he’s kneeling beside me with his hand on my shoulder and I tense against his touch. It’s like fire. His palm is burning me and it’s so addicting, I can’t bring myself to move.
I’m coughing up whole flowers now. The sickeningly sweet scent is filling the room and I’m drowning in it.
“Breathe,” Snow is saying. His voice sounds far away. “Please breathe.”
Is he comforting me? I can’t tell. He sounds almost… scared. I can’t get a full breath of air anymore. I’m suffocating.
I’m dying.
I fall forward, too weak even to kneel.
But instead of hitting the stone floor, I fall against something warm. Something soft.
Snow.
He pulls me into his lap, concern written all over his face.
Exhausted and gasping for air, I look up at Snow, tears falling from my eyes and petals falling from my mouth. I don’t know who decided that I was worthy to die in the arms of Simon Snow, but whoever you are, I’m forever indebted to you.
Blinking away the tears as best I can, I look up at this beautiful disaster that I have been cursed to love. I let myself appreciate him, gaze at his intoxicating blue eyes, and let myself be in love with him.
Because in a few minutes, it won’t matter anymore.
~~*~~
Simon
I don’t know what to do.
Baz is coughing up so many red flowers and it’s making me nauseous. I reach out to touch one and some of the red stays on my hand. My heart clenches in my chest.
His grey eyes are shining with tears and something else that I can’t place.
I’m suddenly crying and I don’t know why.
I’m supposed to be happy. Baz is dying. I’m supposed to be relieved.
But I feel like someone has replaced my blood with acid and it’s burning my heart away.
He’s in my arms, choking on flowers born of hopeless love and all I can think is that this isn’t fair.
Baz doesn’t deserve to suffocate like this.
He deserves to live.
He deserves to be loved.
I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from but I think they’ve been in mind long before I heard them. I think somehow I always knew.
I can’t let Baz die.
~~*~~
Baz
I’m so selfish.
I should be happy, just gazing at Snow’s blue eyes but all I can think about is reaching up and pulling him down so I can catch his mouth with mine.
My breath has become more shallow and labored. I don’t have much time.
“I…” Snow’s voice is ragged and broken. Is he crying? “I…don’t…don’t want you…to die,” he sobs, folding his arms tighter around me.
His magic is pouring through the room like smoke from green wood. Which only happens when he’s upset. Why isn’t he happy? I have no idea what’s happening right now but I’m not entirely sure it isn’t some sort of hallucination.
“You don’t deserve to die,” he continues, breathless and desperate. “I…want you to live… I want you to…to live.” His voice is claimed by sobs.
All the words I had dreamed of are pouring from Snow’s mouth. I try to speak, to tell him, but petals fall from my lips instead. But I don’t think it really matters. It’s too late now anyway.
“Just…tell me who…she is,” he breathes, the anguish audible in his voice, “I’ll bring her here. Just…please…don’t go.”
I take as deep a breath as I can and try to form the words that have been stuck in my throat since fifth year.
“Snow…” My voice is barely more than a breath. “You don’t…have to…get…anyone,” I manage, gasping for air, “You’re…you’re already…here…”
There. I’ve told him I love him as loud as I dare. I take a shallow breath but it sticks in my throat and I can’t breathe. My vision dims and my eyes slip shut.
I focus on the warmth of his arms around me. I wish I had more time in his embrace. But I’ll savor every second of it that I get. Which isn’t many more seconds.
Everything starts to dull around me.
And then I feel Simon’s lips on mine.
~~*~~
Simon
I don’t know what I’m doing.
But I need Baz to live. I need him here in my arms.
I need him.
I don’t know why I decided to kiss him. I guess I wasn’t thinking (I rarely do).
And now it’s impossible to think because all I know is that this feels right.
Which makes no logical sense. But my logical brain has never played much of a part in my life.
In fact, I rarely stopped to think for myself. I was always told by everyone that I hate Baz and he hates me. And I just accepted that that’s the way things were. I never had the chance to see Baz as anything other than an enemy. But somehow, seeing him on the edge of death made me realize; he’s just a boy. And without the taint that the Mage has thrown on him, enemy is not the word that comes to mind. It’s anything but.
Baz was chosen to be the villain just like I was chosen to be the hero. But I had no say in those decisions. And now I want to reassign him a role because I don’t want him to be the villain of my story anymore.
~~*~~
Baz
Simon Snow is kissing me.
I freeze for a second, unsure if this is my imagination or not. But then he twists his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer and I know my mind couldn’t have made this up because it’s beyond my wildest dreams.
I melt into his arms. I can’t help it.
I’m always cold (being half dead and all) and he’s the warm hearth that I was never allowed to get close to. I always thought I’d burn if I got too near. I could never kiss him because it would be like kissing fire. And I might as well be kissing death.
But what’s so shocking is that I’m not burning. His mouth is deliciously warm against mine and if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold, I’d be swooning.
I never would have thought that the further I am away from him, the hotter his fire burns me. And yet at the source of that radiant heat, it’s just gloriously warm.
I gently pull away because, regrettably I do have to breathe. Snow still keeps me close, his hands cradling my face and his blue eyes shining into mine.
I carefully take a breath. The air flows easily through my lungs without a cascade of petals.
The relief that crosses Simon’s face is beautiful.
There’s a quiet understanding between us as we both realize what this means. He saved my life. And he’s the only one that could.
He doesn’t hate me. (It wouldn’t have worked if he did.) A part of me wonders how this is real.
“Simon…” I whisper into the fragile space between us.
A little smile glows across his face. “You’ve never called me Simon before,” he remarks softly.
I suppose that’s true. I never have.
“Could you…” His voice falters. “Could you call me Simon? More often I mean?”
He’s being so soft and shy right now and I realize that I don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t make me smile. I feel suddenly as though I might cry.
“Simon,” I say gently. I don’t think I’ve ever let myself use such a soft tone around him (or around anyone for that matter) but from the way he lights up, I make a mental note to use it more often. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.” The words feel so strange. “I…I don’t hate you. I haven’t for…a long time.” I’m still too much of a coward to say I’m in love with him. I can’t even look him in the eye.
He tips up my chin and looks at me with those ordinary blue eyes of his and I am so lost.
“Baz,” he begins, “I want you to live. And…” He takes a shaky breath. “I want to be…yours.”
My breath catches but not from petals of unrequited love. Because it isn’t unrequited. Simon loves me too. I must be dreaming.
“Simon,” I breathe. That’s all I can manage without shattering from joy and hope and love.
He’s glowing as he smiles down at me. Aleister Crowley, he’s so alive and I never want to stop looking at him.
My eyes are stinging. When did I start crying? I take a deep breath and let myself live in this unreal reality where Simon wants me to live. And he wants to be mine. And if Simon loves me, life might just be worth living after all.
~~*~~