Work Text:
Simon
Baz has his legs outstretched next to mine. They’re several inches longer. (All of his height’s in his legs. When I look at him now we’re at eye level.) (If I sit up really straight and he slouches a bit, I’m even taller than he is.)
He clears his throat. “How are you doing?” It’s careful. Cautious.
He’s always careful with me lately. Everyone is.
At one time no one was careful with me. Hell, Baz pushed me down the stairs once. (Though he denies it.) (Told him I wouldn’t be mad at him if it was purposeful. I’ve thrown plenty of punches as well.)
He’s pushed just as much as he’s been pushed.
But now I’m glass. I’m not the invincible Chosen One they thought I was. I’m Normal.
I’m breakable.
I shrug. I’m never sure what more to say to that question. How am I? If it were Baz in my shoes he wouldn’t be doing well. I think he knows that too. Losing his magic would be devastating to Baz. It’s half his identity.
He lays his hand palm up on his thigh, and I let myself take it.
These weeks I’ve not been able to speak to anyone aside from Baz and Penny. I don’t know if it’s because they’re people I trust, or because they were there when it happened. They’re the only ones who know what it looked like. And if they can still look me in the eyes after watching me murder someone…
I did kill him. The Mage. No matter how many times they tell me it wasn’t my fault.
If I hadn’t spoken—
If I’d just—
Baz squeezes my hand.
Even if I wanted to speak to other people I don’t think I could. I’m under house arrest, trapped at Penelope’s house until the trial’s over. I force words out to the Coven when they come with more questions. Otherwise I’m silent.
I’m unable to form words. They’re there, somewhere, floating in my skull. Knocking around on the edges similar to the DVD logo on the Bunce’s television.
“Has Bunce figured out any more with your tail and wings?” He asks. His thumb’s moving against the back of my hand. A small gesture that pulls me from catching another thought that’s half formed.
It’s weird still, having these moments. Holding the same hands that have pushed me against walls—have lit fires and cast curses with a wave of a wand. But it’s… grounding I suppose. He always waits for me to touch him. Lets me make the choice.
“Dr. Wellbelove says I’d have to go through surgery,” I respond. I watch his legs stretch as he shifts closer to me. I let my foot tap his calf. He taps me back with his knee.
“So they’re… permanent?” I nod. “That’s not so bad. They’re useful.” I snort.
“Baz, we’re sitting on the wrong side of the bed to accommodate them. I don’t think this counts as useful.” We tried to sit with my back against the headboard, but my wings just kept getting cramped. So we turned so our arses are sat at the end of the bed.
It’s weird. I feel techy with the door to my back. Like anyone could walk in without me knowing.
Guess Baz could hear them coming though. Smell them, even.
Still I shift so I’m facing Baz. It frees my tail, which predictably makes a beeline for Baz’s wrist. (It’s attached, I think.) (To him. Figuratively that is.) (It’s attached literally to me.)
He holds the end of it, and I only realise it means he’s no longer holding my hand once it’s too late. I must pout because he shifts and reaches for my hand with his free one.
I laugh, watching his fingers. “Guess now we really match, don’t we? My tail, wings. Your fangs.”
He hums. “And my scar.” I look up into his eyes. They’re carefully watching our hands as well, not meeting mine.
I’ve never seen his scars from the bite. He strictly keeps his hair down, effectively covering it. (I assume, at least.) For a while I wondered if it had healed.
He looks up, eyebrow shooting up as soon as he sees the look on my face.
“What?”
“You’re thinking, Snow.”
“I do that sometimes, you know.”
“Not often.” He smirks. (He’s joking.) “Don’t you prefer not to think?”
Baz, all I have time for lately is thinking.
There wasn’t much business in thinking when I was the Chosen One. Just fight whenever I needed to.
If there was a free moment to think, I filled it with Baz instead. (Though I guess now I still do that.) (Baz was always inevitable, I think. I was just too dunce and wrapped up in ideas to notice.)
“Do you want to see?” My eyes go wide. He clears his throat. “N-not that you need to.” He’s stammering. It’s cute. Baz never stammers. “But I can show you. If you want.”
I nod.
“I’ll need my hand back,” he murmurs. I release him and he’s still staring at me. “The other one too, preferably.”
“Oh,” I grab the end of my tail and try to pull it from him. “Sorry I’ve not figured out how…”
“No no, it’s fine.” He pulls it up to his mouth and presses his lips against the spade.
It’s everything in me not to let my jaw drop.
And he must know I liked it. Both because he smirks at my expression, and because the tail loosens around his wrist, letting him free. Like his kiss was a toll to pay for freedom.
He turns around, pulling his hair up.
“Wait,” I stand up and go to the window. It’s been closed, curtains drawn. But I need better light to see. Even with the lamp on the room is dim at best. The brightness from outside makes me squint, but it’s kind of nice to have sun. I don’t get it much these days.
Should probably let it in more often.
I turn around and see him seated in the same position. “One more thing,” I say, walking to the dresser.
Penny has a million hair ties, and they’re everywhere in this house. It only takes me a quick glance before I find one.
I sit down again, knees resting on the mattress. The sun shining through my wings casts a reddish hue to the room. It’s ominous, making me freeze for a moment. My breath stops as I look at everything cast in my shadow.
Red.
(Like the blood.)
Stained glass all over the floor.
The Mage—
“Simon?” Baz asks. It jerks me from my thoughts, and I feel my breath coming again.
I see his skin. Grey tinted red.
It’s lovely. (Of course it is. Everything about Baz is lovely.)
With shaky hands I pull his hair up the best I can, letting his arms rest.
“Thanks,” he says softly.
On his neck, just below his hairline, I see it. Two dots—scars. I lift my hand up, pausing just above it, realising I should ask.
“You can touch. It doesn’t hurt.”
I let my finger make contact. The skin feels slightly thinner, more pliable under my touch. It’s less firm when I graze a finger over it.
I’m not sure how long I do it, trace his scars. Long enough for Baz to close his eyes and hang his head though.
I lean up and take my hand off. I feel a thought hit the side of my skull, but I can’t quite catch it.
I lean forward and press my lips to the indents. His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t say anything. I pull off. “Sorry,” I murmur.
“No, it’s fine,” he says. He turns his neck to look at me. “Just didn’t expect it is all.”
I lean in again and he tilts his neck to give me better access. I fit my lips over the scars again.
We match.
I part my lips, the tip of my tongue touching his skin. Baz takes in a breath. I think it’s good though so I don’t stop.
I’m covered in scars. I know what it feels like to have them touched. How the skin’s different. How it heals and changes over time. Some of mine are so deep that I’ve not gotten feeling back in those patches of skin.
I think Baz can feel it though. My mouth against his skin. Even over the scars.
But I know it’s different. A different feeling than if I were to do this to any other part of his body.
Besides, this scar isn’t like mine. It’s left more than just a scar on Baz. Both are results of a fight we shouldn’t have had to make—but his left more damage. It’s left a lifetime's worth of battles and struggles.
But maybe I can make something good. At least for now. For a moment.
I’m never sure what I’m doing with Baz.
I mean, I’ve kissed before. I’ve kissed him even. But it still feels different. Not just because he’s a boy but because he’s Baz. It feels good. Just… I’m never sure if I’m good.
I let my teeth surround the bite, bringing the skin into my mouth. He leans in.
Good, then.
I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. Thinking over and over again that he’s mine. His back against my chest, my hands against his stomach.
I let my fingers trace circles on a bit of skin I find under his shirt. Soft and cool. I let him warm up under my touch.
Mine, mine, mine.
That I get to have this. Him.
I lean back and look at the skin; pink and marked from my teeth. He drops his head back and looks up at me.
He’s so lovely.
I lean in and press my lips to his. It’s an awkward angle, and there’s no way his neck isn’t sore, but he presses back regardless.
It’s moments like this, where I kiss Baz and he kisses back. Where he gives all and more, that I remember that I’m not entirely breakable. That in these moments he’ll still push without fear of breaking me.
When we part he says; “Will you always get like this over scars?”
I laugh. “Yours are pretty cool.”
We shift so we are facing each other again. “You’ve got a lot too,” he murmurs.
“Too many,” I respond. I’m suddenly feeling my face go red from what I’ve just done. “It would take hours to go through them all.”
His hand rests on my knee. “I would.” I blink. “I’d spend hours pouring over each and every freckle if needed.”
Well.
Okay.
I don’t know what to say. I never thought someone would be like that. Like Baz. That they’d take my scars and… I don’t know. Cherish them? Take them as part of me? Not damaged, but whole despite chunks of me missing.
Magic.
Skin.
Life.
“Time for dinner!” Penelope shouts, shoving the door open. She freezes when she sees us. “Oh uh, am I interrupting?”
“No no,” Baz says. He stands up. “You’re all well Bunce.”
I watch him for another moment as he stands with her, discussing dinner.
“Coming, Simon?” Penny asks. I nod, jumping off the bed and following her down the hall.
When we reach the stairs I hear her ask “Basil, why’s your hair pulled back?”
The panic look back at me, along with the quick pull of the hair tie and the flustered explanation is enough to make me snort on a laugh.
Penny frowns at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Bunce,” Baz replies. He’s flattening his hair again, trying to smooth down the bumps. “Simon’s just forgotten how to breathe properly it seems.”
I reach up and help get a strand of hair sticking up in the back. “Yeah yeah, Baz. You make me breathless. Happy?”
He smirks. “Very.”