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It’s incredible how big of an impact the word “our” has on me. Our kitchen, our flat, our bed. It makes me feel hot every time I think about it- not that my temperature can rise high enough to be compared to anything but a bucket of ice.
At this very moment, Simon Snow does not happen to be in our bed. He’s probably in the bathroom. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning he desperately has to piss, but chooses to hold it in favour of keeping me wrapped up in his arms (and usually wings, as well.)
This morning, I woke up without any of his appendages- extra or otherwise- encasing me. Like I said, he could be pissing- but I get the feeling it’s something else. Last night was one where he wasn’t doing particularly well. He still came to bed with me, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.
I’m outside the bathroom door. I don’t hear anything, but our flat isn’t exactly huge. There’s not really anywhere else he could be.
“Snow?” I call as softly as I can, and knock on the door. No answer.
Well.
He used to go out randomly if he woke up earlier than me- just to pick up more bread if we ran out, or to visit his grandmother (he hasn’t called her that yet, but I’ve started to. It just feels appropriate,) and he’d always forget to send me a text, then he’d forget to check his phone to see if I’ve texted him. (Too distracted by the thousands of pies Lady Salisbury bakes him.) So I bought a whiteboard and stuck it on the door with some magic. If either of us goes out without telling the other one first, (I said either of us just to make him feel better. I’d never leave without telling him first) we have to leave a quick note on the whiteboard detailing our whereabouts.
There’s nothing on the whiteboard now.
I come back to the bathroom. I already tried the handle, but I try it again for good measure. Still locked.
“Alright, Snow, I’m coming in unless you answer.”
Not a sound.
“Okay, I’m coming in,” I say to the door, then spell the handle unlocked and push it open.
He’s sitting with his back against the bathtub, hugging his legs and resting his head on his arms.
“Oh, Simon.”
This happens, sometimes. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes he crawls into the bathtub, or just sits outside of it like he is now. His head lifts up but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are puffy and tinted pink. He’s been crying.
I kneel across from him, and do what we always do: the tap system.
Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes he can’t quite manage to get his words out. Instead, he taps the ground twice for yes, once for no, thrice for I’m not sure.
“Hi, love,” I say, voice low and quiet, “Do you want me to stay?”
He’s staring down at his bare feet. His wings are tucked in against his back- that must be uncomfortable, with him pressed against the tub. After a few moments, he brings one hand down to tap the ground two times. He wants me to stay, then.
Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he wants to be left alone. Of course I never take it personally, and I leave to visit Penelope and Shepard or Fiona until he texts me to come back home.
“Do you want me to hold you?”
A few moments, then two taps on the ground.
I give him a warm smile then reach forward to pull him into my chest. He wraps his arms around me and hugs tightly. I mirror him. He likes being held tight, with pressure. I’m not sure why, but I don’t need an explanation to do anything for Simon.
We stay like that for a while, holding each other on the bathroom tiles. He smells good. He always smells good.
“Did you shower?” I whisper. My lips brush against his cheek.
He shakes his head.
Of course not. He just smells good naturally.
A few more moments, and he clears his throat. “Can we watch that one movie with the dragon guy again?”
It takes me a second to figure out what he means. “Spirited Away?”
“Yeah.”
It baffles me to think he even has to ask. “Of course, darling.”
I would do anything for this boy.