Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A butcher's job is never done. 

There’s always more meat to prepare, at least that’s what the people of the Steppe always told Simon. What his father always told him. His father always told him he was born for this, to be a yargachin , a butcher. It was in his blood, after all. In all of his people’s blood, really. The people of the Steppe were all butchers. They worked all day at the Termitary, mixing their own tears and sweat with the blood of the bulls they cut. But Simon wasn’t meant to be that kind of butcher, not in the sense of most of his people. The traditional sense of the word. His father was their Menkhu, but the people of the town called him a Mage. He worked miracles, and was both the doctor for the people of the Steppe and the people of the town, and he was the leader of the Steppe. Spiritually, at least. Power amongst the Kin, the people who inhabit the Steppe, was messy and too political at the best of times; but his father was who everyone went to for miracles. (Or if they had the flu.)

Simon was taught from birth the ways of his father’s medicine, the lines he must learn to heal. Those he must learn to cut. He's a surgeon who left his home to study medicine at university, which wasn’t exactly conventional for the Kin. The Steppe is a vast, overwhelming land that houses all kinds of magical creatures. Simon can see it now, staring out the train window. Large, rolling plains of land, the herbs are in full bloom this time of year. Reds and yellows dotted the beige grass. He reckons it must be knee-high this far out. The town is still miles to go from here, though he can't see it yet. Nobody lives this far out, not even the Khatangher (odd looking worm creatures with claws the size of small cats, they always freaked Simon out a bit.) This is dead land, and Simon never actually knew who built the train tracks out this way. 

The tracks in general were a bit of a mystery to him. One day the town was isolated, and next the Wellbelove family had announced that the town could now import goods. That’s what it felt like to him, at least. He was only seven though, he probably had more important things on his mind. Like how many raw eggs could he fit in his mouth at one time. In retrospect, 1972 was a bit late to put in a proper way in and out of town. He supposes that’s just how they are, nobody in town even questioned it. Even when outsiders brought up their outdated ways, they just laughed them off.

He’d been away from his home for six years now, he left home when he was only sixteen. He didn’t know if his father, Aba , completely agreed with him leaving. But he didn’t tell Simon anything anyway, so he paid little mind to his opinion on this. The Kin’s practices were... well, are antiquated. He wasn’t like big city doctors; he didn’t like to just throw the past out, but he couldn’t actually practice medicine the way his father did. The Kin's way. His father is a powerful, wise man who can patch people up with his hands and plants; Simon isn't that. He couldn’t get in touch with the Earth the same way his father could, something the Kin blamed on his father having wed a girl from the town and not from the Steppe. She died in childbirth, despite her husband being the only doctor for 40 kilometers. The irony was lost on no one. 

Simon had to have actual, real medical knowledge. The Kin’s herbs and magic didn’t cut it for his mother, the mother he never knew because of their ways . So at sixteen, promptly after highschool, he packed up his clothes and got on a train. He’d been living on scholarship alone. His skills as a surgeon, even at the age of sixteen, were above most people’s skills at thirty-six. He knew the lines of the human body better than anyone; the layers of nerves, bone and flesh that made up his entire world growing up. He had spent so much of his life studying medicine, he was pretty much daft in every other field. Basic arithmetic was a daily struggle, but he could effortlessly navigate the human body. It was his father’s life, and so even their home was a medical practice. His dorm at university wasn’t though, he put up big posters of his favorite singers. Ones that he thought were fit, he'd even put up some of blokes. He loves his father in his own way, he does, but growing up in the only medical practice in town makes you feel like you live in a ward. His dorm had always felt more homey to him, and he was nervous to return back to his town. 

But now he is returning home. He hadn’t finished his degree yet either. His father summoned him back, he sent him a worryingly scared letter. His father had never felt fear in the entire time Simon had known him, but he said that he felt his life was in danger. He wrote that he didn’t have much time left. Simon didn’t even take time to pack.

Simon sighs, rubbing his eyes. This impromptu visit was, if he was honest, a massive pain in the ass. He wouldn't ever voice that though, not even to Penny.

He lays his head on the window, sighing as the view of the Polyhedron comes into view. It’s a beautiful, horrible thing, towering over the town on Gorkhon hill. That’s what everyone in the capitol calls it, and in the Steppe they just call it the town. (Simon supposes that’s its name, like a mangy cat no one wanted, just The Town.) The Polyhedron was a recent addition though, done by two city dwellers that moved into town 4 years back, Devlin Grimm and Niall Kelly. He doesn't really fancy it; its a large, winding tower. Penelope’s letters had been downright scathing about it, and even that didn’t prepare him for the eyesore. It looks like a massive, fucked up gothic mega-horn coming out of the side of the hill. He can't see the rest of the town yet, it's still obscured from vision. Just that monolith far off, and the plains of land before him. He still has probably an hour until the train arrived in the town, but he couldn’t rest his eyes. Not yet. Not until he saw his father, safe. His town, his Steppe, safe. 

His relationship with his father was strange, in his father's eyes it was a fine father-son relationship, but Simon secretly made a promise to himself as a kid to never be his father. He respects the man, but he could never be him. But even so, he has a claim to the land as much as any of the others clawing for power, his family was the oldest surviving clan. The Snow name is the stake of the Kin, all of them. From the herb brides, to the witches, the Snows have always healed and led them. He isn't quite ready to inherit that title yet; it's so big to him. So daunting. He hasn't even finished medical school, and whilst the title doesn’t require a degree, he would like one. The town has been rapidly transforming, both Penelope and his father had said so in their letters. Less mysticism, more science. They had been so isolated for so long that once the trains came in inevitably, change would hit them like a brick. 

Even then, he didn't know if he'd ever be up for the job. Not the way his dad is, at least. So he needs him to still be safe, to not be taken from the Kin too soon because nobody in their little world can function without him.

Simon closes his eyes, still not able to sleep, but unable to look at the horrible tower anymore. He tried to count what he was excited for; he was excited to see Penny, for one. She had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, and her mother was one of the three Mistresses of the town. The Mistresses are women with a more potent connection to the land than even the Kin. Penelope was her first-born daughter, and even from a young age, everyone could tell she’d inherit the title of Mistress someday. Penny had an uncanny ability to heal, but the problem with it was that sometimes it would kill instead. She’s only ever tried it on plants, to be fair, but it seems almost random if it’ll kill the poor thing or if it’ll heal it fully. 

She was also powerful in other ways, of course. Penelope could predict certain events, mainly good or bad harvests of Twyre (a potent herb, don’t ever eat it raw. Simon did once as a kid, and it truly nearly took him out.) She can do small feats of magic as well, summoning fire in her hand or messing with the wind. It's dead impressive, she's the most powerful mistress in town.

There was also Micah and Agatha, his other two childhood friends. Micah and Penny had dated for 3 years, up until about a year back. Penny’s letters said he's been awkward since then, but he was also still studying under Simon’s father. Penelope always thought it was more than a bit awkward, how Micah seemed to be the favored brother that Simon didn’t have, but he didn’t mind. Not really. The town could use more doctors, heaven knows they could, and Simon was away anyway. So he never really cared much about how much his father loved Micah.

Agatha apparently had taken her parents’ unused estate in the north of town and started to use it as a place for visitors from out of town. Not a hotel, but the closest thing the town had. Like a bed and breakfast, but with a lot of questions about the outside world. Agatha has always wanted to just... get away. From the town, from the Steppe, from it all. She's from an old family, though, and she never could. Simon thinks she might have tried to will him to implode with just her eyes when he told her that he’d be leaving, as if being stuck here too was a fair punishment. He’d be coming back, anyway. He is now , after all.

His father always pushed for him and Agatha to court, the Wellbeloves wanted it too. It was all political, and Simon never played into that part of his father's game. She's pretty, beautiful even. She has cornflower hair and ocean blue eyes, but Simon could never see her as anything more than a sister. He never found himself looking at her and wishing for more . He loved her as a friend, even as a companion, but not in the way you'd feel for a lover. 

Simon knew nothing about lovers, knows nothing still, but he knew that this isn't it. Just because it was good for the town doesn't mean it's good for him, Penny would always say. 

It’s not like he hated his hometown, anyway. He loved it more than anything else, even if it's flaws were, and still are blatantly obvious. It’s his everything, everything he’s done since birth has been for his people. His entire world is this town, even when he's away all he does is study so that he can someday serve it properly. And now he can feel his anxiety being overcome with nostalgia as the town comes into view. It was such a beautiful, shambled together thing. A clash of Industrial era and Victorian buildings, with the Termitary jutting out like the hump of a camel. It's mid-September, and the Twyre was in full bloom. To his left, he could see the Steppe’s graveyard on a tiny little island in the river, and to his right he could see the train yard. It's full of stopped trains not going anywhere, which is odd to him, but he doesn't pay it much mind.

The train comes to a screeching halt at the station, and Simon stands up. He stretches his back out, paying no mind to how much room he's taking up, as apparently he’s the only one here to visit the town on Gorkhon hill. Not a tremendous surprise, even if it makes him feel a bit sad. He grabs his coat, knowing the air here has a harsher chill, and steps outside of the train. 

Simon doesn’t even have time to shrug his coat on before he hears the gruff voice of a man.  “There he is! He’s trying to make a run for it, get him!” A man yells, and before he can understand what’s happening, he’s tackled to the ground. 

The surrounding air suddenly reeks something bad of ale, and Simon feels a sharp pain in his gut. Oh, great, Simon thinks, I haven’t even been home for ten minutes and I have a fucking stab wound . He kicks the man in the abdomen, shuffling up off the ground. He doesn’t have time before two more men are on him, and against his better judgment, he pulls the knife from his stomach and stabs one of the men. They don’t stop their assault, and Simon stabs the one behind him one last time, creating an opening. He clutches his rapidly bleeding wound and runs as fast as he ever has in his life. Behind him, he hears one man scream. “Murderer!”

He whips his head back, they’re all still alive. Good. He shouts back. “Never killed a soul, piss off .” 

He runs as far as his legs can carry him, which, considering the loss of vast amounts of his blood, takes him to the spot that his friends and he would use as a hideout. It was an abandoned warehouse in a shady part of town close to the train yard. He opens up the red, rusty door, and steps inside to be greeted by Penelope Bunce, who seemed to be almost waiting for him. She rushes over to him, greeting him with an, “Oh thank god.”

However, her relief falls flat when she sees Simon’s blood-soaked shirt. Her eyes widen, and she immediately rushes over to the cabinet. Penelope pulls out a bottle of Twyrine, the local drink, and what would look like a sewing kit if you didn’t work Simon’s job. He doesn’t offer an explanation, not until his shirt is off, and he's threading a needle. "Got attacked off the train, don't know what for. They thought I'd killed someone."

Penelope looks, for the first time in her life, at a loss for words. She scratches the back of her neck, watching as Simon takes a swig of the alcoholic mixture and begins sewing his own flesh shut. Penelope takes his soiled shirt, making her way to a big wooden tub. She dips the shirt in the tub, scrubbing across from Simon, who's patching himself up. After clearing her throat, she finally speaks. “The townsmen think you killed the Mage.”

Simon looks up at her, not even paying attention to his own working hands. While using his knife to cut off the extra string, his brows knit together furiously, he croaks out. “Father is dead?”

“He was murdered.” She confirms, averting her eyes from his piercing gaze. She finishes scrubbing the blood from his clothing and hangs it up over a small rack. The witch lights a fire in her palm, holding it carefully underneath the clothing to dry them. “Just three hours ago. I'm... I'm sorry, Si.”

Saying sorry sounded a bit forced, and Simon knew it was. She had nothing to be sorry for. He lays his head back, rubbing his eyes harshly. “I came as fast as I fucking- I don’t even have spare clothing, that’s how fast I came.”

“I know.”

Simon stands up, finishing the bottle of Twyrine off with a gulp. He discards it on the floor and takes his still damp in places shirt and jacket. Simon pulls them on with a force he regrets. It chafes against his wound, though somehow the stitches stay put, to his own surprise. He knew he was running on borrowed time from the beginning, that his father had been in danger, but to be accused of his murder was something else. Simon couldn’t even think about his own grief. He was too shocked by the accusation. “I just arrived, I didn’t- I couldn’t have-”

She sighs, repeating. “I know.”

“Where’s Micah?” He asks suddenly, washing his knife off and stuffing it into his pocket. 

“Simon, no, you have to rest!” She says firmly, finally sounding like herself. Penelope grabs his arm, but gets shrugged off.

He shakes his head, opening the cabinet on the far end. He grabs a small glass bottle filled with water and a handful of nuts, popping them in his mouth. “I need to talk to the person closest to dad, Pen.”

She huffs, looking like she could kill him at this very moment. “Six years you were gone, and this is how it is? You won't even listen to me?”

“The Mage, our Menkhu, my father is dead, Penelope Bunce.” He raises his voice a bit, looking her in the eyes. “Can you just tell me where he is? We can catch up over brunch when I’m not a wanted man.”

She backs down a bit, averting her eyes. “Fine. Go and get yourself stabbed again, if you insist. He’s in the old apartment building, east side. Number 402.”

He nods, thanking her quietly, and heading out of the backdoor as swiftly as he came in. The trek isn’t a far one. He only has to cross the bridge and weave through the housing district of the east district to get where he wants to go. But once he leaves the warehouse district, he realizes that it won’t be so simple. The town has entered full chaos mode now. They thought they were being vigilantes, looking for the killer on the loose, but no one seemed to agree on who it actually was . It’s mad right now, so Simon himself pulls his hood up, hoping to disguise his bright red hair at least enough to not get himself stabbed again. 

Someone had even started a fucking bonfire in the middle of the town square, where men were sharing ale and discussing who they thought was the killer. It seemed to be more of a bonding activity to them than a serious thing. The men of this town, the ones who’d never give the world anything other than plant fertilizer, took any chance to enact ‘justified’ violence against the Kin. The only person of the Kin that they consistently trusted had been the Menkhu, but now that his father had passed, they were fair game to murder. In their eyes, at least.

As much as he’d love to give them a piece of his mind (or fists, he’s that angry), Simon seemed to be suspect number one. He was everything they hated, someone who left, someone both part Kin and part Townsman. An ‘other’ to both sides, even before he left for uni. He quietly slips by the square, and the men pay him no mind, too absorbed in their own shit. He always hated the culture of the town proper. People will find any reason to hurt each other that they can. Though, the Kin could be like that too, he supposes. 

Better to not think about any of it now.

Simon was only halfway to Micah’s when he got stopped by a man. His heart all but stops, expecting a fight again, but when he turns to find the source of the voice, there’s a man standing there with a bull next to him. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and the man takes his chance. “‘Ello, friend! Booha for you, my friend.”

Simon eyes up the bull. On his chest was a slip of paper that said ‘30 pounds - future seeing bull’. He sighs, looking into the beautiful creature's eyes. Simon had always had a soft spot for these creatures, and somehow, they got him to pry open his wallet. He gives the man the money. It isn’t much anyway and simply says.

“Drop him off at Penny’s warehouse, you know the one.”

The man jubilantly nods, and with that, Simon is off again. It doesn’t take long for him to find the complex he was looking for; it's the only complex in the entire town. They're sad, 4 large buildings built to make a square, with a courtyard in the middle. The courtyard always housed rough looking children, the kind that played with needles and knives instead of dolls and marbles. Simon is quite intimidated, really, and avoids them at all costs. He finds Micah’s apartment, a two-bedroom suite on the upper floor. 

The door is wide open, so Simon lets himself in. 

“Micah!” He calls, but hears nothing back.

He opens the first bedroom door, just to see a man he’d never seen before. The man has dark black hair, slicked back to show off a killer widow's peak. “He’s not here.” He sneers, his voice was awfully posh. Definitely not from around here.

Simon sighs, closing the door again. Ignore the tosser, find Micah. Ask questions later. He moves on to the next bedroom and finds nothing. The kitchen, nothing. The bathroom, empty. Not even soaps lived there. In utter defeat, he opens the first room again, just to see the man still in the same position, it was question time. Legs crossed, arms crossed, and a horrible jacket on the chair behind him.

He’s a good-looking man, and it seems like he knew it. His hair is perfectly groomed, and he’s wearing clothes far too well tailored for a local of this town. A pair of perfectly fit black slacks, a white dress shirt with the top two buttons open, and behind him is a snakeskin jacket that had to be his. Micah would never lack that much subtly. Though, Simon thinks (against his own will) that the man would make it work.

Simon looks the man up and down, pointedly, crossing his own arms. “Right then, what is this?”

“What is this?” The man repeats, sneer still on his face. It ruins the beautiful vampire effect. Kind of. “I saved your life, Throw.”

“Snow.” Simon corrects.

The man looks out the window, pointing half heartedly. “I don’t think it is.”

“No, my name is Snow. And how did you save my life?” He sighs, this conversation already was lasting longer than he wanted it to. He really, really didn’t have time for this.

“Mr. Cordero wants your blood right now, he’d be leading the witch hunt if I hadn’t convinced him not to. I don’t think you did it.” He states simply, sounding more like a total wanker by the second. 

But- 

He was on Simon’s side.

“Who are you? And how do you figure that?” He finally tears his eyes away from the man, looking outside the window and onto the chaotic streets. 

The man waits a moment before clearing his throat. “My name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. You can call me Dr. Pitch, and I simply looked at the train schedule.”

Simon looks back at him, recognizing his name immediately. He’s a proper celebrity back in London. Pitch was still a bachelor in school, and yet he had founded The Experimental Laboratory of Thanatology. He had proclaimed that he’d find the secrets to death, and uncover how to live longer or even how to defeat death . He was the man who wanted to beat not only illness, but death itself. A famous heretic. What the hell is he doing in bumfuck nowhere?

(Also, he actually looked at the train schedule. Simon did like that he had half a brain to do that. He didn’t get full points though, for the bare minimum.)

He leaned against the wall, pressing his hand to his stomach. His stitches ached. “Okay then, Dr. Pitch, what’s a big city type like you doing here?”

“Work.” He shrugs, grabbing his pen again. “I came here to meet with Gregory Wellbelove, but he was murdered too.”

“Agatha’s grandpa was murdered?!” Simon straightens up a bit, looking around suspiciously.

Pitch nods, looking just a bit solemn. “Yes, it’s a shame. I heard he had lived an incredibly long life, and I came here to do research. Your father summoned me, actually.”

Simon narrows his eyes, looking directly at the man. It wasn't a surprise that they knew each other, they're both influential doctors after all. “You knew my last name, then.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Snow.” He averts his eyes, returning to writing. “Do you need anything else?”

Simon rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms. “I didn't need anything from you in the first place, Pitch.”

“Dr. Pitch.” He hums in an unbelievably annoying voice.

“Then I’m Dr. Snow, to you.” Simon counters.

“You don’t have your doctorate.” 

Simon kicks the desk, huffing. “Neither do you!”

Pitch rolls his eyes back at him, then just keeps writing. Simon glares daggers at him before declaring. “I’ll leave you to it then, Dr. Pitch.”

“Thank you, Snow.” He says pointedly, looking begrudgingly amused with this entire situation. 

He shouldn’t be. He’s a twat. 

Simon doesn’t say that, it’s implied.

Simon doesn't say anything, in fact, and he's not going to. Not to that man, he'd be content if he never saw that raging dick again. He's smug, and obviously thinks he's better than Simon despite being in the same fucking profession.

Maybe that's why he thinks he's better than him. ' I'm some sexy doctor fighting death, and you're just a surgeon from the middle of nowhere.'

Maybe the sexy part wasn't necessary.

But he'd definitely say it. (And it was true, but Simon is not happy at himself for thinking it.)(Damn his traitorous brain.)

He closes the door forcefully, before walking down to the front door again. But before he can even open the door, two children are in the cracked open doorway. One has a weird handmade dog mask on, and the other has a lacy pink dress on. They look like odd fair-goers.

The girl jumps up when she sees Simon, looking both worried and relieved. "Mr. Snow! We need a doctor."

Well. She cut to the chase. "A doctor? What for, little miss?"

"Three of our friends! They've been poisoned, Snow." The boy says pleadingly. You could tell, even under that weird mask, he was genuinely worried. "We tried asking that wanker , but he said he had more important matters."

Simon's eyes go wide, and he stops. "Alright, hold on a minute, kids. I'll be right with you. I have to have a word with the obnoxious dandy. About the hippocratic oath, if nothing else."

They giggle at his language, but then the girl very seriously nods. "Right, we'll stay here Mr. Snow!"

He gives her a two-finger salute before stomping back into Pitch's room. He yanks the door open, looking at him furiously. "You turned away three sick children ? To do what, have your little jack-off fest in your study?"

"Yes, Snow, I have nothing more important to do than dealing with mutts ." He says sarcastically, looking up from his work and giving Simon a long, drawn out blink.

"Mutts." Simon repeats back, a bit shocked at his lack of morals. He knew the man didn’t value the town, but to call sick children mutts?  "Might I remind you of the hippocratic oath you swore? As a doctor?"

"Yes, I remember it clearly, Snow. Look, it's very kind of you to go to such great lengths for them, but I really must get on with my work. I do thank your charitable heart, however." The last part almost sounds serious, and that makes Simon even more pissed. Charitable heart ? Children are poisoned! They’re suffering, and this twat thinks that sitting around, writing all day is more important.

Simon doesn’t justify Pitch with an answer.

He slams the door shut, before making his way back to the two children. The girl immediately clings to his arm, and the boy walks in step with Simon. "It's just terrible, Mr. Snow. That we'd have a traitor among our ranks."

"A traitor?" He looks at her, but the boy chimes in.

"Our club. There's two of them, the adults call us gangs. We aren't really. Our club lives in the warehouse district." He says, sounding too adult for a boy that only looked thirteen. "We're called the Half Souls, and the other one. The enemies. They live in that bloody tower."

He points his thumb to the Polyhedron, it really does tower over all, Simon thinks.

"I see." He hums, thinking these games are much too adult for kids their age. He doesn't say it though.

Lest they have knives on them.

Simon's trip back to the warehouse district is a bit less hectic, most of the crowd dispersed while Simon was wasting his time on Basilton Pitch (the twat, handsome insufferable twat). The fire is gone now, all that was left was charred wood and ashes. Nobody tries it with him, not when he's escorting the children. 

There’s a code of conduct in this town, even if it was baffling and usually impossible to understand. It was there. The kids are always feral, in their different ways, and if someone's dealing with them you leave them to it. They're probably having a worse day than you.

Simon was, in fact, having a worse day than anyone else in this bloody town. But not because of the children, they're probably the least shit thing that's happened yet.

He can't say Pitch is number one, considering the fact that his father died and the townsfolk attempted to murder Simon too. But out of spite, if he ever asks, Simon will say that meeting Pitch is worse than it all.

He won't have the chance to ask though. Simon is not talking to him, ever again. 

The man is a walking nightmare, who somehow knew his late dad. He wonders how he never noticed that, considering that he and Pitch went to the same school. He just didn't pay attention to the man. He was a prodigy, they both were, but Pitch was just flashier. So flashy that he never even saw the man on campus, only in the paper. He’s always in some article than Simon skips over, he couldn’t actually care less about what his opinion on death was. 

He stops his spiral there, leaving it on the fact that Pitch is an asshole and will die lonely. Simon takes solace in as he stops in front of the kid's warehouse. The boy reaches into his pockets, pulling out three bottles of medicine and a ring of keys. He gives Simon the medicine and unlocks the door, letting them all in.

What greets Simon is not what he expected. There are no beds with three sick children in them, but instead three children holding dogs like their life depended on it.

Oh.

These are their friends.

Simon waves at them with his free hand. He sits on the floor, and pats his lap. "Right then, bring the first one over. This won't take too long."

He wasn't trained to be a vet, but it wouldn't be hard. The kid had given Simon two bottles of liquid antibiotics and one of a painkiller, Simon smells it. Twyre infused. Good.

He takes the first dog onto his lap, petting its head as he carefully feels the dog's stomach. Definitely poisoned using kerosene, it was common in town to use lamp fluid to poison things. Luckily, Twyre will keep it from killing them. It naturally combats the poisons found in kerosene.

He sighs in relief, administering each dog a hefty dose of the painkiller. He drinks his flask of water, then he creates a mixture of the antibiotics into the now empty bottle. He feeds each dog a spoonful of it, before giving the bottle to the leader, who’s a maskless kid sitting up front. The kid looks only about 14, and he already looks more world-worn than some adults.

It reminds Simon of himself.

"Give each dog a spoonful a day until it runs out, it'll stop them from getting infections. Don't over exert the dogs for a few weeks either, they ought to be fragile." He instructs, trying to sound less tired than he actually was. He’s hungry, too.

He nods, thankfully taking the flask. "Thank you, Mr. Snow. You know…" He looks down, looking abashed. "I was worried when I saw you come in. I thought… You're no murderer, though. I'll have my people tell their friends."

Simon shrugs, but smiles gratefully. "You don't have to, kiddo. I think the crowd's died down, anyway. I'll have to sort it out proper tomorrow."

The little girl runs up behind him, tugging his sleeve with one hand. A lump of something is placed in his hand, as well as a warm bottle. The girl had given him a chunk of bread and a bottle of warm milk, he realizes as he looks down. Simon shakes his head, trying to give the food back silently. The girl refuses, and runs back to whatever she was doing.

He stood there for a second, debating with himself internally. But his selfish side wins, and he takes a bite of the bread. It’s a bit stale, but it tastes incredible . Buttery and perfect, the kids must have made it themselves.

As he leaves the warehouse, he takes a swig of the milk. It was just as good, fresh and warm. Simon missed the milk out here, it’s so creamy. It didn’t have to be shipped around either, freshly made. He loved it, and nothing beat scones made with a fresh bottle of milk.

Ebb made them the best. He’d have to visit her soon, she couldn’t be taking this news well. She was somewhat of the second in command, to the Kin and to his dad. There was no real order to it all, but Menkhu’s say always came first. Ebb just happened to be even more in tune with the land, more powerful than Penny even. She isn’t a Mistress though, the Kin doesn’t dabble with that stuff. But she’s the most trusted person still alive by the Kin, she knows everything about the Steppe.

Plus, she has cute goats.

He’d have to see her soon, but his bones ache right now and he couldn’t force himself at the moment. It was only noon, and Simon had been through the fucking ringer. He finishes off the bread as he walks, making his way to Penny’s warehouse again. Simon isn’t exactly excited to be scolded again by her, but he had nowhere else to go and he had missed her. He just didn’t miss her being so right all the damn time. Simon pushes open her door again, seeing she was still here.

She looks up from her book, eyes narrowing. “Are you done getting stabbed now, Snow?”

Simon shrugs, shutting the door and collapsing on the old couch. They had lugged that in here as kids, when they were only eleven. “I wish I got stabbed, Pen. Then I wouldn’t have had to meet Dr. Pitch .”

“Pitch?” She parrots, setting her book down fully. “The new guy in town? Isn’t he some big name?”

“Yeah, and apparently he set up camp in Micah’s apartment.” He snorts, not actually finding much humor in the situation. “He’s a right arsehole, but he did save me from Micah’s wrath. Tosser thinks I killed my own dad.”

“Micah never did take kindly to you leaving town.” She sighs, leaning her head back. “How did Pitch save you?”

“Says he looked at the train schedules.” Simon explains, following suit in staring at the ceiling. “I yelled at him, some kids said their friends were poisoned. Turned out they were dogs.”

Penelope poorly suppresses a giggle, head snapping up to look at him. He doesn’t move, but he covers his now red face. “At least you saved the dogs, but good god Si-” She manages to get out, causing him to groan

“He must think I’m some sort of bleeding heart now.” Simon mutters.

“Aren’t you?” She counters, finally calming down a bit.

“Maybe.” He stops to think a bit, huffing and pulling his arms off his face. “A bit. I guess.”

“You guess?” She raises a brow at him.

He lets out a loader groan, finally looking up at the girl. Her curls are falling every which way out of her ponytail, and she looks like she hasn't slept. But she had a small curl to her lips, and she looked almost the same as she did when Simon left. He’s missed her.

He’s missed her so much that he doesn’t even glare at her right now. “Alright, alright. I get it. I embarrassed myself. Not like it matters, he’s a twat anyway.”

“You think?” And she raises both brows now, causing Simon to turn red again.

“I know! He acts like he’s better than me. Just because he’s some big city, fit doctor doesn’t mean-”

Penny interrupts, laughing again. “Fit? You think he’s fit?”

Simon crosses his arms, not breaking eye contact but looking like he could die right here and now. “Objectively, yes. But it doesn’t matter if he’s a twat!”

She nods, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “Take a nap, Simon.” She changes the topic, and for once Simon’s glad for her overbearing ways.

He could absolutely not think about that man for five more seconds, he thinks. But now that she brought it up, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was, in fact, quite good-looking. Simon lays down, and focuses himself mentally on the fact that he’s a twat. And he hates him. And not his stupid pretty face.

Fuck that guy.

After that thought spiral ended, sleep came easy to Simon. His body was completely wrecked, and his life was absolutely going to shit. He hoped for dreamless sleep, but it didn’t seem like it would go that way.

As soon as his breathing steadied out, he seemed to be transported back to town square. The world was on fire, or at least it looked like it at nighttime. The square was ablaze again, but this time, the black soot was clouding around the fire as if it was leeching off of it. Nobody was standing around, everyone was running or laying on the stone, dead. Penelope was at the front of the fire, trying to coax it down. 

She was casting spell after spell, trying to stop it from spreading, but the soot kept catching onto her clothes. The soot wasn't normal, if it touched you, it would catch fire. Each time she tried to calm it down, she burned more. She was whispering incantation after incantation, begging the fire to go down. Penelope has that deadly focused look she gets when she's fighting a losing battle. He's seen it more times than he can count, she never backed down, even when she knew it wouldn't work. It scares him. Simon tried to move, but his feet were literally glued to the spot. He had no choice but to watch this. He tried to scream, but only blood would come out of his throat. He didn't stop screaming though, he couldn't just...watch. Sputtering up more and more blood, he couldn't do a thing as his best friend burns more and more. He can only see her silhouette now, a dark figure consumed by the flames around her. She still keeps working, and he forces himself to tear his eyes up to see what she was burning to get to.

A man is in the fire's heart, strung up by the arms. A long, lanky figure. He's all legs, Simon notes to himself. The flames lick him, but he seems untouched by them. He has gashes and bruises all over his body, blood pouring out of his abdomen at an alarming rate. Simon could smell his blood from here, smell the rust in the air. He wants to save him with a burning desire, and suddenly, he understands why Penny's in the flames now. The man's breathing shallowly, his eyes half lidded, and Simon tries to call out to him. Instead of his own blood coming up this time, blood came out of the man's mouth. Simon could smell it even more potently, as if it was right in front of him. His entire world smelled of iron and ash, and the screaming went deafeningly quiet. He looks up at the man's face again, and gray eyes met his own. There’s a glint to them that Simon knows from somewhere, but he can’t place it. His eyes looked like the deepest part of the Gorkhon river, blue and greens mixed together to create a rich gray. It wasn't a soulless gray, not how Simon would've imagined. It's unfitting, he thinks, for a man with such eyes to be consumed by flames. Maybe that's why the fire wouldn't burn him, they saw the deepest part of the ocean in his eyes. The fire itself knew it couldn't take the dive, but Simon wasn't so smart. He wanted to save him, to pull him down and stop his bleeding. He still couldn't make out who the man in the fire was. The rest of him was too obscured by the flame, it was as if his eyes couldn't focus on him. He keeps his eyes locked onto those deep, gray eyes. That's when he speaks, and Simon can hear it vividly despite the distance.

"Help me."

A scream is pulled from his throat, a proper one this time. Simon doesn’t realize it’s his own voice at first, until it becomes piercing to his own ears. He reaches out to the man, and the man is released from his ropes at the same time Simon wills his feet to run. As the man falls into the flames, Simon throws himself into it. He feels a thud, and suddenly his world goes dark.

He bolts up, sweat dripping from his brow. He notices that Penny isn't here anymore. Simon could still somewhat smell rust, and his hands were shaking. Holy shit, he hated those dreams, the ones that feel like they came from another lifetime they felt so bloody real. He'd had them all throughout his life, and it was always the same. Fire. Rust. Generally, hell is raining down.

But Penny and the mystery man were new. He wondered what it meant. Why now of all times? Hasn't the worst already come? His father's death was the worst-case scenario. And who was the man in his dream? Why did he focus on him?

His father always said that even if he couldn't use magic, he was still connected to the Earth. He had prophetic dreams sometimes, but sometimes they were just nightmares. He hopes that this was just a nightmare, a bad dream conjured up by his deranged psyche.

He doesn't quite believe that, but it was the best option available.

Simon sighs, laying his head back down. He knows he won't sleep though; he has more to do still. He has to visit his father's house. It's only 3pm now, and maybe it hasn't died down as much as he'd have liked, but Simon knows he has to go. It was his childhood home, a family heirloom. It might have felt distant growing up, but he still loved it dearly. So much life has been brought there, in his father's practice, he always told himself. The worst part is that now it's a murder scene. 

The cynical side of Simon thinks that well, of course it’s a murder scene. That’s where his mother died, while giving birth to him. It’s been a murder scene for his entire life. Where he killed her, the mother he never knew.

But this is different, even if his self hatred would like to say otherwise. His father was murdered, properly murdered. He knew it would happen too, he’d sent Simon that odd letter. Was he being threatened? Just what had his father gotten up to while he was gone?

Simon sighs, standing up on his aching legs. He really, really wished this town had proper roads. It was made for travel on foot centuries back, and there wouldn't be a good way to add proper roads for cars unless they demolished the town and rebuilt it. At least they had been able to make electricity work, if not he might have just decided that he was a city boy now.

That's not fair to his people though, but god is it jarring , Simon thinks. The town, in general, is extremely behind when it comes to all sorts of technology. Some houses still prefer the bucket shower to proper plumbing, because that's just how people are around here. The town itself looks completely untouched by time, but then there will be a teenager in jeans that breaks the mystic of it all. Back at home, Simon's home, the one he made for himself in his dorm, he had a walkman of his own. He had a television. They don't have televisions in this town, everyone's too poor or too stuck up. Agatha wasn't the only one who wanted to get out of this shithole town, every kid born after 1960 here does.

But that doesn't mean they all can.

Simon has life to lead, and he loves his people. He loves this town, if anyone else tried to insult it he'd immediately defend it. When he thinks about someone insulting town, the image of that twat Pitch comes to his mind. Then, a gray the color of the river's deepest part fills his mind. He can't place his finger on why. He really wishes he'd stop imagining his face, it almost makes him able to reconcile the shitty attitude. He shakes his head, lacing his boots up and heading out the backdoor of the warehouse. He didn’t have time to waste thinking about Pitch, he had places to be.

Simon jumps a bit when he sees a bull, remembering that he bought one. His face softens a bit, and he pats his head. "Good booha, I think I'll call you Noukher."

"What's that one mean?" A voice asks behind him, and he jumps again.

"Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of me." He sighs, turning to look at her. "It means partner."

She hums, smiling at how she scared him. She seems pleased. "Where are you going then, Si?"

"Dad's house." He responds, looking away. He knew she'd think it was dumb, and he really didn't want a lecture, but he just can't lie to her.

Penny just huffs a bit, saying. "That's so dangerous, Si. I'm coming with you."

He looks up, hoping that she'd say that. She's smart, terribly smart. But she is equally stupidly brave. She was always the one that got them into deep shit as kids, but she always got them out too.

Simon smiles at her softly, knowing he needed the support. "Alright then, I'm leaving Noukie though."

"You don't want your bull friend with us?" She pouts teasingly, but pats his head and turns to face the direction they need to go. She already looks ready for action.

"We're just going to visit my dad's house, Pen. We won't need to slay anything." He points out, laughing a bit.

"You never know, Simon." She starts her march into town, and despite having the leg advantage on her, Simon has to jog to catch up to her.

He laughs, putting a hand on her arm to remind her that he’s there too. She looks back at him, still looking determined. “Pen, hold yourself together.”

She lets out a sigh, putting her hands on her hips and whipping to face him. “Honestly Simon, one minute you’re telling me how urgent it is and the next it’s to calm down?”

“Yeah, well..” He scratches his neck, seeing her point. “Look, I’m sorry for earlier. I just don’t want to start fights with anyone there, I’ve already had my fair share of conflict with Pitch.”

She rolls her eyes, but her hands leave her hips. “Forget about him, Si, you'll go mad.”

“Easier said than done.” He grumbles, and they continue walking in companionable silence.

His trip through town is uninterrupted, nobody fucks with a Bunce. If you fuck with a Bunce, who knows what they’ll do to you. They could turn you into a frog, or tell you how you’ll die. As a kid, she didn’t really have friends because of it. Everyone thought she was dangerous, even Simon did. He still does, just not in the same way as others.

Penelope Bunce’s ferocity and lust for adventure are Simon’s favorite parts about her, even more so than her intelligence and supernatural powers. Penny was never, ever scared to speak her mind, and she was almost always right. She never really mourned her lack of friends, she had Simon, Agatha, and Micah up until the break up. And plus, she still had him, it was just awkward. 

Oh, and apparently she made friends with a bloke named Shepard down at The Broken Heart. Simon makes a mental note to go meet him while he's in town. See what the fuss is about that bar, too. It was built by the Grimm, but Shepard ran it. Apparently, he was a wizard with Twyre; made the best Twyrine that the towns ever saw. And he wasn't even from town, not even from the UK. He was American, an immigrant. He was the only one in town, and apparently Penny took instantly to him. That was just like her, befriending the newest, most interesting person she could. That's how she became his best friend, after all. She was curious about the weird son of the Mage, as the town called his dad. It annoyed him that the townsmen refused to learn Steppe words, any of them, but he learned to stop arguing about it.

He's pulled out his thoughts as the house comes into view, a large crowd of people had gathered around it. The yard looks the same as the day he left, plain dirt and unkempt bushes covering the perimeter of the fence, and a pathway that was broken in places. Simon and Penny push through the crowd, trying to get to the front door of his house. On the front steps, Ebb sits with her walking stick laid across her lap. Simon smiles at the familiar face, knowing exactly why she’s here. He sits in the dirt, not caring about the crowd or even Penny.

“Here for me, Ebb?” He hums, but he already knows the answer.

She nods, taking both of his hands in hers. It was an Ebb tradition, she did it with everyone who would let her. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Khybyyn .”

She’s a soft-hearted woman, the opposite of her own mother. Her mother was a strict woman when it came to honorifics. Ebb doesn’t care much, she never uses the correct terms for him, even though she was supposed to be official and use terms of respect with him. Ebb never could though, she always called him Khybyyn , which Simon knew meant son. He always repaid it, instead of calling her by her official title ( Sahba Usp-tae ; Queen of the Worms) he always used Kehtey . It still meant elder, he was a respectful man, but it was so much more endearing. She was the closest thing to a mother he ever had.

“No, no. I’m sorry, Kehtey , I was too late..” He wants to run a hand through his hair, but keeps his hands in Ebb’s

Her hands were calloused, rough. She always had dirt on her face, making her pale blue eyes even more piercing. To anyone who didn’t know her, she might seem intimidating in that way a mother bear is.

Not to Simon.

Her face softens at that, and she shakes her head. She looks teary, but she doesn’t let them flow. “He foresaw it. I don’t know what you could’ve changed.”

He grips her hands tightly, nodding. Without thinking, he voices his biggest fear. “You know it wasn’t me, right? What should I do?”

“You couldn’t have, Khybyyn . I’d have felt it.” She says confidently, which makes Simon calm down a bit. “First things first, tomorrow you oughta go to the Wellbeloves for the house key. Funeral will be tomorrow evening, and he should be buried with her locket.”

Simon knows the one she means, and he agrees. His mother’s locket, his father kept it on the mirror in his bedroom. “I’ll get it tomorrow morning once they stop trying to hunt me.”

She smiles at him, one of her wide watery ones. He smiles back at her, his own eyes filling with tears. “After that, I’ll help you with the inheritance.”

He doesn’t nod; he doesn’t have to. His inheritance was more than money, he would become the town's official Menkhu with it. “I don’t know if I have the skills for it, Kehtey ..” He admits.

She knowingly gives his hands a squeeze, saying. “No, you’re not ready yet. But for this emergency, we’ll call you our Menkhu.”

He knows why. Simon knew she’d insist they call him it in some way.

Menkhus are the only people, in both town and the Steppe who are the only people allowed to dissect bodies. Dead ones, that is. Autopsies are sacred things, it’s a crime for anyone else to perform them. There's some ancient rite that used to have to be performed to do an autopsy, but that was obliterated when the idea of Menkhus came about. His family was the only surviving Menkhu family, and the only way to gain the right to do an autopsy is to marry one. Marriage as a Menkhu is sacred. One can only marry a person once, and in order to propose you have to show your beloved how to do an autopsy. It's called knowing the lines, the lines of flesh and body to cut at. As if it wasn't medical, but was a sewing club. Simon was always a bit disturbed by it, but a lot of things disturbed him.

He looks up at her suspiciously, and she shakes her head gravely. “You can’t perform one on your Aba , kiddo. That’s illegal. But when you seek the Wellbeloves tomorrow, ask to see Gregory.”

Oh. Right. He died too. Simon feels a bit bad that he forgot that, he'll have to visit Agatha sometime while he's here.

“You think they’re connected?” He can’t stop himself from asking.

She grips his hands as hard as she can, pulling him close and whispering. “They are connected. I asked the spirits for help.”

He nods seriously, before he’s let go. The onlooking crowd is encroaching now, and Ebb waves her stick. “Off with ya, nosy lot!”

She slips a key into his pocket, answering his look with a quiet voice. “Factory one, back door.”

She stands up, walking through the crowd that parted for her. Simon just watches, before standing up himself. He brushes the dirt off of the ass of his pants, before looking to Penny. She looks lost, for once, but just crosses her arms. “I’ll never understand that woman, Simon.”

He laughs, it’s so ridiculous to him. All these years, and they still can’t see eye to eye. “You don’t have to, Pen. She’s always right.”

“I’m always right too!” She huffs, and starts walking. This time, she does actually walk at a pace that Simon can match.

“Lucky me then, eh?” He teases, and she doesn’t dignify him with a response. He laughs at his own joke, and they walk in silence for the rest of the way to her warehouse. 

Simon waves goodbye, sighing a bit to himself. He couldn't tell Penny where he was going, it was a secret only he and Ebb knew about. So he was alone again, but it wasn’t as scary this time. Well, it was fucking terrifying to go back to the backroom, but he wasn't as nervous as he was before about the trek. Mainly because he wouldn’t be going into town, but into the Steppe. 

Simon loves the Steppe, it was always his favorite part of actually living here. The rolling plains of land were magical, literally and figuratively. When he’s in the Steppe, it’s the only time he feels in touch with the land. He'd often come here as a kid when he needed to get away from it all, to clear his head. He'd lay in the tall grass, watching the clouds roll by as the summer sun would cover him in a blanket of warmth. It's his favorite memory of this town, aside from his friends. The grass, the faint smell of herbs and magic in the air, filling his senses and clearing his thoughts. He almost felt like the person he should be when he was out here, like he had any idea of what he was doing. He closes his eyes for a second, smiling as he takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes, steels himself, and then starts walking again.

Simon lets his hand hang, touching the soft tan grass as he walks toward the first factory building. Most of the worms work here, it’s where meat is packaged and gotten ready to ship. He knows what the backroom is though, and why he got a key to it. His father had taken him a few times, when he was still a snot nosed kid.

Simon sighs, unlocking the door with eyes still on the floor. He takes a deep breath, before looking back up. He’s greeted by a familiar sight, a dimly lit set of stairs leading downstairs. He takes the plunge, walking down into what was his father’s laboratory. It sounds weird, but his father had to use a secret part of this factory that Ebb set up for him to create the various medicines he learned to make using Twyre. Twyre already was full of medical properties, and his father had found how to pull them out of the herbs using two different machines. 

And the other thing he found out is how to use human organs with the herbs to make them more potent. He had taught Simon about it as a kid, and said it was perfectly fine, but he hated it. The idea of reusing organs from the dead to heal people makes him sick to his stomach, and he refuses to look at the large machine his father used for it.

It was his second reason to study at university. He wouldn’t use his father’s methods, the ones he knew how to do were terrible. He had respect for his father, for the lives he saved, but the man himself led a life that Simon just wouldn't follow. He couldn't. His connection to the land wasn't strong enough, and he knew that if anyone knew what was in his father's concoctions that he'd be arrested. 

He was abusing his power as a Menkhu, but the town needed him to survive. It was a conundrum, one that Simon would solve by treading a different path. He could fuse Twyre and modern medicine, instead of organs, to be even more useful and heal more people.

He collapses into the makeshift bed that his father kept for long nights, throwing his arms over his head. Ebb said that he’ll have time, but it certainly doesn’t feel like that. It felt like he had to give up on uni, that this was it for him. He’s never leaving again, and he has no way out. He’ll marry some girl and ignore her for his practice, just like his dad did. Maybe he didn’t ignore his wife, actually. Simon never knew him then. Maybe he just ignored his only son. He huffs out, deciding to stop thinking about his father's legacy. About what the others would think of the truth behind his legacy. 

What Pitch would think. He's exactly the opposite of his father, he’s the opposite side of the spectrum that Simon wants to find a healthy middle to. The man is fucking talented, as much as he gets on Simon’s nerves he deserves his status. He’s unbelievably dedicated to his work, and he was still a student working to get his masters. Simon barely has time to shower while working for his masters degree. He’d probably order Simon get the death penalty if he knew about his father.

Fuck Pitch and his opinions on Simon’s life.

Simon closes his eyes, deciding to sleep for the night. These would be problems for tomorrow, future Simon. Tonight, he deserves a full 8 hours of rest for once. He could put off thinking about his fathers practices for another night, god knows he has for 22 years already.

His sleep is filled with gray eyes and fire.

Chapter Text

Waking up is the hardest part, Simon decides with a groan as he sits up. The bed isn’t that uncomfortable. (It’s a mattress on shipping crates, but it feels like heaven to his sore bones.) No, the reason waking up is shit is that Simon has to face the town again. He has to absorb that yesterday wasn’t a nightmare, and that his father is actually dead. And also acknowledge the fact that he much prefers his dream last night to his reality, even if he can’t remember a single detail about it except those bloody eyes.

When he closes his eyes, he can see them again. They’re the same eyes from his nightmare the day before, but somehow he doesn’t think that this was a bad dream. It couldn’t have been. With his eyes closed and mind focused, he feels like there’s a warm blanket on him. It was probably his brain's consolation prize for the shitty day he has ahead of him, a moment of respite. He sighs, forcing himself to his feet. His stomach growls, and he decides that the bag of dried apple slices in his father’s cabinet would have to do for breakfast.

He’ll be meeting up with Penny at The Broken Heart soon enough, he might as well just buy lunch there. She says that Shepard makes amazing sour cherry scones, his favorite, and he just has to try some of those. That doesn’t stop being hungry now though, and Simon decidedly stops thinking of the scones, and starts thinking about how he’ll have to go plead his case to the Wellbeloves.

The Wellbeloves aren’t technically in a position of power, Agatha isn’t a mistress, and neither of her parents actually are officials. However, the Wellbeloves are the bones of the town. The family has famously always handled all architecture of the town. The town was almost entirely built by them. (Well, not by their own hands, but they planned it all and own most of the deeds to the buildings in this town.) The only exceptions would be the new buildings built by Grimm and Kelly. The two made big waves in town, not only being the only pair to challenge the Wellbeloves stranglehold on the town but also by creating such experimental buildings. As much as he loathed the massive, looming tower that was the Polyhedron, he can’t deny that it was ambitious. It seems to defy all laws of gravity, and was supposedly built only by Devlin Grimm. That’s what Penny told him at least, that Kelly was the artist who dreamed the big ideas up, and that Grimm was the sole person trusted to bring them to life.

He’d be inside one of their buildings later today, The Broken Heart is a Grimm-Kelly original as well. Though, he’s told it’s a lot less flashy. He doesn’t know if he believes that, judging by the tower he can see almost directly over him from the west side of town, but whatever.

He knows the Wellbeloves will listen to him, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from welling up in his chest as he walks that way. They live in a huge, three building mansion. The west building used to be Agatha’s, before she moved into a different, unused property to convert it to a bed-and-breakfast. Simon still remembers coming to her house. The entire west building was hers and it was unbelievable as a kid. The building’s all decadent halls and sky blue walls, with family antiques for decoration. It must have been terribly lonely as a kid, Simon reflects. It’s no wonder she spends her days practically living on top of people. If that was his home as a kid, he’d do the same.

He knocks on the front door of the east building, knowing that it's where Agatha’s father always does his work. Her father has always liked Simon, thought he was a good and honest man. (The Wellbeloves and Snows have historically gotten along, though, so he definitely had an upper hand as a kid.)

Birthright friendships aside, the Wellbeloves are just an extremely agreeable family. The mother cooks and attends socialite parties, her husband works hard and is lenient on his workers, and Agatha was always the perfect daughter. Her running off to start her own business wasn’t exactly in the playing cards, but from Penny’s letters, they were proud of her for creating a legacy of her own before she has to take on her father’s.

She doesn’t want to take on her father’s legacy, something Simon always sympathized heavily with. But it’s not like either of them could just shrug it off onto someone else, they were both of their family’s only children. So it was what it was. He’s a bit jealous that Agatha has extra time to figure it out, something he didn't have. This was probably how she felt about him when he got to leave for uni though, so he didn’t hold that against her anymore.

The door swings open, and Simon’s greeted by a bone-crushing hug from Mr. Wellbelove. He lets him go a bit later, giving him a huge pat on the back. “I heard what happened, I’m so sorry son.”

He always calls him son, despite the fact that Simon  is, decidedly, not his son. It’s in a you are a son way though, and Simon appreciates it. It’s more familiarity than he really ever had with his father, god rest his soul, and he’s come to expect nothing less than it from Mr. Wellbelove. What he didn’t expect was the hug, he expected a skeptical brow and a demand for an explanation. He asked for none, and only offered his condolences. Simon looks up to him, eyes wide. “Sir..thank you.” He starts cautiously, but before he can continue the man holds his hand up to stop him.

“I know you didn’t do it, son, they cleared you this morning.” He explains, and Simon lets out an audible sigh of relief. “They looked over the train schedule.”

“Took them long enough, what do we even pay the Staintons for?” He rolls his eyes, which makes Mr. Wellbelove laugh. The Staintons are infamous around here, they're in charge of the legal system in town and… well. Nobody was exactly fond of how power hungry the family is, especially Mr. Stainton.

“Good question, good question. They haven’t explained why the trains stopped running after yours came in, even.” He chuckles out good naturedly, before reaching into his pocket to produce a key. “I figured you’d be coming for this, yeah?”

“That I am, thank you sir.” Simon takes it gratefully, pocketing the key quickly. He wants to ask about the train comment, but he decides not to. He doubts that Mr. Wellbelove knows more than he just told Simon, and he didn't feel like pushing when it felt so nice to just be accepted right now. “How’s Mrs. Wellbelove, by the way? I’ve missed you guys, and her cooking too.”

The man lets out another hardy laugh; he was really born to be a dad. He just shakes his head, saying. “You and your food... she’s been fine, taken up pottery since Ags left. Have you been to see her?”

“Not yet,” He admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll go soon though, just been so bloody hectic.” 

He nods understandingly, patting his shoulder again. “I won’t keep you then, be safe and be sure to visit her. Ags missed you.”

He nods, feeling a bit guilty that he probably won’t be able to fit that in today. Still. He promises to visit her and then looks up into the man’s eyes. He remembers something, and as much as he loathes to, he has to bite the bullet. “Can I see Gregory? Ebb asked me to.”

He looks grim suddenly, shaking his head. “I’m... Well, I’m afraid that his body is missing, Simon.”

"What? When-" Simon’s eyes widen, and he looks down. “I see, sorry for asking sir.”

He lightens up a bit, but still looks serious. “It’s alright, just be sure to be safe.”

Simon nods, turning to leave with a wave and a pleasant goodbye. 

That was so fucking much to take in.

He wished that he’d been told that he was cleared earlier, but he’s just excited to be cleared at all. He was already sick of having to look out for more people coming at him, even though no one else tried to properly stab him. The incident at the train station was a one off, but the stitches in his gut served as motivation to be careful for a repeat.

If the Staintons say that he’s innocent though, people will believe them. The lot of them hate clearing people, Victor Stainton gets a thrill out of convicting people. He’s the opposite of his daughter, she’s kind, and is ruled by the idea of justice instead of her father’s sadism. She also always has perfect pink nails, which impresses Simon since not even Agatha can keep that up. Philippa Stainton is the type of girl you’d want as the head of the town's legal system; she always hears people out, even if she does just as much talking. She was never one of his best friends, but they respected each other and got along well enough.

It doesn't matter what individuals thought of Simon, anyhow. If they tried their vigilante justice after Victor already ruled, they’d be thrown in jail faster than they could hide the weapon. The feeling of general safety again is appreciated, even if it's coming a bit late into his arrival. He has the key to his house now, though, so he has access to his father’s practice again. He isn't exactly excited to re-enter his childhood home alone after all these years, but it's something he'll have to do if he wants to figure this shit out.

Something’s going on, and Simon knows it. David Snow and Gregory Wellbelove were both murdered yesterday, and Wellbelove's body is missing. Add that onto the mystery of why his father summoned an outside doctor to the town around the same time that he was being threatened, as well as the trains being down for almost twenty-four hours. 

He keeps coming back to Mr. Wellbeloves comment, it’s unusual that his residential train was the last one that came.

The Termitary had expanded by three floors almost immediately after the railroads were built, and that’s when they built factory two as well. The meat industry here expanded significantly to start shipping food out; so while only one residential train would come a day, almost six would come a day for shipping purposes. It’s been like that since they built the railroads, and he has no idea why it’d stop now. He sighs, something just isn't adding up here.

There's just something not right about this entire timeline to him, none of it seemed in character of the place he grew up in. He pulls at one of his curls as he walks, his family home coming into sight again.

A small smile greets his features, betraying his anxiety. Simon walks up to the side of the house, resting a hand on the brick. Closing his eyes, he lets out a sigh again. He takes in a deep breath, smelling the Twyre that had permeated the house so deeply over the years that even the bricks smelled of the herb. That was always his favorite part of this house, it smells like a little piece of the Steppe, right here in the middle of town. He opens his eyes, stepping back and looking at it again. There are spots on the front of the house that look like sickly green sores, he didn’t even notice them yesterday. They must be mold, his father wasn’t much for uptake and Simon probably didn’t see them since he was so distraught yesterday. Still, he decides not to touch the spots, and instead to unlock the front door.

He slips inside, the same way he would when he was a teen sneaking back late at night. His father would always notice when he’d been out, since the man was almost always up until dawn anyway, Simon still doesn't know why he repeated that mistake multiple times. Maybe it was a feeble teenage rebellion, or he just was content with the punishment as long as he was able to get wasted with his friends. It doesn’t really matter, he spent a lot of time out of this house anyway. 

He walks up the wooden stairs, letting his fingers ghost on the railing. The walls have large paintings, various pieces that his father would buy from people around town. He liked surreal art, when he was alive, and some of them Simon still finds downright fucking creepy. There was one that always made him close his eyes as a kid when he walked past it, it was a painting of a woman with leeches on her legs. He still doesn’t look at it, making a mental note to take that shit down later. The dead be damned, it's just weird.

At the top of the stairs, Simon spots his bedroom door on the right side of the hallway. He smiles to himself, turning the knob as quietly as he used to as a kid. The room is completely unchanged, and it immediately takes him back. A twin sized mattress on an old, wooden frame that young Simon covered in colorful yarn. He'd learned to make friendship bracelets from Agatha when he was 12, and that winter he'd go to town with yarn and make them as long as possible. He'd then wrap them around the four posts of his bed, and it made the old thing look so much more interesting.

He flops down on it, the creek greeting him like an old friend. The bed was the only thing Simon customized in this room, he wasn't allowed to hang stuff up on the walls (despite his father's stairwell from hell), so the room was pretty sparse aside from that. His dad wasn't really a toy kind of guy, either, so all Simon ever had in this room was a red ball that Mrs. Bunce gave him for Christmas one year. Usually, kids would get things like chocolates and marbles for Christmas. It isn't really a huge holiday in town, unlike the rest of the world as he discovered when he moved away. The only time he received a proper gift was from Penelope’s mom, Mitali. She decided to get all of their friend group matching toy balls in their favorite colors.

It was always one of his favorite things, and growing up he used it as a good luck charm. He had decided to leave it here, as a way to keep himself anchored to this town but also a way to start anew in London. He never really started a life in London though, he never made friends or went out. He didn't even know his classmates, all he ever did was study and sleep. And now he's back in town, the one place he thought he'd have time to come back to.

Simon's torn from his thoughts when he hears a knock at the front door, it's not extremely harsh but he can still hear it from where he's at. He sighs, standing up. "Just a minute!" He hollers out, pocketing the small rubber ball and racing down the stairs. 

He doesn't bother to look out the window before opening the door, assuming that it's probably Pen coming to meet him. What he doesn't expect however, is Baz bloody Pitch standing there, ridiculous jacket and all. Which — Simon is disappointed to find out — he does indeed make work. 

Simon pulls his face into one of annoyance, knitting his brows together. "Normally, my policy of hospitality extends to everyone in town. But for you, I think I'll make an exception."

"Worry not, Snow. I'm not here for a cuppa." Pitch rolls his eyes, pushing past into the house.

Simon scoffs, trying to shove him so he can't get in. His maneuver fails, and now Baz bloody Pitch is standing in his living room. He sighs, letting on to how defeated he feels. "What do you need, Pitch?"

"Dr. Pitch." He corrects, and Simon sighs again, even louder.

"What do you need, emshen ?" He says, knowing that Pitch won't know what it means. It's actually a term of respect used for doctors, but what Pitch doesn't know won't kill him.

He raises a singular brow and crosses his arms, looking extremely unamused. "Your house has spots that look like leeches all over it, have you noticed Snow?"

"It just looks like mold to me." He shrugs indifferently, not seeing how that justified the breaking and entering part of this whole thing.

"It's made everyone who's touched it sick." Pitch snaps, before turning to start looking around his house.

Simon trails him, hands in his pockets. "I mean, yeah. It's mold. Maybe they shouldn't be feeling up my house?"

Pitch turns back, a vicious sneer on his face. "Not normal sickness, you moron. They've gotten violently ill, and nothing that I've tried today has helped."

Simon stops in his tracks and just watches Pitch put two leather gloves on, before he begins inspecting the walls. He points to a spot in the kitchen, and Simon walks around the table to look at it. He gulps, saying. "So these unknown spots on my house are making people incurably ill?"

"Yes, Snow, that's what I said." He sighs, turning to meet his eyes.

Simon's hit with a gray he immediately recognizes, and his brain shorts out on the spot. Gorkhon riverbed gray, greens and blues mixed together to create the best shade of gray he's ever bloody seen.

Fuck. Fuck fuck, fuck.

He looks away, trying to remember what they were talking about. 

Right.

That his house is diseased.

"We have to quarantine it, then." He says, and for once Pitch doesn't seem to be making fun of him. He nods, looking grateful.

"Thank you, I was hoping you wouldn't be difficult about it." He turns back around, and since he's himself, he adds. "I was expecting some offer of help, though."

"You seemed the type to laugh me off, emshen ." He growls, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

Pitch turns around, narrowing his eyes. "What does that even mean ?"

"If you don't know, I won't tell you." Simon says, and yeah it's pretty childish, but it feels sorta nice to have something over the man.

"For fuck's sake, just call me Baz then, if you insist on being an ass." He grunts, turning back around and straightening his posture.

Simon's actually a bit shocked by this, but decides not to push his luck. "Alright, fine. Baz. I guess you're stuck here since the trains aren't working, anyway."

He sighs dramatically, and oh my god he's so difficult to keep up with, Simon thinks . "Yes, I suppose I am." He replies, for once sounding defeated.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks without fully thinking it through.

"Do doctorly things? You know, like caring for the mysteriously ill." He turns back around, looking at Simon like he's the most moronic man in the world. Simon actually agrees for once.

He turns bright red, and he thinks to himself that he's probably the shade of his hair. "Right, that. I'll help, but I-"

He’s interrupted by a harsher knock, signalling to him that it actually is Penelope this time. He rushes to open the door, and she invites herself in. Simon’s starting to think that Baz and Penny might be two peas in a pod, the way they just seem to invite themselves into his life. He rubs his forehead as she says. “Si, you’re late- Oh hi, Pitch.”

“Hello Bunce.” He says with a dismissive wave, still inspecting the walls.

Simon looks between the two of them incredulously, brows knit in confusion. “You two have met?”

“Yes, Snow, the world does in fact keep going without you.” He doesn’t have to look back to know that Baz just rolled his eyes as hard as he could.

Penelope laughs, putting a hand on her hip. “I was looking to chew Micah out last night, Pitch showed me where to find him.”

“Oh, so you’ll tell Penny where he is?” Simon huffs, and Baz turns back to shoot him a glare.

“He wanted to kill you, do you not remember that or do you have a death wish?” He hisses, but his eyes being that damn shade of gray takes some of the venom out of it. At least for Simon.

“Whatever, Baz.” He gives him a taste of his own medicine and rolls his eyes.

Penelope clears her throat, looking in between them with a raised brow. “Am I interrupting something here?”

“No!” Simon rushes to say, but realizes it’s not exactly true. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a puff of air. “Well, technically yes-”

“His house is diseased and it’s causing people to become incredibly ill.” Baz turns fully around, regaining his composure. 

Her eyes widen, and she looks around. “Should we even be in here?”

“Probably not. I’m quarantining it off, and then going to assist the sick. Are you coming or not, Snow?” He looks back to Simon, who gulps at the question.

“I’ll meet you in a bit- I mean, I have to go to lunch and-” He stutters out, but thankfully Penelope holds a hand up.

“Come to lunch with us, Pitch. We’ll figure it out there.” 

Both men turn their full bodies to face her, surprised by the lunch invitation. “But Pen, Baz is-”

“Whatever he is, you’re close enough for nicknames.” She stops him again, crossing her own arms this time.

Simon huffs, feeling like a petulant child right about now. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and starts heading towards the front door, but doesn’t hear footsteps behind him. He turns head back around, looking at a slightly dumbfounded looking Baz. “Get moving, we don’t have all day emshen .”

He hears a scoff, then the sound of footsteps following behind him. 

He doesn’t exactly know what Penny’s doing, why she trusts Baz to come with them to what would definitely be a lunch they discuss their game plan over.  Why should he be privy to this conversation? He’s a twat. (A twat with pretty eyes that kept finding their way into his dreams, granted.)

That’s another mystery to add to the pile, actually. He didn’t see Baz’s eyes yesterday, but he dreamt about them twice. The first dream wasn’t exactly pleasant either, just thinking about it makes a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Was the man in his dream actually Baz? There has to be other people with gray eyes, surely. Besides, the man would be gone in 12 hours time when they get the trains running again.

Simon hopes so at least. He tells himself it’s because he can’t stand the fucker's face, but he knows deep down what it really is. This town is not good news, and if his dream is in any way a premonition then the three of them are in deep shit. His prophecies aren’t like Penny’s, he doesn’t get a clear picture and they only come to him in dreams. He doesn’t get what will happen, but what it’ll be like. It’s more about the emotions he’ll have than anything he can actually apply to his life and it drives him crazy. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t get any visions at all, at least then the unknown Baz factor wouldn’t be tormenting him as much right now. Baz coming to lunch with them is torment enough , he thinks .

When they get to The Broken Heart, Simon’s nerves are at an all time high. He doesn’t like Baz, all he does is throw curveballs and then scoff when Simon can’t catch them. The man always seems to know more than Simon even though this is his town, and it drives him up the fucking wall. His perfect arched eyebrows, the curl of his lips when he wins a conversation, the way he just never seems to be wrong even when he’s an asshole. And the goddamn name thing. Simon doesn’t even know how to touch that one, does he tell Baz that he can call him by his given name too? Does he stick to Snow? It was bloody well too awkward to mention it now, but maybe later he should say something about it. 

He resorts to chewing on his bottom lip as the three of them descend the stairs inside. The Broken Heart is an underground bar and restaurant, it has a stage with dancers too that you can see from the very top of the stairs, which makes Simon turn beet red. They aren’t really even that sexual but herb brides aren’t known for very extremely modest clothing. The species is another offset of the Kin, they’re women with intense connections to nature. Their culture isn’t one that Simon admittedly knows much about, they’re extremely secretive about their powers. They do like to dance, though, and none of them wear more than rags with holes in them. They’d wear nothing if they could, some of them do, but in town you have to at least cover the bits that will get you arrested for public indecency. 

Simon looks over, and lets out a laugh when he sees Baz’s visible panic. “Relax, we didn’t bring you to a strip club.” He whispers.

“It sure looks like it.” Baz hisses back, color also visible on his golden cheeks.

Simon stiffles another laugh, shaking his head. “They aren’t strippers, they’re herb brides.”

“Herb what? You do realize that sounds even more sexual, right?” Baz whispers back, obviously trying to sound harsh but coming off as panicked.

Simon shrugs, “They aren’t, they just like to dance. They only wear that to be connected to nature.”

Baz tears his eyes off the women just in time for one of them to notice him. She waves, calling out a greeting. “ Sayn baina !”

She jumps off the stage just as they hit the bottom of the stairs, and she runs up to them. Though, to Simon’s surprise she looks up at him instead and grabs both of his hands. 

“ Kheerkhen ,” She starts, and Simon’s stomach immediately drops. That’s a term only lovers use, the way in English he’d say dear. ”I’ve been waiting for you for so long, my betrothed.”

Both Penny and Baz let out audible sounds of surprise, and Simon turns an even darker shade of red. “ Ime beshe, ” He starts, before realizing that the two couldn’t understand him. “It’s not that, it’s not like that.”

“It is so!” She protests, grabbing his arm. 

“I’ve never met you!” He says frantically, looking around for some kind of support from his companions. They both take steps back, and Simon huffs. 

“ Menkhu ,” She says in a pleading voice, and Simon looks back to her. “I was promised to you, segne dehe .” The woman looks over to the confused looking townsmen, and sighs. “To be valuable!”

Simon’s eyes widen, shaking his head at that phrase and how it audibly makes Baz laugh. He hisses, “ Ama tat , khonzohon. ”

Baz stops laughing, but the herb bride takes his place. She giggles cutely, before explaining this one too. “He said, ‘shut your mouth, asshole’ .”

Baz looks a bit indignant at that, but before he can get a word in, Simon starts again. “You know herb brides can’t perform the ritual, you’re a basaghan. I don’t know who promised me to you, but they lied to you.”

She shakes her head, pointing to Baz this time. “I don’t need to perform the ritual, I’ll be valuable to both you and the erdem . Fate promised me this.” She pulls his hands close to her stomach, saying in a whisper so quiet that he was sure only he could hear. “I know the lines of the Earth, Menkhu.”

Before Simon gets a chance to respond, she releases her grasp on him and waves. And as fast as she came, she climbs back up onto the stage and resumes where she left off. Simon rubs his eyes, not having to turn back to see that the two were surely dumbstruck. 

Baz breaks the silence first, saying in a skeptical tone. “Alright, what does that one mean?”

Simon turns around, looking up at his hitched eyebrow. “Which one?”

“The thing she called me.”

It takes Simon a second before it clicks, and he laughs this time. “Oh, erdem . It just means you’re a scientist that doesn’t know the lines. Like Micah, since he’s not a Menkhu either.”

The two still look lost, and he huffs at how little Penelope of all people knows about the Kin. He turns back to Baz instead, explaining. “The law around here is that Menkhus, or Mages as the townsmen call us, are the only ones allowed to perform autopsies or surgery. It’s called knowing the lines in our culture.”

Baz still looks completely fucking lost, but he nods. “So I won’t be allowed to perform autopsies, if this virus is fatal?”

Of course he immediately voices the most morbid thought, Simon rolls his eyes. “Not unless you want the worms to beat you to death, no.”

“The worms ?!” He sounds genuinely taken aback, and it makes Simon laugh again.

“Yes, Basilton, the worms, keep up. And don’t worry, I know the lines so whatever you can’t do, I can.” He’s been looking at Baz, and just now notices Penelope looking at the two of them like they’re some kind of foreign species. 

She clears her throat when they make eye contact, saying. “If you two are quite done, let’s not keep Shepard waiting.” She points to the counter up ahead, and the two of them turn their attention to it for the first time.

A tall Black man stands behind it, waving at them. “Hiya!” He calls out, revealing the American accent that Simon knew he’d have. He sounds so out of place to Simon’s ear, but he waves back.

Penelope walks up to the bar, taking a seat directly across from where he’s standing. Simon and Baz hurry after her, taking seats on opposite sides of her. Simon smiles at Shepard, saying. “Sorry, got distracted with the bride.”

He shrugs good naturedly, picking up two plates from behind the counter of food. One holds a roast beef sandwich, and the other a turkey sandwich. He sets them in front of Simon and Penny, before turning to Baz. “What would you like, sir?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. And you can call me Baz.” He says, causing Simon to narrow his eyes at him mid-bite.

“Am I seriously the only person you insisted on Dr. Pitch with?”

Without a hint of humor in his voice, Baz simply says. “Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, taking another bite from his sandwich. He swallows harshly, before replying. “Pitch being a twat aside, I think we should talk about the crazy shit that seems to be sprouting up all over town.”

Penelope nods enthusiastically, putting her own sandwich down. “Finally, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“I don’t even live here, why do I have to sit in on this?” Baz drawls, before turning to Shepard. “Also, I changed my mind. Can I have a coffee? Mocha, please.”

Shepard nods, and Penelope just gives him a vicious look. “Because, Pitch, you’re stuck here.”

“Plus, we’re short on doctors.” Simon adds, which spurs on Baz to let out a dramatic sigh. 

“And don’t I know it, Snow.” 

Simon brings a hand to his temples, rubbing them. “Then,” He turns to look at Baz with a pinched expression. “Will you stop being a wanker?”

Baz juts his chin out a bit, looking like he wants to add something else for a second before he just holds a hand up in defeat. “Fine then, carry on.”

“ Thank you .” Penelope shuts down whatever Simon was thinking of adding with that, looking between the two men like you’d look at insolent children. He just rests his head on his hand, looking at Penny only now. “Onto business, men. Does anyone have something to write on?”

Baz pulls out a regal looking pen, and a small notepad. Simon resists an eye roll, of course Baz would have a notepad on him like a reporter from the 40's. Penelope takes it from him, gives him a grateful nod, then puts it in the middle of them. She clicks the pen once, before making two columns. What we know / What we don’t know .

“I talked to Mr. Wellbelove this morning, Gregory’s body is missing.” Simon offers as he watches her scribble something about the trains. She turns to face him, eyes wide.

In a hushed tone, she says. “Holy fuck, Simon. You don’t think-”

He nods as he anxiously messes with his shirt sleeve. “Yeah, I do.”

“Shit. That idiot.” She breathes out, and he nods again.

Penelope scribbles down ‘Micah’ , then looks up to Shepard who’s emerged again with a cup of coffee for Baz. Simon watches as Baz takes a sip of his coffee, and honestly it’s a whole show. His eyes are trained discreetly on the man’s long, defined fingers. They look like musician hands, the kind you get when you spend years playing guitar or piano, but he supposes that they could as well be doctor hands. Simon’s are rough, calloused and bulkier than Baz’s, butcher’s hands. Baz doesn't have delicate hands, but they looked deliberate . He follows the man’s hand with his eyes as he brings the mug to his lips, and Simon has to stop himself from spiraling on that like he did on his musician's fingers. Put that in the box of things not to think about. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and Simon has to tear his eyes away.

He slumps his shoulders a bit, sighing to Penelope. “Add to the list the weird virus, hopefully Baz and I can get back to you on that one.”

“Right, right. So far I have the trains, your father’s and Gregory’s death, Micah, and the virus. Anything else?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Simon mumbles, “Add Baz to it.”

Baz shoots him a dangerous glare, and Simon flinches. He holds his hands up, explaining. “Not like that! I mean… my father summoned you here around the same time he was sending me letters about being threatened.”

Baz puts his cup down with a little more force than needed at that, not moving his eyes off of Simon. He wishes he would right now, that stormy gray was so much to bear right now. “And you think I did it?”

“No!” Simon clenches his jaw, rushing out. “I think it’s weird that he specifically called another doctor to town. The timing lines up so that he summoned us both at the same time.”

A bit of the tension in Baz’s shoulders seems to leave at that, but he still has a stupid fucking sneer on his face. Simon could punch him right about now, he’s actually weighing the benefits of that when Baz spoke again. “I don’t see how my profession is relevant to this, Snow.”

“ Yes you do. ” Simon hisses, and Penelope elbows him.

She gives both men a disapproving look, “Can you two stop arguing over me for five seconds? Fuck’s sake, you’re making a scene in Shep’s pub.”

Simon leans back immediately, looking down at the floor. He scratches the back of his neck, mumbling. “Sorry Shepard, got carried away.”

He smiles, a kind glint in his eyes. “It’s alright, don’t worry guys. Though, I think we should add the Termitary to the list of things we don’t know about. I didn’t see any of my normal butchers last night, I’m thinking something might be up.”

Simon looks up, head quirking a bit to the side. “You think?”

Shepard nods, and Baz clears his throat. Simon looks back to him, god damn he couldn’t go a second without being the center of attention. He just sighs, explaining to Baz in the least shitty tone he can manage, “The Termitary is the big building a few blocks down from here, it’s where the meat is produced.”

Baz hums in acknowledgement, taking another sip of his coffee after pouring another thing of sugar into it. Simon doesn’t let his eyes linger this time, he finishes his sandwich as Penny speaks again. “Alright, a possible issue in the Termitary. While Simon and Baz do their rounds, I’ll see if they’ll let me in.”

“You know they don’t like you.” Simon snorts, causing Penny to elbow him harder. “Hey! It’s not my fault, you’re the one that called them khyygedi. ”

“I thought that was a nice word! That’s what your dad would call us.” She shoots back.

“He called us that because we were children, it means children.” 

She pushes her empty plate away from herself, standing up. “Well, I know that now! I apologized, too.”

“I know, that’s my point. You shouldn’t go there, most butchers don’t speak English.” He explains, softening a bit. “If something is up, then I won’t see them at dad’s funeral. Why don’t you head to the train station instead?”

She crosses her arms, but eventually nods. “Fine, but I think all four of us should go to your father’s funeral.”

“ What? ” Both Simon and Baz say at the same time, and Penelope just shrugs as a response.

“I feel like we’ll learn something, plus, you need the support Si.”

He shakes his head, saying. “No, this isn’t- Steppe funerals are different, I don’t think you guys would like it. And I barely know Baz and Shepard!” He quickly adds, “You seem fine though, Shepard, I have nothing against you.”

“Oh, and you have something against me?” Baz faux innocently asks.

Simon narrows his eyes, nodding. “Yes, Baz, you’re a twat.”

“I think it’d be useful to have another scientist with us, Si.” Penny counters, and Baz nods in agreement.

“Quite.” He crosses his arms too, and Simon has to bite his tongue to stop him from insulting Baz again.

“You didn’t even want to go a second ago.” Shepard points out, taking the words right out of Simon’s mouth.

Baz looks over to him, and the poor guy actually winces from the force of Baz’s glare. He ducks out of his immediate range of vision, heading into the kitchen again. Simon rubs his temples again, waiting until Shepard is back to say anything. Shepard puts a to-go box down, and Simon peeks in to see sour cherry scones. He thanks whatever higher being there is that Shepard didn't forget, because Simon had forgotten. He sighs, giving in. "Fine, you all can come. But no questions until after the ceremony, okay? I don't want to have to explain my culture mid-funeral."

The three of them all agree to various degrees of believability, Baz being the least believable but since he was really the most important one to actually get there, Simon just had to hope he wouldn't be a total douche. He takes the box, standing up. He pulls out his wallet, producing three thick coins. They have cross patterns on them and a diamond hole in the middle, and he places them down on the counter. “Right then, everyone take one. These are hiomhans , but the Kin will know what you mean if you call them fingernails. We’ll all need them to cross the river, to get to the Steppe’s graveyard. One fingernail per person to board.”

All of them nod, each taking a coin. Penny pockets hers, saying. “I’ll meet you at the train station then, since it’s not far from the river.”

Simon nods, looking to Shepard. “Can you be there by ten? The funeral starts at eleven, and should last until midnight.”

“Yeah, I’ll close early to meet you there.” He confirms, and Simon gestures at Baz with his hand to follow.

Baz stands, and he waves to the two of them. “I’ll see you two then, Baz’s with me.” 

Simon looks to the door, and Baz nods in silent confirmation. The two of them wait until they’re halfway up the stairs to break the weird silence, Baz saying coolly. “You’re pretty well versed in this Kin thing, almost makes me think you’re competent.”

Simon side eyes him, but just sighs. “Do you know anything about my father?”

“I know he was the town's only doctor.” Baz offers, “We never met, but he had heard of me and we were in letter correspondence for a few months. I thought I’d actually get something out of this visit.”

Simon feels for him a bit there, both of the reasons they came to this town died the very day they arrived. “He wasn’t just the doctor, as I said earlier he was a Menkhu. It’s basically… Well, it’s like an ancient kind of family.” He scratches the back of his neck, knowing that he over simplified it. “Anyway, Menkhus are part of the Kin. That’s why I know so much, I’m one of them.”

“ You’re part of them?” He asks, and somehow his genuinity pisses Simon off more.

“Yes, Baz, we aren’t all herb brides and worms.” He says, a bit sharper than he actually intends.

Baz doesn’t miss a beat, snapping back sarcastically. “Well, I’m sorry that I don’t know everything about your culture, I have already been here a whole twenty-eight hours.”

Simon lets out a short breath, opening the front door for them both despite the conversation. He knows when he's lost. Because he, perhaps, was expecting too much of Baz. Penelope doesn't know everything about the Kin, and she’s never even left town. 

Once they’re out of the building, Simon opens up the box of scones. He pulls one out, holding it out to Baz wordlessly. Baz raises an eyebrow at him, so he just shoves the scone closer to him. When he’s properly next to him, Simon can tell just how much taller Baz is. It’s only three inches, but from here it feels like a foot. (The man's all legs, it's annoying.)

Baz huffs, taking it and carefully taking a nibble out of it. His eyes light up a bit, and he takes a bigger bite. “Yeah?” Simon says, feeling like he made a successful peace offering as he pulls one out for himself.

Baz doesn’t respond, and they resume walking, but the man does eat his scone in its entirety. Simon hums a tuneless song to himself as they walk for a bit, until Baz breaks this spell of wordlessness. “My cousin built that weird tower.” He says simply, and it takes Simon a bit aback that there’s no undertones to it.

“Grimm’s your cousin?” He asks, and this time Baz gives him a dubious side eye.

He nods though, reaching into the box for another scone before answering. “My name’s Grimm-Pitch.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” 

Baz lets out a snort, and even though it’s at his expense, he’s a bit surprised at it. Simon throws up his free hand, “Hey! I just didn’t put two and two together, it happens.”

“It does not happen, not to the rest of us.” Baz retorts, taking a bite of his scone. “I’ve never had one this flavor, is it cherry?”

Simon nods, smiling a bit. “Yeah, they’re sour cherry. I don’t think they have them in London, I've missed them something awful.”

“You should learn to bake them, then.” He suggests.

Simon laughs at that, countering back. “Does your dorm have an oven?”

“Touché, Snow.” Baz concedes, laughing quietly (seemingly despite himself, judging by how he covers his mouth the second he realizes.)

Simon looks at him, allowing himself to now. The man seems a bit softer, here in the light of day. He’s still all sharp edges, but he doesn’t seem as intimidating here. He’s an insufferable bastard — that’s pretty much a given — but they’re eating cherry scones together and teasing each other, and maybe he’s tolerable. Simon finishes his scone, reaching into the box and realizing that there’s only one left. He breaks it in half, giving Baz one and keeping the other. Baz gives him a skeptical look, but gratefully takes it. He takes a small bite, before asking. “How were the dogs?”

Simon winces, he takes a second to swallow before answering. “They were fine, I was able to patch them up fine.”

“Good, you seemed quite passionate about them.” Baz says with a knowing look, and Simon rolls his eyes as hard as he can.

“How come you didn’t let me know that they were actual dogs?” 

Baz shrugs, and it reminds Simon too much of himself. “I did, I called them mutts.”

Simon crosses his arms, letting out a huff. “You’re an ass.”

“So you’ve said.” Baz hums.

Nevermind , he’s just as big of a twat as Simon assumed he was. And he didn’t deserve that half of scone, Simon thinks, even though he knows that he doesn’t mean it. The man’s still a twat, but he doesn’t regret giving him the scone that he’s contentedly munching on right now. He’s a slow eater, Simon notes, and he hides each bite he takes behind his hand as if he’s embarrassed to be seen eating. Maybe that’s why he didn’t order anything? Or maybe he was being polite to Shepard, which he can’t have been. 

He’s Baz Pitch, he isn’t polite to anyone. He’s not useless though, he knows his shit when it comes to medicine, and depending on whatever Simon’s about to see; they might just have a medical crisis on their hands. It’s probably just an infection due to touching the mold on his house, but if Baz is this concerned they might have an issue. Baz doesn’t seem like the type to ask for a second opinion on whether or not bacteria causes infection, and he said that nothing worked. He can feel his heart in his throat when they stop in front of a small house, and Baz reaches into his pocket. He produces two surgical masks, handing one to Simon. 

“Right, Snow, we don’t know if it’s airborne so-” He starts, but Simon cuts him off with a nod.

“I know what masks are for, emshen .”

“I know that.” Baz snaps back, but it’s lacking in intensity. He must be nervous too.

They both pull gloves on, this time surgical latex gloves. Baz takes a deep breath, opening the door and immediately they’re hit with this smell of rot . Simon holds back a gag, knowing this smell from anywhere. This is the Termitary, the smell of flesh and blood deteriorating . It’s the smell of his father’s practice, of old and dying patients in his living room. This is familiar, and sickening.

This absolutely isn’t some weird infection.

Simon gives Baz a terrified look, and Baz returns with one equally as wild. They look away, and Simon clears his throat. “Hello? It’s me, Snow.”

Across the house, you can hear someone scramble to their feet. She emerges from the door at the end of the hall, looking incredibly grateful. She was a woman probably in her mid 30s, and she has kind eyes. “Thank god you’re here, Snow, I- My girl-”

“Your daughter?” He says, eyes widening as she quickly nods. Holy fuck , she’s a child. He tries to clear his mind, and gets his professional voice on. “What are her symptoms, ma’am?”

“She came back home last night burning up and coughing, I took it as the flu, but-” She looks away, tears in her eyes. A sinking feeling fills his gut as he nods to Baz, who follows him to the bedroom.

When he opens the door, the two of them aren’t expecting what they see. A tiny, frail girl on her bed, coughing her lungs up. The room smelled even worse than the rest of the house, and the floor seemed to have bile on it. Baz sets his bag down on a chair, pulling out a thermometer. He carefully walks over, sitting on the end of her bed. “May I?” He asks, in a distinctly un-Baz voice. She nods, and Simon watches him take her temperature. A moment later, he pulls back and gives Simon a look of utter panic.

Baz holds up the thermometer, and Simon gets it instantly. 

105.3 °

Simon resists the urge to pull at his curls, and insteads he kneels down next to her. He presses his fingers to her wrist, but feels nothing. He must have missed the artery, so he looks down and what he sees is even worse. Wordlessly, he tugs at Baz’s sleeve, holding her wrist up to reveal to him her arm. You could see her veins through her sickly yellow skin, they were black and murky. Whatever this is has to have something to do with blood, Simon thinks, and he quickly stands up. He rushes into the woman’s kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Twyrine and pouring a glass of it. When he returns, he looks to Baz.

“Hold her head back, gently please.” He says, voice a bit ragged from the panic of this all. Baz doesn’t question him, thankfully, and Simon pours the drink down her throat quickly. She doesn’t even try to resist the strong taste, and that makes him worry more. He kneels back down, holding her arm up so they can watch her veins. Three minutes of baited breath pass by, but the black in her bloodstream seems to clear up a bit. Simon sighs out in relief, and Baz gives him a suspicious look. “Twyrine. Local drink, made of Twyre. The herb’s a natural opioid that flushes out bloodstreams, it’s good for poisons too.”

“You gave a child alcohol?” Baz hisses under his breath, shooting him a glare.

Simon throws up his hands defensively, whispering back. “Had any better ideas?”

Baz rolls eyes, and stands up. He pulls Simon to the corner of the room, looking him dead in the eyes as he speaks as quietly as he can. “You know that’s not a permanent fix. What are we going to do?”

Simon shakes his head slowly, solemnly. He taps his fingers against his leg anxiously, looking away from Baz’s soul piercing gaze. “I don’t know. Twyre will just buy us time, I was hoping time would be all her body needs though.”

“You don’t know what this disease is, do you?” Baz asks, voice barely even a whisper now.

Simon shakes his head again, faster this time. “No, I’ve never seen anything like it. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours..” 

Baz sighs, straightening up. He looks back at the girl on her bed, and Baz mumbles. “We have to go back to your father’s house.”

Simon’s eyes widen, looking at him incredulously. “Why?”

“It’s where this started, I have to see if he has any resources on this. Or even if I can collect a sample.” Baz explains, and Simon nods.

“Right. Okay, uhm, yeah. Let’s go tell her mother, then we can head back that way.” He sighs, pulling off a glove so that he can run his hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He says quietly, before nodding to the door. Baz hums, and they both walk out that way.

Baz does the speaking for him this time, and Simon suddenly feels an extreme amount of gratitude towards the man. He was right to have given him that half a scone after all. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t recognize this illness whatsoever. However, Dr. Snow administered Twyre to flush the bloodstream out, which should alleviate her symptoms a bit.”

The woman nods, sobbing now. She rubs her eyes raw as she says. “Thank you boys, you did all you could..”

“Of course, I’m sure she’ll feel a bit better by the morning.” Baz says, but no one in the room looks extremely convinced. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't call them frauds or yell. She just sits on her couch, buries her head in her arms, and cries. And suddenly Baz and Simon feel like they're intruders.

The men see themselves out, which Simon feels both glad for and like he's running away. He isn't running, it's just that he has no training in this. The only people in town with any kind of medical knowledge are twenty-two year old medical students, and Micah who's well versed in Steppe medicines. Micah, who's missing and might've kidnapped a dead body.

Fuck. The two of them are in way over their heads on this one. Baz gives Simon a look like he just had the same thought on her front doorstep, and Simon just silently shakes his head. They resume walking again, this time back to his dad's house that Baz quarantined just a few hours ago now. The air isn't light and teasing like it was earlier though, dread had seeped into both men.

Simon's the one to break the silence this time, when they're about halfway to his house. "Where are you staying? If it's on the way to the station we can drop the samples off."

Baz waves his hand dismissively, replying. "It's fine, it's all the way on the North side of town."

"Not with Micah anymore?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"No, I wasn't even staying with him to begin with." Baz shakes his head, and Simon hums in acknowledgement before he continues. "I'd visited him after the news broke, since he was your father's apprentice and might have information for me."

"Did he?" He prods.

"No. He wanted to kill you." 

Simon rolls his eyes, mumbling. "I know that."

Baz holds up a hand, huffing. "That's all I got out of him, seriously! You're lucky I came by before you did, I might not have your help with this right now otherwise."

Simon sighs, pulling at his curls absentmindedly. “I can’t believe you had more faith in me than him.”

“Me too.” Baz retorts, and it makes Simon snort unattractively.

They’re stuck together right now, until they figure this thing out and the trains start coming again. If the trains were up right now, Simon would’ve already forced Baz to leave. He needs his help on this, but everytime he looks into Baz’s eyes all he can see is that deam. All he can smell is rust, and he feels the urge to tell Baz to fucking run and never look back. The virus is more terrifying than Simon expected, he gets why Baz was how he was this morning. He turns to look at the other man’s face, and plainly states. “We’re fucked.”

“Thoroughly.” Baz adds, his voice betraying his cool composure.

Simon lets go of his hair finally, shoving his hands into his pocket. He looks away from Baz and takes up chewing on his lip as they come up to his house. His father’s house , really, it was only his in name. He pulls out the key, unlocking it and holding the door open for Baz to step in. He shuts it after them, locking it and turning to look at the other man. 

“Right.” He starts, suddenly feeling extremely awkward. He takes his other hand out of his pocket, and gestures for Baz to follow him. They walk to the study, keeping their masks on because only god knows what those weird spots can do. He walks up to the single bookcase, and can hear Baz scoff. “Is this all the medical knowledge in town? I knew you were heathens but-”

Baz finally shuts up when Simon pulls out a book, revealing a hidden room behind. He doesn’t wait up for Baz, walking into the small room on his own. It wasn’t a huge room, granted, but the thing is filled from head to toe with books. The walls themselves were bookcases, and they held hundreds of books on medicine. Some of them held his father’s journals, which Simon made a beeline for.  He takes 5 of them, dropping them on a small glass coffee table in the middle of the room. There’s a small, velvet couch made for sitting to read on. Simon can remember spending most of his time at home on this couch, it was worn in the places that he used to sit on the most. He takes a seat, cracking open one of the medical journals. “C’mon then, emshen .” He says without looking up.

He can hear Baz huff, pulling himself together and following suit in making a beeline for the books. Baz pulls out a book on blood parasites, one on the Spanish flu, and one on the black plague. Simon doesn’t think this is any of those things, but doesn’t voice that. He knows that Baz isn’t stupid, he’d know if it was any of those, he’s probably looking for any kind of overlap, so they could have some sort of direction to look for a cure in. It’s a good idea, really, but Simon’s more interested in seeing if his father had ever encountered something like this. 

The two of them spend the next few hours in companionable silence, only getting up to get more books. Simon would make them coffee, but he’s worried about how sanitary it might be. Plus, his dad never kept coffee in the house. He always said it caused heart attacks, which Simon thought was stupid; he didn’t care if it caused heart attacks, he just wanted to get through his damn finals in one piece. 

When the clock on the wall dinged, signalling that it’s turned eight, Simon stands. He stretches out, saying lazily. “Let’s grab whatever books we can carry, you go get that sample too.”

“God, is it time already?” Baz looks up, looking just as mentally dead as Simon feels. “I need a coffee.”

“Read my mind, Pitch.” He hums, grabbing his father’s unread journals and shoving them in Baz’s bag. When Baz raises an eyebrow, Simon shrugs. “I don’t have a bag, so you’ll have to deal with it.”

Baz rolls his eyes at that, but he just pulls out a small tube from underneath the books. “I’ll be back, fit as much as you can and then we’ll divy it up after the funeral.”

He nods, and lets Baz leave to go collect his sample. Simon grabs as many books as he can find, all of them on viruses and parasites. They’d exhausted a lot of their options already, the two just needed some kind of lead here. 

Something to hold onto.

He sighs, picking up the heavy bag and slinging it onto his shoulder. Baz always carries the damn thing around by the handle, but this is easier with the new book weight. When he leaves the bookroom, he’s sure to seal it back up. His father had kept it a secret for a reason, it’s just that Simon doesn’t know what reason that could’ve been. He wonders if Micah knows about this room.

Simon shakes the thought from his head, waiting by the front door for Baz. He watches Baz in the kitchen use a spoon to scoop various sections of the spot into his vial before capping it, slipping it into the pocket of his stupidly extravagant leather jacket. Baz turns back, looking around for a second before his eyes land on Simon. His face scrunches up, “You look ridiculous carrying my bag, Snow.”

“ You look ridiculous carrying your bag, Baz.” He snaps back, but he doesn’t mean it. Not really. It's actually annoying how the man pulled off the whole mysterious doctor look so well. Baz huffs, but doesn’t complain anymore as they lock the place up. The two pull their masks off, pocketing them for now. “Was your coffee earlier good?” Simon decides to ask, but he already has a different place in mind.

He raises a brow, he does that a lot, Simon notes. “It was decent. Maybe subpar. Why?” 

“We’re getting coffee, duh.” Simon says, purposefully sounding more exasperated than he actually is to try to match Baz. “I know a good place on the way, but if the Broken Heart had orgasm worthy coffee then I’d wanna know.”

Baz actually laughs at that. Not a sarcastic snort, but a proper chuckle. “ Orgasm worthy?”

“You’ve never had a cup like that?” Simon asks, dawning a fake look of confusion. 

“I’m not dignifying you with an answer.” He declares, but still has a slight curl to his lips that tells Simon he’s not mad. Simon just grins back at him as a response, the most shit eating grin he can manage right now.

The walk to the cafe isn’t long, thank god. Simon used to come here with Penny and Agatha all the time, Micah isn’t a coffee guy. Something about heart attacks. They’d come here to study often, the place had good coffee and even better baked goods, though he doubts the scones will compare to Shepard’s. Around now they’ll have dinner too, and Simon has been fucking starved for the past 2 hours. It’s a quaint, small shop, the opposite of the Shepard’s. The Broken Heart is all flash, it begs for your attention with it’s spiraling staircase, with the herb bride dancers. It’s the only real pub in town though, so it’s probably like that to compensate. And because that just seems to be Kelly’s style.

While they wait in line at the cafe, a place named Abutitur (Penny says that’s Latin for something having to do with fire, Simon can’t remember what though), he glances at Baz. “So, if you know Grimm then do you know that Kelly too?”

“Hm?” Baz seems a bit caught off-guard by the question, but catches up quickly. “Oh, yeah. Niall’s my best friend.”

Simon’s actually a bit surprised by that. This town is small and it’s not exactly like they got huge amounts of traffic — the fact that Baz knows multiple people here is jarring to Simon. He kinda thought that most of the world didn’t even know they existed, which isn’t especially true. To the rest of Britain, they seem to be some mystery. A town untouched by time, right in the middle of a hundred kilometers each way of completely unprocessed land. Save for the train tracks, of course. He doesn’t vocalize any of this, feeling a bit dumb. He just hums, taking a step forward in line. “I guess we’re in the same boat, our best friends are stuck here.”

He snorts, and Simon can’t tell if it’s genuine. “He chose to come here, said it had some sort of artistic energy he wanted to tap into. I think Dev would follow him to the ends of the Earth, so there's his reasoning.”

“Them and that American are the only people I’ve met who chose to come here.” He states, and Baz looks amused. Not in that cute way he saw briefly, though, Simon would like that. It’s that smug amusement that he tries to glare off of Baz’s face.

He doesn’t have time to find a witty remark to make to wipe that look off his face though, it’s their turn up front already. He clears his throat, turning to face the young girl working the front. “Hey, uhm,” He turns to Baz, who raises a brow. He resists rolling his eyes, and looks back to her. “Can we have two sandwiches, a mocha with two sugars and a plain coffee?”

She takes their order, and the two go to wait at a table for their food. Baz gives him an incredulous look, asking. “How did you know I like the extra two sugars?”

Simon rolls his eyes this time, since it was just Baz. “I watched you try to discreetly dump them in your coffee earlier.”

Baz’s ears turn pink, and he looks away. It seems to take him a second to recover enough to say something, which he does, of course. “Also, sandwiches again? Are those all you eat?”

“Nah,” Simon shrugs. “They just don’t have many options here, and we both needed to eat.”

“Speak for yourself.” He juts his chin out, looking like he’s very interested in the counter now.

“We both need to eat.” He repeats, not waiting for Baz’s answer when his name’s called up front. He gives the woman the money, and grabs the bag and his coffee. He turns to the front door now, and holds the door open for him with his foot. He gets a mumbled ‘thanks’ in return, which he’ll take.

“Reckon we can just eat and walk.” Simon hums, pulling out one sandwich and practically forcing it into Baz’s hands. He wasn’t so difficult about the scones.

Maybe it's just real food that he's so adamantly against.

Simon holds back a tired sigh, pulling out his own sandwich and tossing the bag into a nearby trash can. He watches Baz hesitantly take a bite of his food, before the man fishes around in his coat pocket awkwardly with only half of his hand. He brings a cigarette to his lips using his pinky and ring finger, before properly stopping to use his elbow to hold his sandwich so he can pull out his lighter too. Simon holds back saying anything, lest he startle Baz during this intricate dance, until the sandwich is safe in his left hand again.

"You smoke?" He asks, and just gets a grunt as a response. "You're a doctor ." Simon insists.

"I care for other people's health, not my own." He grumbles through the cigarette now firmly between his lips. Simon wants to punch him in the arm.

"That's properly stupid." He settles on saying, instead of resorting to violence.

Baz groans, pulling out the cigarette and taking a swig of his coffee before turning to eye Simon. "Why do you even care?"

Simon huffs, using taking a bite of food as an excuse to put off answering. Or think of an answer. He shouldn't care, honestly. He settles on a, slightly childish, "It's just dumb, 's all I'm saying."

Baz takes a bite of his own sandwich, before replacing the cigarette between his lips. "Thank you very much for your opinion, Snow."

Simon really wants to punch his arm now, but he settles on a half hearted glare. He should eat while he can, he'd been to enough Steppe funerals to know what his role in this one would be. It was tradition, it was in tune with the Earth, but he was dreading it. 

There were the actual nerves of it being his father's funeral, and then there were the nerves stemming from his intense fear of bringing outsiders into this. He knows they won't get it, won't understand his culture, and yet he still can't handle the thought of them judging the Kin.

He doesn't think Pen or Shepard will, but Baz he isn't so sure about. An unfortunate amount of the last two days have been spent worrying about Baz fucking Pitch , and it made him pretty ashamed to think about. He had so many real things to worry about, but he was so good at compartmentalizing his thoughts. It's what made him naturally gifted at surgery, he could put thoughts where they belonged until he had time to unpack them.

He just needs to find a Baz shaped box.

As they approach the train station, the faint outline of Penelope comes into view. She's standing there, hair up as best as her curls let her, waving to the two of them. Simon's long since finished his sandwich, so he speeds up a bit to meet her. Baz doesn't speed up, he still keeps his pace at a cool stroll. He still has a sandwich to finish, as well. 

Simon greets her, watching Baz from a bit away now. "Did’ya find anything, Pen?"

She shakes her head, looking from him to Baz. "No, nothing. You?"

"We found out that we're fucked." He admits, taking a sip from his coffee. "And that Baz likes sour cherry scones."

She snorts, but her eyebrows furrow. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, we can't even figure out what disease it is, fuck the cure at this point." He says, sounding about as defeated as he feels. "We pillaged dad's hidden library though, hopefully he has something."

She hums, waving to Baz as he finally arrives. He's done with the sandwich too, finally, when he asks sharply. "Where's the American?"

"He'll be here in probably ten, it's a long walk." Penny says, looking up to the clock outside the station. "We still have time, anyway."

"I'd like to be a bit early to my father's funeral, Pen." Simon mumbles, and it makes the corner of Baz's lip twitch.

Not curl upwards like earlier, the mask was on full force. But twitch. He'd take it, honestly.

Penelope pretends that she doesn't hear Simon, and points to a figure behind Baz. "There he is!" 

Baz whips around, and Simon cranes his neck to see him. Indeed, Shepard is running towards them. Seemingly at full speed, if his panting when he makes it to the station is anything to go by. 

He doubles over, bracing himself on his knees. He takes in a few deep breaths, before huffing out. "Am I late?"

Baz looks up to the clock, and says simply. "By two minutes."

He lets out a sigh of relief, standing up. He waves to all of them, reaching into his pocket to pull out his fingernail. The thick coin glints under the glow of the lamp above them, and he looks at it a bit disdainfully. “I almost forgot this, had to double back.” 

“I could’ve given you another one, Shepard.” Simon says lightly, a smile on his face.

Penny laughs, pulling her’s out too. “It’s alright, at least we’re all ready now. Right guys?”

Simon and Baz simultaneously pull out their fingernails, and Penny just nods in approval. Simon looks to Baz, who's honestly looking more and more pissed off by the second. Maybe he's nervous?

"Right, let's get moving then.” Simon waves his free hand in the direction they’d be moving, and then starts moving. The rest of them follow him across the Steppe in silence, Simon lets his hand run through the grass again as they walk towards the edge of a river. 

Out this way, the Steppe is nearly pitch black. It was always hard to make out where they were going, even knowing the Steppe and it’s terrain better than most. Simon looks to Baz, concerned about him the most. It’s his first time this far out ever, let alone in the dark like this. He can’t make out more than shapes, but just the confirmation that the other man is there calms him down slightly. 

He’d feel terrible if he got Baz killed out in the Steppe. 

After about ten minutes, they can finally spot a figure in the distance. It’s hard to make out from where they were, but Simon immediately can tell that it’s a worm. They stand at about five feet, and are as wide as a barrel on it’s side. The worm in the distance held a torch in his hand, it lit up the area around him. The four of them rushed towards him, wanting to get out of the dark Steppe finally.

When they approach the man, they can all vividly make his features out. Worms get their names from how their heads are shaped, they have pumpkin like heads, smooth and all white with no hair on their body at all. The ones that venture into the open work the river, but most worms live in the Abattoir. The Abattoir is a sacred cave that they built a home into for the Kin, one that Simon’s never even seen all of, as the only humans allowed in all rooms are Menkhus. And Ebb, but she’s not technically even human, she’s the queen of the worms. Simon never quite got that, she looks perfectly human to him, but he supposes it has something to do with her magical ability.

Simon greets the worm with a wave, “ Sayn baina, khatangher. ” He says politely, he knows that most worms prefer their native tongue to English. 

“Hello.” He says back, his voice was low and gravelly. Simon gulps, knowing this meant that whatever he had to say, he was speaking in English purposefully. He wanted the three non-Kin members to hear him. “You have guests, Menkhu.”

Simon nods, a bit too quickly. “Uh..yeah, I do. They all have fingernails on them.” 

“Good,” The worm looks at Baz, stepping a bit closer. Baz flinches, but doesn’t back away. “ Ene shi yuun khun geeshebshe? ”

Baz looks to him, and Simon quickly translates. “He asked you ‘ What kind of person are you?’ ” He says, before looking back to the worm. “He’s an erdem , worm. He’s my guest.”

“ Kheerkhen ?” He asks, and Simon can feel his face go warm. That was a term of endearment that only lovers use, the herb bride had called him it just today. He shakes his head immediately.

“No, no. He was a friend of my father.” He says too quickly, before just holding his hand out. “Can we pass now, please? The funeral will be starting soon.”

The worm just grunts and snatches the fingernail, going around and doing the same to the rest of them. He points to the boat with one long, sharp claw, and the four immediately rush to get into the boat. Penelope sits suspiciously close to Shepard, but Simon pretty much just figures they’re all equally as scared of the worm as Simon is. Even Baz looks scared shitless, and also confused and indignant about earlier. If the atmosphere wasn’t so heavy, he’d take this opportunity to tease him.

He sighs, resting his head on his hand as the worm rows them across the river. It was always a bit lower this time of year, and Simon appreciates not having to deal with the headache of a jostling boat right now.

He might actually lose his shit.

By the time they reach the shore, the group is just as ready to leave the boat as they’d been to board it. Up ahead is the graveyard, a large plot of land that’s currently decorated for his father’s funeral. Torches were up everywhere, making the place look a lot more inviting than the Steppe behind them. He gestures for them to follow them, and at the gates he stops and turns to the group.

“So,” He starts, itching the back of his neck with nerves. “This is a Kin funeral, alright? It might be a bit… different, so just. Don't be surprised, alright?”

Baz is the first one to speak, saying. “I was just accosted by a worm, I can handle whatever this is gonna be like.”

The other two nod, and Simon lets out a humorless chuckle, but brings his hand down. “Right, yeah. Alright then.”

He turns back to the gate, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The four of them walk in silence up the winding path. The dread in the air was palpable. Three of them didn’t know what to expect, and the one who did was more nervous than anyone in this damn graveyard. When they arrive at the spot, they’re directed to where his father was buried far in the back in a regal-looking section. There’s a large stone slab propped up by smaller stones. Behind it sat Ebb, looking like she cleaned up a bit for this, judging by the lack of dirt on her cheeks.

In the middle of the slab is a dead bull, an older one judging by the rings on his horns. Simon doesn’t risk a look at his group, just points to the growing crowd. “Sit on the grass, it’s custom.” He mumbles, before taking his own spot in front of the bull. 

He looks over the bull, meeting Ebb’s eyes. “Kehtey.” He breathes, and she nods to him. She holds out a hand, offering him a long blade. It’s a spindly thing, twice the length of his hand with a sturdy iron handle. It was thin, with a slight curve to it. A Menkhu’s Finger.

He nods back, taking it gingerly before he looks down at the bull beneath him. Sinking his lips into his bottom lip, he brings the blade to flesh and makes a slight cut. Testing the waters. He bites down harder, letting muscle memory kick in. His expert fingers make small cuts in quick succession down the bull’s stomach and chest. The bull’s blood spills, pooling underneath his feet on his father’s grave. He puts the blade down when the cuts have been made, and he reaches into the bull’s chest. He cracks three of its ribs with his hands, a sickening sound ringing across the silent graveyard each and every time. It was enough room to fit his hand in, though, finally. He carefully reaches in, expertly finding the bull’s heart and ripping it out unceremoniously. He kneels onto the grass, holding the heart up to Ebb. She smiles down at him, dipping her hand into some of the blood on the slab.

Ebb holds her hand up to Simon, covering his cheeks and forehead in the animal’s blood, before pointing where to place the heart. He places it at the base of the gravestone before standing up and turning to the Kin. “Today, a great man is buried deep within the Earth.” Simon starts, but he doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t have a speech prepared. He looks over the crowd before starting again.

“And yesterday, we lost our Menkhu. He wouldn’t want us to sit here, to cry over his death. My father was a good man. He took care of every living thing in both our Steppe and town. He was a man that all of you here knew personally, one that wouldn’t leave people behind. He loved us all, as if we were all his children. The man, above anything, believed in the lines. The lines of flesh to cut, but also the lines of fate that connect us to one another.” Simon takes a deep breath before looking across the crowd again, when his eyes lock onto gray, soulful eyes. “He believed in the idea of kholboons , that everyone had someone they’re born linked to. He truly believed that he was linked to everyone in this town, and I think he was right. Today, we mourn a link forever severed, but celebrate the life of a man who gave us all life.”

He doesn’t look away from Baz while he speaks; his eyes locked on the man. He must look like a wreck, he could feel the bull’s blood drying on his face and his eyes were brimming with tears as he spoke. He somehow managed to keep his tone even, but the grief of it all hit him right now, in this very moment. He’d been too busy, too nervous about the future to mourn his father’s death. Too conflicted on the man’s legacy, on his practices, to properly feel the grief. He blinks, looking away from Baz and takes a bow, excusing himself now that the ceremony is over. Simon takes off down the path, running as fast as his feet would take him. The trip back to the river is a blur, wet hot tears were now pouring down his face. He kneels down at the river bank, dipping both hands into the cold September water before splashing his face. 

He’s harshly scrubbing at his cheeks when he hears footsteps, he doesn’t even turn back to look at who’s approaching. “Go away, Pen, watch the rest of the funeral.”

“It’s not Bunce.” Baz says, making Simon jump a bit. He whips his head around to see him, looking up at him incredulously. He pulls his hands away from his face, dropping them awkwardly at his sides.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, voice croaking a bit.

Baz approaches slowly, hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Bunce said to give you space, but I didn’t think you should be alone.” He explains, taking a seat next to him on the riverbank. He pulls a small handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it to Simon, who gratefully starts rubbing his face with it.

He doesn’t know what to make of this, of Baz right now, who seemed to actually care. His voice didn’t have an edge to it, and he was just sitting next to Simon. He crosses his legs, laying the handkerchief on his knee. “Pretty intense service, huh?” 

“Not the weirdest one I’ve been to.” 

Simon side eyes him, looking him up and down. “Don’t try to make me feel better.”

Baz throws his hands up defensively, shaking his head. “I’m not lying! It’s not as weird as people who put makeup on the dead.”

“Dissecting a bull in front of you isn’t as weird to you as putting makeup on a body?”

He nods curtly. “Yes. I’m a doctor, I’m used to death. Pretending the dead aren’t decomposing is weirder than bull dissection.”

He rolls his eyes, but Simon lets out a small chuckle at that. “You’re so fucking weird, Pitch.”

“Well aware, Snow.” He hums, and Simon lets out a small sigh of relief.

He looks at Baz properly, letting their eyes meet again. “Thanks for not… being a twat about it all, though.”

“Well,” Baz matches his stare, saying. “Even twats have their moments, I suppose.”

He laughs at that again, breaking eye contact to rub at his eyes. “Cheers to that.”

Baz hums again, looking back at the running water. There was a gentility to his expression that surprised Simon. In the small bit he knew the man, he never thought he’d live to see a look like this on his face. He watches the man wrap his arms around his knees, tucking his chin on his knees. “What you said, during your speech… about uh, what was the word-”

“ Kholboon. ” He offers.

“Yes, right. Are kholboons some kind of soulmates?” Baz asks, and when he hears the man speak his native tongue, he can’t help but want to teach Baz more . It sounds perfect coming from him, even if his accent is too posh and he spoke it too fast. 

He shakes his head, resting his hands on his knees. “Nah, it’s like… do you ever just feel connected to someone, even though you just met? You see them and you’re like… yeah, you’ll be important.”

Baz nods, messing with the seam of his trousers as he speaks again. “Yeah, yeah I have. I’ve never really been… well, a man of mystical inclination. But-”

He cuts himself off, turning his head to look at Simon, who follows suit. For the third time tonight, they lock eyes with each other. He takes a deep breath, before speaking. “But when I saw you, it’s as if the left and the right hand had gripped the head for the very first time.”

Chapter Text

 Day III.

Simon wakes up with a grunt, hand coming up to rub his tired eyes. Sitting up seems like so much work right now, when all Simon wants is to lie in bed all day and mope all day. He needs time to process last night, his father’s death, and contemplate what he’s doing with his life. What he wants to do, something he's never actually given himself the time to think about. And most of all, what Baz had said to him.

Fucking Baz .

After he ran away from his own father’s funeral, Baz Pitch had come to distract him. Not in a shitty way, either. He didn’t make fun of the ritual; he was genuinely interested in what Simon had said during his speech even. And then he threw that curveball of a sentence, right when Simon wasn’t expecting anymore surprises (there had been so many with Baz already, honestly). He sat there, arms wrapped around himself, looking at Simon with an expression he’d never seen on Baz before, and just said it. No sarcasm, no prickly comment afterward, just a simple sentence. Simon closes his eyes, replaying the scene in his head again.

“Yeah, yeah I have. I’ve never really been… well, a man of mystical inclination. But-”

He’d looked nervous, as if he didn’t know if he should say it. He was fidgeting with his clothing, as if he was scared. As if this was hard for him, being vulnerable. 

It probably was.

They’d only known each other for only two days, and Baz had just watched him rip the heart of a bull out. None of this was easy.

“When I saw you, it’s as if the left and the right hand had gripped the head for the very first time.”

He said it ever so quietly. Like it was a secret he was keeping from the world, one only that Simon could know. It made Simon feel like he was going crazy, like his brain was tired of this town already and he’d started seeing shit. Maybe he accidentally had ingested Twyre? Though his brain probably wouldn't think of this, this was too far fetched for even a really bad Twyre trip. He sat there for a moment, slack jawed and trying to think of a response. What was he supposed to say? That he’d already had a possibly premonitive dream about Baz, that they might actually be linked by fate? He hadn’t wanted to admit that to even himself, because it opens the floodgates in his mind about that dream. About the way that if he focuses on it, he can still smell rust in the air, and he immediately wants to fucking leave . Take Baz, take Pen and fucking run as fast as his feet would carry him.

But they’d never make it through the Steppe, and he’d feel bad about leaving Shepard and Agatha.

No, he said nothing. He just sat there, looking stupid and stunned, until Penny interrupted ten seconds later. She was worried about Simon, and since Baz had already followed him, she decided to as well. By the time she finished asking if he was okay, Baz had recoiled away from him and stood up. He didn’t get an alone moment with Baz after that, he’d parted with the group the second they were out of the darkened Steppe. He took his bag, and the books that he had wanted to split up, and disappeared back into town.

Simon lets out an angry moan, turning over and burying his face in his pillow. The fact that he dreamed about those goddamn eyes again didn’t help. He can barely remember it this time, but he doesn’t have to know that it was them giving him the same look that Baz gave him at the river. The way the soft light of the torch made his eyes shine with warmth, the way it softened his sharp features. Looking into his eyes is like looking into the depths of the ocean, and his dream last night was the equivalent of drowning.

He drives Simon insane. Absolutely mental, and he doesn't know if he can take it right now. His nerves are already fried, and Baz Pitch being confusing and a right twat isn't what he needs right now. 

He opens his mouth, screaming into his pillow as loudly as he can before he's interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. He shoots up, blood running cold at the possibilities. Was it Ebb? That'd be alright. He trusts her. The Kin? He doesn't know how they'd feel about him staying here. The Staintons? They can get properly fucked. 

He bites his bottom lip, standing up quietly. Simon pads over to grab a scalpel, figuring if it is an attacker, at least this is something . He walks up the stairs as lightly as he can, socked feet making a graciously paltry amount of noise. He opens the front door slowly, peeking out to see who's there. He looks down, and his eyes land on a slightly annoyed looking Penny. He grunts, but the tension leaves his body. "Pen? How do you know where I live?"

She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. "I saw you walk this way, and where else would you live? Anyway, get dressed."

"Why?" He quirks his head a bit, confused at her demeanor.

"We have to go." She sighs, brows knitting at him.

"What for ?" He huffs, feeling stupid and tired. So, so tired.

"Almost half of the eastern part of town has whatever virus you and Baz saw yesterday." She says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. As if he hadn't just gotten up. 

His eyes widen, and he gapes at her, as if staring at his best friend would produce an answer. "Holy shit, are you sure it's the same thing..?"

"Yeah, Pitch has already been summoned to an emergency meeting about it. They were gonna start without you, Si." She explains, shaking her head.

"Were? What happened?" He asks, feeling dumb.

"The Staintons thought they'd be fine with just him, but Philippa said he demanded your presence. Pitch, that is. They don't know where you live though, so they got me." She huffs, snapping her left hand. "That's all she told me, go get ready. Quick!"

He nods, shutting the door and almost running back downstairs to get his clothes on and his things together. His mind's going a million miles an hour right now. The virus, it spread? How far had it spread then? Could he contain it? He doesn't even know what it is. Baz doesn't know what it is.

And Baz made sure he'd be there, at the Stainton's meeting , his mind supplies. His stomach flips as he finishes stuffing his pockets. He rushes back up the stairs two at a time, and when he opens the door again, he's panting. It'd take an hour on foot to reach the town hall if you were sprinting, and so he pulls out two more fingernails. Penny gives him a skeptical look, and Simon shakes his head. "The river cuts through town, Pen, it's the fastest way."

"You know how I feel about worms." She protests, and she's right. He does know, and he made her ride with one last night already. But they just don't have the time for it, and they both know that as well.

"I'm taking the boat, you can hold up the meeting by yourself." He decidedly huffs, palming the coin in his head and sets off towards the edge of the warehouse district, knowing that's where a worm always sets up shop.

Penny calls after him, and it takes a moment before she follows. She follows, though, jogging up to meet him. "I wasn't invited! You're my ticket in, you can't leave without me."

"Guess you're stuck on the boat with me, then." Simon hums, and she lets out a loud groan.

She knocks her shoulder into his side, and he stumbles a bit to the side in surprise. Penelope laughs, a quiet thing that Simon knows means she’s nervous. About the boat or the virus, he doesn’t know. Honestly, it was probably both. He's nervous too. He regains balance and shoots her a half hearted glare, to which she responds. “You’re an ass, Simon Snow.”

“Am not.” He huffs, knocking her gently with his hip. She doesn't stagger. 

She just looks up at him, the humor on her face leaving in a flash. She studies his face for a second before narrowing her eyes. “Are you nervous about seeing him?”

“Mr. Stainton? Nah, they cleared me-”

She bumps him again, sighing. “No, Si. Baz .”

“Huh?” He asks, shocked by the question. “Why would I be?”

“Because he all but ran from us last night?” She looks at him dubiously, crossing her arms. “I thought you'd fought.”

Simon shakes his head too fast, ears turning pink. “Oh- No, no we didn’t uh- we didn't fight.”

“Then what the hell happened?” She pushes, and he wills blood not to rush to his face. 

It doesn’t work, and his traitorous face turns the same shade as his ears. “We have more important things to discuss, don’t you think?”

“Hey! No secrets, Si.” She insists, and Simon knows that he’s lost when she says that. 

They’d made a pact when Simon was nine to never keep secrets from each other, after he had accidentally broken one of Agatha’s dolls and spent three days hiding from his friends in shame. Penny made him promise that there would never be secrets between the pair, and then promptly made him apologize to Agatha (who hadn’t even noticed.)

He scratches the back of his neck before giving her one of his helpless shrugs. “We talked.” He mumbles, and Penny raises a brow at him. He raises his hands up defensively, huffing. “I’m serious, Pen! He just kinda distracted me, and he gave me a handkerchief to wipe the water off of my face. And he asked about the Kin, but like- In an alright way. He didn’t make fun of us or anything.”

“Jesus, didn’t you hate him just a day ago?” She asks, her tone contemplative.

“I do! I did- I mean- god, I don’t know Pen. I’ve known him for two days.” He stumbles over his words, and rushes the last part out, feeling more embarrassed by the second. He hasn’t even told her about the big thing, and he doesn’t think he will. That seems too personal even to tell Penny. Baz told him it like it was a secret to the world, and it’d feel like betraying him to mention it to her.

She just chuckles, nudging his ribs teasingly. Simon turns an even darker pink, looking up and sighing in relief when he sees the worm standing at his boat. In the light of the day, the worms aren’t as bad. You can tell that they have massive eyes in the light for one, and when they look up at you, they almost look doglike. They’re still intimidating, of course, but it's less ‘shit your pants’ and more ‘watch your mouth around these guys’. They both hand in their fingernails, and tell the worm where to drop them off at. He says nothing. They really aren't talkative during the day, either.

The river method isn't an exact form of travel, as one might imagine. It’s not like a car, though it’s about as fast. The Gorkhon river is what the hill’s named after. It’s a winding river that cuts through town like an upside down U. It convenes at the base of the hill (start of the Steppe), before splitting off again. Somewhere far into the Steppe, it convenes again and stays that way until it reaches the Atlantic, but that’s in no-man's-land. Not even the worms live out that way. The Kin run the river system, they always have and no one’s ever tried to challenge them on it. Most townsmen aren’t busy enough to have a need for it, though. It’s normally only used by butchers and by the Kin when they need to reach the little island that their graveyard rests on. The townsmen have a space behind the cathedral to bury their dead, and Simon can vividly remember asking his dad why they don’t use that land countless times. His father always just told him it was sacred, and he never really understood. He would say that you could feel the magic out there, but Simon never could. Not until Baz had sat by the river with him, at least. But he couldn’t pinpoint if the tingle in his fingertips was actual magic or just nerves.

Probably nerves.

He bites back a sigh, mad at himself once again for opening the Baz box right now. Simon has always been good at not thinking; he put an old sheet over his dad’s weird organ juicer and it was out of sight out of mind (at least for the moment, he can’t possibly think about his father’s legacy when he hadn’t even mourned the man’s death.) But Baz is like an itch he just can’t reach on the small of his back, and when he tries to use a spatula to itch it, it’s still never enough. 

It still itches. 

Like a mosquito bite, sucking the blood out of his veins when he’s around and leaving a red blotchy bite when he’s gone.

Like a fire sucking the air from his lungs. You can’t escape Baz Pitch, he’s the human embodiment of a forest fire. At first, you enjoy the warmth and life that a campfire provides. You grow used to it; it’s dangerous, untouchable, but you need its light in your life. 

Thinking about Baz is like that for Simon, he can’t go without the warmth of the fire. 

But if you leave the fire going overnight, it’ll grow out of control. It’ll set your world on fire, but you still can’t just stop it. You need the light. You can't live without the warmth it provides you, even when it melts your flesh away. 

And that’s where Simon’s mind is at. He can’t extinguish the flame, but he can’t let it rage, either. It'll scorch him, and he can't let it. Not when he still has things to do. Which just brings him back to finding a Baz shaped box, one that’s flame retardant hopefully.

He figures that maybe, just maybe, he should be thinking about the virus right now. But that’s in its box, safe and ready to be unpacked when he reaches the town hall, which was closely approaching. He lets out the sigh he’d been holding back this time as he stands up in the boat, waving the worm off and stepping out. He gives Penny a hand — she hates the way standing on the water feels — and pulls her onto the sidewalk. They’re only about ten minutes away from the hall now, and he looks up at the big clock. “Pen, when is the meeting starting?”

She looks up at the clock, making a low humming sound before answering. “About 30, Philippa said she’d have them wait an extra hour.”

He nods across the street, to a small cafe. This one isn’t as good as the one by his old house, but it’s decent. “Want a tea?”

She rolls her eyes, knowing what he was getting at. “You’re carrying his coffee.”

He scoffs, but looks away so that she can’t tell he was red again. “Who said I’m getting Baz a drink, too?”

“You just did. I didn’t mention anything about Baz .” She points out, and he huffs. She always wins.

The trip is short, it’s barely six in the morning and the cafe’s patronage is scarce at best. Within fifteen minutes, Penelope had her tea with milk and honey, and Simon had two drinks. One black, and one mocha with two sugars ( ‘You know his order’ Penelope gaped, to his dismay.)

When the pair finally show up at town hall, drinks in hand, the entire room turns to look at them and suddenly Simon feels extraordinarily idiotic for stopping to get drinks. Mr. Stainton's eyes practically bore holes into him, and Baz has a grimace on as if he's just embarrassed himself at a party. 

"Tired then, Mr. Snow?" Stainton points to the coffees, and Simon fends off a wave of his own embarrassment.

He shrugs, trying to seem unbothered. It was almost working. "Stayed up for dad's funeral, you know." He says faux casually, striding across the room as confidentially as he could. The quickness of his pace dampened the effect, but overall he's proud of himself for not stammering. He takes the spot around the big, round table next to Baz.

He slides the mocha in front of Baz, saying in a voice so low that he knows only Baz could hear him. "Since you were up too."

Baz gives him an incredulous look, but picks it up and takes a grateful sip. He sets it back down, crossing his legs and scooting forward. "Alright then, we can start."

Stainton gives Baz a funny look, one that looked confused as if he said something weird. "Was that what this was about? Philippa could have gotten you coffee-"

Baz interrupts with a harsh sigh, resting his forehead in his hand. "No, Stainton, the coffee wasn't a part of the plan."

Holy shit, Baz had called him by just his last name in front of the entire fucking hall.

Simon looks at Baz, eyes wide in shock as he continues. "As I told you before, I believe that the only other medical professional this town has should be at this meeting."

Simon looks back to Stainton, the power hungry law official who ran the show, who looked like a nervous school kid right now. He nods, and instead of trying to argue, he lays out a map. "Right- Then, I've marked the districts that we've confirmed to house the virus." 

He points to the map, and it looks like two districts had been marked. Two-thirds of the East half of town. Simon gulps down an extra helping of air, knowing he'd need it, as he felt deflated. This is so, so much worse than he thought it would be. He looks at Baz, who just shakes his head. They must be thinking the same thing. That's when Stainton speaks up again.

"I'd like you, Dr. Pitch, to create a vaccine for it, please."

Simon looks back to the man, wishing he'd shut up. "With all due respect, Mr. Stainton, we don't even know what it is."

"Now, now, Snow." He says, and Simon immediately notices the lack of doctor . Before he can tell the man to shut up properly this time, he continues. "I know that you're used to being the only one with medicine in town, but we have Dr. Pitch here to help now."

Simon narrows his eyes, locking eyes with Stainton. "Dr. Pitch and I have the same amount of schooling, and anyway, I think we should focus on finding a cure for the ill."

"An ounce of prevention, as they say-" He starts, but doesn't finish as Baz clears his throat.

"So, you want me to find a vaccine. Is that it?" He speaks as if looking at Stainton physically pains him, it only makes Simon like Baz more.

"Yes, and I was going to propose it anyway, but I think Snow should be your assistant." 

Simon stands up so fast his chair almost tips over, palms flat against the table. He looks like he could lunge across and throttle Stainton, but instead he growls. "I am fully capable of finding my own cure, if you lot are so dead set on a fucking vaccine."

Stainton doesn't back down, looking snide as he says. "Leeches and grass drinks are not a cure for this virus, Snow."

"Your daughter would have died if it wasn't for the Kin's medicine." He slams his hand into the table, and Penny rushes to steady the drinks.

Stainton actually flinches at this, but Baz just stands up. He looks down, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt as he speaks. "I'll start research right away, but Snow's right. He doesn't need me to babysit him, that's a waste of both of our time."

He looks over at Simon with a knowing look before quickly grabbing his coffee and heading for the front door. Simon takes a second to glare at Stainton before he chases after Baz. Penny stays for a second to apologize to the table before tailing them both.

Outside of the building, Simon catches up to Baz. He grabs the man's sleeve to stop him, and Baz doesn't turn to see him. He stops in his tracks and seems to wait for Simon to explain.

"You're just gonna do what Stainton says?! Baz, you have to know that we need a cure. A real, actual cure . You saw the little girl!" He pleads, and Baz sighs.

"Snow, shut up." 

He huffs, tugging his sleeve so that they have to face each other. "No, you know I'm right-"

Baz holds up a hand, stopping him from continuing. "He's partially right. We do need to vaccinate the well. As of now, the town is in lockdown, but we don't know how fast it'll spread. This could cause a global pandemic if it gets on any of your town's exports."

Simon looks at him, disbelievingly. He wants to punch Baz in the face now, which is a total 180 from earlier. 

Without thinking, he finds himself grabbing Baz by the collar of his shirt to force him to look Simon in the eyes this time. "I can't believe you- you'll just leave the sick to fucking die ."

"Shut up!" Baz snaps, hands balling up in the chest of Simon's shirt. He pushes weakly, and it doesn't move Simon at all. "I said partially . There's two of us, Snow. We can find both a cure and a vaccine."

Simon stops and lets go of Baz, who immediately goes to fix his ruffled clothing. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away from Baz's gray eyes now. His sense of rejection flares up a bit. He doesn't know what to do about it. It wouldn't be like yesterday anymore. Baz was too good. He has his own lab most likely, probably much better than his, and Simon will be left to his own devices from now on. It stung, weirdly, although he himself suggested the idea of working alone in the town hall. "Right, so. I'll do my thing and-"

"Christ, Snow. You're so fucking dense." He furrows his brows at Simon. "We're going to my place. We can compare notes and come up with a plan there."

" We ?" He asks, not noticing as Penny comes to stand at his side. "I thought we had our own little projects now."

Baz scoffs, but takes a moment to wave at Pen. He then looks back to Simon as if he's the most stupid man on the planet. "We'll still be working together, moron. We just have different goals, but we're researching the same damn virus."

Oh.

"Oh." Simon says, face suddenly softening at that. "You could have said that from the beginning."

Baz rubs his temples, shaking his head slowly. "You are an absolute nightmare, Simon Snow."

He huffs, but doesn't argue. He just takes his drink from Penny's hands, smiling at her to let her know he’s okay. She smiles back. "I think I'll leave you two to that. I have… my own research to do." She says vaguely, and doesn't wait for the questions to roll in before leaving.

So much for no secrets.

He turns back to Baz, who’s got an eyebrow hitched at him as if he knows anything about what that was about. Simon shakes his head. “Let’s get going. You said you’re staying in the northern district?”

Baz nods, face relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I’m staying for free with someone your dad knew.”

Someone his dad knew? Probably someone political then, Simon figures. He shrugs and just assumes that he’ll find out when they get there. If it’s political, he’d avoid them. “Lead the way then, emshen .”

Baz gives him a sideways glare, but doesn't say anything as he starts walking, and Simon follows in step with him. Hw notices the bags under Baz's eyes and thinks to himself that he probably looked similar. That's his fault. He nudges him, gently, and Baz looks at him. Less pissed off this time, more confused. (With a raised eyebrow, for good measure.)

"Hey, thanks for coming to see me after… that. I really needed it." He says softly, honestly. 

Baz nods, taking a drink of his coffee before he speaks. "Well. Bunce said you needed space, but I know that after… Well, after my mother's funeral, people said the same about me."

Simon turns his head at that, eyes going wide. "Your mum? Oh Baz- I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

He holds up a hand, stopping him from going on. "Don't. I've heard it enough. I'm a bit surprised you didn't know, honestly. What with how the media seems to publish just about everything on me."

Simon shrugs again, fiddling with the lid of his cup. "I don't really pay attention to gossip. I just know you go to my school and that you're important to Thanatology. Never seen you around though."

Baz laughs at that, actually laughs. He doesn't even cover his teeth, and his cheeks go a bit pink. "I've seen you on campus, you buffoon."

Simon's the one looking at him confused now, arms crossing. "How did you know it was me?"

"You have bright red hair, Snow."

He huffs, "There are loads of redheads!" 

"It was you. I saw you drop a stack of books on your foot once in the library." He hums, and Simon goes bright red.

"Asshole." He grumbles, taking a swig of his coffee to stall a bit before he has to continue. He looks down at the pavement before continuing. "I guess I just didn't pay attention to that kinda shit, I just kept to my studies. People like me rarely get a chance at that. At uni."

"People like you?" Baz asks, sounding genuinely interested.

"People from the Kin. I'm the only Menkhu to ever get like… A proper education. We have a school and stuff, but medical knowledge is usually just taught to you by your dad. Or mum, I guess. We haven't had a female Menkhu in ages, Penny thinks it's right sexist." Simon rambles, not looking at Baz still. He's expecting some sort of insult, or joke about the Kin. 

Baz doesn't do that.

He waits a moment, seemingly lost in thought for a beat, before saying. "Why'd you go to university then?"

Simon whips his head up, looking at him. Baz meets his eyes, and he doesn't look condescending. He looks like how he did last night, when he asked about the links. Like he wants to know more.

Simon's not used to it.

Even Penelope, who's curious as a cat, never looked at him like this when he tried to explain Steppe stuff to her. She tries, she does, but she's used to her own ways. Not even Penelope is immune to the culture of the townsmen.

Baz is. It's weird, because he isn't who Simon thought he'd be just two days ago. He's still prickly, he almost always hides behind a mask of thick sarcasm. Simon had gotten that part right. But he didn't get just how heart-wrenchingly genuine he'd look when he dropped the act. He's only dropped it twice now, last night and now. And just like last night, he can't help himself. 

He returns the attitude back in full.

"My mum died too." He says, voice quiet. Baz doesn't speak --- he doesn't have to --- and Simon continues. "When she was in labor, I never met her. Kin medicine… it just couldn't save her."

Baz nods, looking away from his gaze. The look on his face doesn't change, though, and Simon wishes he could keep it this way all the time. He likes the real Baz. A lot. 

"I was 12." Baz offers, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket. "She died from an allergic reaction to a general anesthetic. Ketalar. It was just supposed to be… normal, you know? She had an accident at work and needed a hip replacement."

Simon goes to say something cheesy, offer his condolences again or something. He doesn't. He hates when it happens to him, even if it feels weird not to say it to Baz. Instead, he decides to ask Baz a question. "Is that why you became a doctor?"

"Yeah." He breathes out, looking over at Simon again. "It was either that or start experimenting with drugs, to know more than the doctors who operated on mum did."

Simon lets out a soft laugh, knocking him gently. "Don't think you'd figure out much like that."

"That's what my aunt said." He chuckles back, but does cover his mouth with his coffee cup this time. 

"She's got a good head, then."

Bas raises an eyebrow again. He does that a lot, and it looks so attractive each time that Simon wants to punch him. "Unlike you."

Simon rolls his eyes, moment over he supposes. He doesn't have to respond, though. The two fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the walk. It feels fitting after the conversation they just had, rather than trying to keep up with the banter. He'll bicker with Baz later. Somewhere along the walk, Simon throws their empty cups away in a dumpster. His hands find their way into his pockets, and he takes in the journey without letting his mind drift off. He has enough to think about, but he decides that staring at the shop windows is more useful than dwelling. 

Especially when it’ll just end back up on Baz.

It takes a lot of effort to not think about him after the conversation they just had, and Simon settles on humming to himself as they walk. Baz doesn’t object, he doesn’t comment on it at all. He seems to be too lost in thought to make any snide comments. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and he's chewing on the inside of his cheek. When they stop in front of a tall house, Simon nudges him. “We’ll figure it out, Baz.” He offers, and Baz just grunts in return.

It was a half-hearted attempt anyway, the two of them are fucked. There's no way to send out mail now, and they're the only two doctors in the entire fucking Steppe. Baz is physically panicking, and Simon has been on the verge of mental collapse since he arrived in this town. They share a look, for only a split second, communicating to each other what they both knew was true.

They're fucked.

Baz shakes his head, composing himself before he fishes out a key from his coat pocket. "Alright, so I've started looking at that sample I got yesterday." He starts as he opens the door for the both of them.

"Oh right, have you found anything yet?" He asks, snapping out of it as he walks in. A feminine voice clears her throat from the doorway of what looks like the dining room, and Simon jumps.

He knows that voice. 

He turns sideways, eyes wide. Agatha leans against the doorway, arms crossed. She narrows her eyes at the men, and Simon holds up an awkward hand to wave. The motion dies halfway through though, and he looks to Baz for some relief. Baz looks confused, but gestures to Agatha. "Snow, this is Agatha. She's the person your father introduced me to."

"He knows me quite well, Baz." She snaps, focusing on Simon. 

His eyebrows knit together, and stupidly he says. "You call her by her first name?" 

She lets out a sigh of complete disbelief. "You've been gone for six years, and that's the first thing you say? Where have you been?"

"At uni? You know that, Ags." He says, confused. She sighs again and takes a step forward.

"No, you twat, I meant once you arrived ."

"Oh." He says, gulping. He shrugs. "I've been really busy."

"You visited my father!" She huffs, raising her voice just a bit.

Baz looks very, very much like he wants to leave the room right about now. Simon feels him. He shakes his head, raising his hands up. "I swear, I was going to come visit you. I just- With father's death and the virus-"

"You weren't too caught up to visit Penelope." She points an accusatory finger at him. "Or Basilton."

"They're colleagues!" He argues, crossing his own arms now. 

"More like accomplices ." 

He rolls his eyes, "I've missed you too, Ags." 

At that, she finally pulls him into a hug, though a moment later she pushes him away. When he tries to protest, she narrows her eyes into a dangerous glare. "You smell like bull manure, go take a shower. Basil and I will make breakfast."

"Agatha, I have work to do-" He tries protesting this time, and has the glare directed at him. In a show of raw power, Agatha Wellbelove gets Baz to cower a bit. "What would you like to eat, Snow?" 

"Uhm-" He stammers, looking between the two of them. "Waffles?"

"Waffles it is." Agatha hums, "Your clothes are right awful too, put those in the bin outside the bathroom. I'll wash them."

"Ags-" He furrows his eyebrows. "What will I wear?"

"I'm sure Basil could get you something, right?" She turns to him, and his eyes widen. He shakes his head, but she nods. "He'll leave them outside of the bathroom for you."

"I- Guess I will." Baz says, looking like he’d just been slapped. If Simon didn’t feel the same, he’d laugh so hard his ribs hurt. But he doesn't; he just heads off to where Agatha points.

The bathroom's at the end of a long hallway; it has a small cabinet outside of it and on the other side a hamper. He heads into the bathroom to strip his clothes off, removing the handkerchief from his pocket beforehand, he didn't want it to be ruined in the wash. He opens the door quickly to throw them into the bin, before closing it as fast as he could. He felt a bit childish, but he didn’t know if Baz had come by yet and he really wouldn’t survive this if Baz caught a glimpse of him naked. Maybe he was being dramatic.

Baz is wearing off on him.

He sighs while he starts the water, he scolds himself for being the world's biggest moron for not realizing it would have been Agatha . She runs the only place for non-locals to stay, in the north side nonetheless. He shouldn't have been so shocked, he just didn't expect Baz to know her. He seems to know her well, too, since he calls her by her first name. He's only ever heard Baz call Grimm and Kelly by their first names, so it has to mean that he knows her on some level better than he knows Simon.

When the two of them were --- little, he and Agatha, that is --- their parents always pushed them to be together. They thought that finally merging the Wellbeloves and Snows would keep the Staintons in check, and the two already got along. It always made Simon feel… wrong. Just wrong. He never liked her that way. In some ways, she was more of a sister to him than Penny. Penelope was a partner in crime, Agatha was as close to a sister as he'd ever get. Maybe that's what he feels. He wants Agatha to be safe, and he has no idea what their relationship is. He listened to her, even when she said to do something he didn't want to. Does he fancy her? He can't blame him, even if he simply can't fancy her himself. She's dreadfully gorgeous. She's a fireball too, always has been a force of nature when it comes to what she wants. She and Penny always got on because of that, Simon thinks. Though, when they do clash, it's worse than when they clash with him, because neither is willing to give in. 

He puts too much soap in his hair, and gets overwhelmed by a foresty citrus smell. He closes his eyes, leaning back as he scrubs the soap through his locks. He never buys nice soaps for himself, just whatever the cheapest option is at Tesco, but it makes sense that Agatha would have something posh smelling for her hair. He doesn't know when his next shower would be, so he lets himself enjoy this one. He scrubs himself thoroughly and feels a bit disgusted with himself as he realizes just how badly he needed this. He watches the dirt spiral down the drain with a grimace. 

When he shuts the water off, he wipes his eyes off and picks up the shampoo bottle to figure out what the scent clinging to his hair is. The title says Bergamot & Cedar , and he makes a mental note to check the prices on the brand when (if) he makes it back to his dorm.

Simon steps out of the shower, toweling himself off quickly before picking up his underwear. He'd kept those, because he'd rather get this damn virus than share pants with Baz. He slips them on before opening the door and peeking his head out. He snakes out an arm, snatching the clothes quickly before shutting the door again. 

What Baz left him was actually somewhat surprising, based on the fact that Baz dresses like a scholar from the 1700s. He left Simon a pair of gray sweats and a band t-shirt. He holds the shirt up in front of his face, narrowing his eyes as he reads in big letters The Cure . Simon holds back a laugh, because of course Baz would like The Cure.

Simon likes them too, he doesn't know why he's being so judgemental of Baz's music taste, it just seems cliche of someone like Baz. 

He'd almost expected Baz to not actually listen to current music, to throw Simon's expectations out the window and reveal he only listens to Swedish jazz from 1946 or something. He didn't, though.

He likes The Cure, and so does Simon. A few of their songs, anyway. He likes the new wave stuff the best; he has an entire collection of tapes back home of his favorite bands.

(He misses his Walkman so much.) (And his record player.)

He shakes his head, and he puts on the sweats before slipping into the shirt. He runs a hand through his hair before he takes a deep breath. Bergamot and cedar fill his lungs, and he looks down at the shirt. He pulls his hand out of his curls before pinching the front of the shirt, pulling it up to his nose and inhaling.  

Bergamot and cedar.

Simon can feel his face heat up before he sees it in the mirror, and he drops the shirt back onto his chest. Sure enough, the realization that he was mooching off of Baz’s fucking shampoo made him red as a tomato, and he felt like he might just die.

This might actually be worse than Baz seeing his dick, because that’s a lot less intimate than smelling like him. God.

He hopes he doesn’t see Penny until tomorrow, when he’s mucked around enough that he doesn’t smell like Baz Pitch anymore. She’d start theorizing, and Simon doesn’t need that in his life. Not now, at least. 

He massages his cheeks for a bit, trying to get them to return to their normal color. It takes him about a minute until he realizes that he was, in fact, making them worse. Way worse.

So, so much worse.

He leans over the sink, holding his face in his hands for another minute or two before finally deciding that he’s moped enough already. He straightens up and opens the bathroom door finally. He walks out into the foyer as quietly as he can, but as he reaches the doorway of the dining room, he realizes he doesn’t have to. He can hear music playing loudly from deeper into the room, in the kitchen. He can hear Agatha humming along as well. He stalks up to the doorway, peeking his head around the frame to look into the dining room.

It’s quite the scene in there. The dining room is on the other side of the kitchen, which you can see from over the island. Agatha stood there in the kitchen, a whisk in one hand as she sways in time with the music. Simon can hear her properly singing now. Her voice is so quiet, but so lovely. She looked like a picture, honestly, and Simon couldn’t help the big grin that breaks onto his face. Across from her, he can see Baz working the coffee machine, and Simon closes his eyes. He listens to Agatha finish the song, her voice is finally louder than the music as she sings, “Ooh, heaven is a place on earth.”

The song changes over, and Simon realizes this must be a mixed tape. It has to be one of Baz’s favorites though, because when the song starts, he mumbles along. Simon can’t hear him at all, but his lips are moving in sync with the music and he’d probably give his leg to be in that kitchen right now. He watches Agatha flip over the waffle maker twice before he finally can hear Baz, who’s singing the chorus of the song loud enough for Simon to hear. His eyes snap to Baz immediately. The man has his eyes closed and a small smile on his face as he serenades the coffee machine. 

“And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” He sings, and Simon feels like he might pass out. He wants to close his own eyes, but he feels like if he willingly looks away from the soft smile on Baz’s lips right now that he’ll never forgive himself. He’s so swept up in the moment, and it’s the first time he’s ever seen Baz look so truly peaceful. As the song carries on, his hips sway along lazily to the beat and oh god . To call Baz hypnotizing would be an understatement. Simon thinks maybe it’s just because it’s so foreign to him that it manages to catch him off guard. 

“Take me out tonight. Take me anywhere, I don’t care.” Baz continues, and Simon watches him open his eyes finally as the coffee pot dings. “I don’t care, I don’t care..”

Simon steps in finally, and Agatha turns around to face him now. Baz doesn’t notice though, which Simon was hoping would happen. He waves to Agatha, but doesn’t dare speak over Baz right now. He watches Baz pour three mugs of coffee, as he finishes the end of the song. The song switches over, and he finally turns around with two cups in his hands. He jumps, and almost spills the coffee, but he catches himself in time. “Jesus, Snow, how long have you been here?”

“Since Heaven is a Place on Earth .” He says, a grin on his face as a scowl replaces Baz’s easy smile. He misses the curl of the man's lips, though. As much as the scowl feels more normal, the way he just seemed so… at ease, here in Agatha’s kitchen made Simon feel like he’d found a wild animal sleeping. He wasn’t on guard, not when he was serenading their cups of coffee.

Something darker tugged at his heart, as he realizes Baz wouldn’t have willingly smiled like that around Simon.

He would around Agatha, Simon thinks, perhaps too bitterly. Baz huffs, but he hands Simon the cup of black coffee. He can see into Baz’s cup from here, and it was slightly orange. He looks up at Baz with the question on his face, and Baz just rolls his eyes. “It’s a pumpkin mocha breve.”

“I have never heard of that.” 

Baz takes a pointed sip before replying. “I made it myself, that’s why.”

Simon laughs, taking a sip from his own mug. He hums, the cup's surprisingly good. “You mangled a perfectly good coffee, Frankenstein.”

“I did not mangle it.” He huffs again, and Simon gives him a grin. 

“Boys,” Agatha calls, snapping them both out of it. “Stop bickering and get your plates, would you?”

They do as she says, and she gives Simon a smile when she spots him. “Much better. I’ll clean your clothes while you two work, so you can have them before you leave here.”

“Thanks, Ags.” He says gratefully, taking the plate of food from her. She had piled high waffles, and put a gracious pad of butter on top. 

She might just be the best person to ever exist, and Simon could kiss her. He doesn’t though, of course, he's not that impulsive. Instead, he sits across from Baz at the table, humming quietly along to Just like Heaven .

"The Cure, huh?" He gestures to his shirt — Baz's shirt, actually — on his chest. Baz looks up, his eyes wide for a moment before he scoffs.

“It’s just an old shirt from my aunt, don’t put so much stock into it.” He rolls his eyes, but his pink ears give him away. He likes The Cure.

“I like Close to Me .” Simon says simply, and Baz tuts like he just said something dumb.

“Of course you’d like that one, it’s their most poppy track.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, trying so very hard to mimic Baz. “Oh? What do you like then? Pornography , maybe?”

Baz sputters on his drink, taking a moment to compose himself. He shoots Simon a glare, and yeah, he definitely deserves this one. “No, you twat . Well, actually yes, the album’s good. I guess my favorite would be Seventeen Seconds .”

Simon’s head quirks, and Baz sighs. He says nothing, he just swiftly stands up and excuses himself from the table. Simon watches him. His movements are so swift and deliberate, and Simon has no clue what he’s doing. He’s gone for about two minutes, enough time for Simon to have scarfed down almost half of his food off the plate, and when he returns, he has a new tape in his hand. 

Simon can see in big, loopy handwriting on the front that it says ‘Favorite songs’, and Baz replaces the current one for it in the cassette player. He sits back down as the song starts, and Simon holds back an eye roll. “You don’t like them, just a shirt from your aunt?”

Baz turns a bit pink, and what Simon assumes is supposed to be a scowl falls flat. Agatha lets out a sharp laugh, elbowing Baz. “He got you good, Basil.”

“I told you not to call me that.” He drawls, crossing his arms to look dignified. The worst part is that it works, and Simon thinks that not even the Queen of England could match this man’s level of dignity.

He wants to catch Baz off guard again, to wreck that composure. When he’s scowling and huffing, it’s at least a step closer to how he looked last night. 

God, last night.

He looks at Baz now, putting as much shit-eating confidence into his expression as he could. It’s not a lot, not like Baz. But it works. “Basil.” Simon says simply, stabbing at a piece of his waffle.

Baz snaps back to look at Simon, turning away from Agatha, who looks extremely amused by this whole scene. “Snow.”

“Basil.” He repeats, an actual grin on his face this time. “Or should I go for Tyr-”

Baz interrupts him, a dangerous glint to his eyes. “I will strangle you, and even Agatha won’t be able to save you.”

He rolls his eyes at that, at him using her first name immediately after not using Simon’s . He takes a bite of his food before speaking again. “Why do you call her that, anyway?”

“Because it’s her name?” He cuts into his food finally. Jesus, he’s a slow eater.

“You don’t use my name. Or Penny’s. Are you dating or something?” He blurts the last part out, something he didn’t actually mean to say. It’s horribly intrusive, but he'd watched them this morning in the kitchen. Agatha, cooking, and Baz just looking so content. They looked like a picture. Both of them are objectively dreadfully attractive and it’s been driving him insane. Even now they’re sitting side by side, Baz looking scandalized and Agatha laughing. 

Simon thinks back to last night and thinks he might be sick, and he doesn’t even know why. He just doesn’t want her to be with a man like Baz, he reckons. He’s so cold, he’s prickly, and he does things his own way. But even then… It's not like he’s a dangerous man. If Simon had to tell anyone why he doesn’t want them together, he’d tell them that; Baz is a prickly man who’s stubborn as a mule. He doesn’t believe it though, it’s not convincing even to himself. He is prickly, and he is stubborn, that’s all true. But it isn’t why he shouldn’t be with Agatha. He doesn’t actually know why it makes him so queasy, just that when he remembers Baz looking at him in that way last night, and then imagines him with Agatha, it makes him want to tear his own hair out. 

He’s just being an overprotective brother figure, Simon rationalizes with himself mentally as one of the two speaks up. Baz opens his mouth to say something, but Agatha gets to the punch too fast.

She’s laughing her head off, and drapes an arm around Baz’s shoulder. “Yeah, Si, Bazzy here and I are totally fucking.”

Baz looks like he wants to die. Like he actually would prefer the grave than being in this chair right now. “ Agatha- ”

“Yes, dear?” She says, and he winces.

Simon cuts in, picking up his mug to hide his frown. "Congrats, then."

Agatha laughs even harder, and Baz looks between them like a lost kid. He shakes his head vigorously, shoving Agatha away. "It's not like that ."

"You don't have to hide it, I don't care." Simon shrugs, but it's forced.

"You obviously do, and I can't tell which party in this equation makes you upset." Agatha giggles out, flipping her hair back. "Anyway, he's right. It's not like that."

"But-" Simon gapes. "You just-"

"I'm joking . It's funny, since we're both-" She looks to him for a moment, seemingly asking for consent. He nods. "Gay."

"Dreadfully." He says, running a hand through his hair. "Really, Snow, I didn't think you were that daft. No straight man could look this good."

Simon looks at Agatha, looking for any sign of a joke. She shakes her head, and he finally closes his mouth for a second. She smiles at him, speaking so that he doesn't have to. "The reason we get on is because of that, a lot of the men that come here are… Bastards. I have a no flirting rule, and he said-" Agatha screws up her face a bit, putting on a fake London accent. " I don't even like women, Wellbelove . So I said, well, I don't like men, and if he called me that again I'd kick his shin."

"She's quite persuasive, would be an excellent politician." He muses, and Simon lets out a sigh of relief.

He leaves his thoughts on that situation at that, just a sigh of relief. The news that Agatha is a lesbian isn't really a shock. She never had any boyfriends, despite being the prettiest girl in every room. Baz being gay is more of a surprise, but then again, it isn't, really. He carries himself almost stereotypically, but the confirmation makes his chest tighten up. He looks at Baz now and says. "Call me Simon, or I'll kick your shins."

"You won't." He says flippantly, taking a bite of his food.

Simon narrows his eyes at him, putting his mug down finally. "I've gotten in plenty of fights, I'm not afraid-"

"You won't." He states again, and Agatha covers her mouth to laugh at them again. Apparently, to her, they're a comedy duo.

"You won't, you like him too much." She says, and Simon can actually feel his face go red.

"I don't!" Simon throws his hands up before crossing them. "He's a twat. You're a twat , Baz."

"I'm a twat." He repeats with a hum, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing. "But you won't kick me, Snow."

Simon doesn't respond to this, because Baz and Agatha are actually right. He won't kick Baz.

He does like Baz.

He doesn't know why, though. He just enjoys being in his presence. He drives Simon fucking insane, though. Baz Pitch makes Simon want to burst in a way nothing else has. He's smug and pretentious and yet-

He thinks about Baz all the time.

They haven't even known each other for a week, but Baz never leaves his mind. He thinks that maybe that's why he likes being around Baz. It's easier not to think about him when he's right there. It’s easier to not let the flames consume him when he can monitor them, Simon thinks. Baz is across the table from him right now, slowly eating his waffles, and somehow he’s a lot less complicated like this.

Still a puzzle, but one with a possible answer. Simon finding it is still unlikely, but at least it’s there .

Simon stretches back in his chair, arms reaching towards the sky with a big yawn. He finishes his coffee with a gulp as Baz finishes off his (considerably smaller) plate. Baz chugs his coffee down, before looking at the pot longingly. Agatha scowls, looking like she knows what he’s thinking (Simon absolutely does not .)

“No, you can’t take the pot with you up to your room.” She says, crossing her arms. 

He sighs, and Simon snorts at his expression. “Was that actually what you were thinking?”

“It’d be easier than coming down here all the time-” He starts, and Agatha shakes her head. 

“You are not confiscating my coffee pot, Basil.” She huffs at Baz. He just sighs again and stands up. He gestures to Simon and then stalks off out of the kitchen. 

Simon waves bye to Agatha before following Baz up the stairs to his temporary bedroom. The stairs were spiraling (and Simon hadn’t bothered to catch up to Baz) so as they climb the stairs, he could see Baz across from him. The man is all legs. He’s only got a few inches on Simon and it all resides in his mile long legs. 

He watches Baz as they walk, only feeling moderately creepy from his spot underneath him. Baz is so deliberate, every movement that he makes looks thoroughly thought out. Every move Baz makes looks like Simon's hands when he cuts into flesh, the only time that Simon's body cooperates with him fully. He always feels a bit too big for his body, as if he should move one way and his body just won't let him.

Baz never falters, even in the face of the fucking Staintons . He could've been jailed or hung, or something. It's not like the rules out here are as regulated as they are in London, and news isn't getting out. He's a stranger in this town, and he's so damn headstrong it's worrying. Maybe that's why Simon's so obsessed with him. He knows Baz isn't accustomed to the Kin and he could very well actually get himself killed. Or worse.

The dream from the warehouse comes to his mind, and Simon's stomach churns. He speeds up a bit, catching up to Baz finally as they reach the doorway. He finally speaks up as Baz opens his door. "Where do we start?"

Baz looks at him over his shoulder, and the corner of his lips is twisted up. He looks extremely self-satisfied. Simon's stomach churns again. "I have a few ideas."

He looks away, opening the door fully to reveal the room. It looks so extraordinarily Baz even though he's only inhabited it for a few days. There's a bed pushed against the wall that looks like it normally goes in the center, judging by the bedside table that sat there all alone. The table was instead stacked with small vials, and the desk next to it had his equipment. He had his massive bag on it, and all of its contents were on the desk. A stethoscope, syringes, and closer to the samples was a microscope. Under the lens sat a coverslip that Simon could see from here is containing blood, and he shoots Baz what must be a wild look, because he holds up a hand.

 "It's fine, Snow, it's just my blood." He says, and really that explains nothing. So Simon waits, and Baz continues. "I wanted to test the samples on blood."

"You infected yourself?!" He asks, stupidly grabbing his wrist. If Baz is infected, he really shouldn't touch the man, should he? That doesn't make Simon let go of him, despite Baz struggling to get out of his grip as Simon looks for a vein. He finds one, holding Baz still as he inspects it for darkening. It's not an abnormal color though, like the girl's had been. It's a normal dark green. Simon runs his thumb over the vein, as if that would medically fix anything he had done to himself. It's normal though, and Simon looks up at Baz, not loosening his vice grip on the man's wrist.

"I just-" Baz pulls a bit, sighing down at him. "Jesus Christ, Snow, would you let go? I just used my blood as a sample. Of course I didn't infect myself-"

"Where did you take it from?" He asks, not letting go of his wrist. "Are you sure it didn't infect you?"

"Yes, I am bloody well sure, Snow!" He huffs, finally pulling out of Simon's grip. He shoots him a glare, before pulling his (ridiculous) jacket off and hanging it up. Baz rolls up his dress shirt, showing Simon the extraction site on his left arm. It was just a puncture wound, and the veins underneath it were all normal. 

Simon lets out a sigh of relief, looking back at the microscope. "What did you find, then?"

"Look for yourself." He says, pointing to the microscope. He seems relieved that Simon wasn't freaking out over him anymore, and sits down on the edge of his bed. Simon gives him a hesitant look and is met with a sharp point to the microscope. He sighs in defeat and turns away from Baz.

He sits down in Baz’s work chair, closing one eye to peer into the lens. He can hear Baz shuffling around beside him, but doesn’t make a move to look at him. Instead, he watches the red liquid intently. He could see the blood cells slowly be destroyed by whatever this is, turning it from red to black. The multiplication rate was astoundingly fast, and Simon chews on his lip as he watches for about a minute. In that time, he could watch about a fourth more of the blood turn into an inky color.

He regrets eating so much now. 

He sits up as slowly as he can, trying not to think about the fact that the blood he watched turn was, in fact, Baz’s. He wills himself not to imagine that same scene happening in his veins, a terrible thought that makes him want to ship Baz off right now .

Baz hums, reminding Simon of his presence. He has a lit cigarette between his lips now, and he’s leaning back ever so slightly. The window isn’t open, and Simon’s hair is absolutely going to reek after this of his soap and his cigarettes. He gestures towards the vial table, and Baz nods. “That’s the blood I mixed with the sample from your house. There’s another one I mixed with a patient’s sample. They have the same blood cell destruction pattern.”

“So,” Simon starts, not wanting to look at the other sample. He’d take Baz's word on this one. “Then we can confirm that the virus originates from my house?”

Baz nods as he takes a drag, turning away from Simon to release it from his lungs. When he turns back to look at Simon, he has a glint in his eyes that he always gets when he’s talking medicine. “I don’t think your dad was murdered, Snow.”

“Huh?” He blurts out, genuinely caught off guard.

“My theory is that this virus is actually what got him. I think maybe he was more of a patient zero.” Baz explains, punctuating his point with a wave of his cigarette. 

Simon stares at him for a moment, mulling it over in his head. This throws everything out the fucking window, the idea that his dad wasn’t murdered, that is. He tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment, before nodding slowly. “That would explain a lot, actually. The spots didn’t show up immediately, either.” He says, leaning his head back so that he can squint at the ceiling (half in frustration, half wanting to think about something other than Baz in front of him). “Have any other spots appeared?”

“No, not even on the old Wellbelove’s house, who I think might have died the same way.” 

Simon closes his eyes, balling his fist up in his curls. “That doesn’t make sense though, why would they just appear on dad’s?”

Baz hums, and Simon straightens up in time to catch Baz tonguing his canine tooth in concentration. Simon unwinds his fingers from his hair, looking expectantly at Baz. He pulls the cigarette back up to his lips before finally replying. “Is there any organic matter in the walls?”

That’s when it hits him. He stands up suddenly, and it seems to startle Baz. “Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you are a fucking genius.”

“That’s already been established.” He huffs, but he looks up curiously at Simon. “What am I right about this time, though?”

“The Twyre!” He waves his hand in the air, trying to get the confused Baz to listen to him. “Baz, my dad worked with so much Twyre that it had settled in the walls.”

Baz shoots up, cigarette in between his fingers. He stares at Simon with a skeptical look, both eyebrows hitched. “We need to see what it’ll do to the blood sample, then.”

Simon hums in agreement, saying. “Alright, later I’ll go collect some in the Steppe. There are a few different kinds of it, though, so we’ll have to divide the blood.”

“Noted.” Baz says with a nod, before he strides over to his desk. He puts the stubbly remains of his cigarette out in a small saucer that seems to have been claimed as an ashtray. “Let’s focus on that when we reconvene. For now, we have some reading to do.” He gestures towards the pile of books, and Simon holds back a sigh.

He hates sitting here and reading while people are out there, sick . But he knows better than to argue with Baz on this one, because he's completely right. They have to figure out what this is before they find a cure or a vaccine. Simon nods, grabbing his father's journals again. "We should focus on these, if he really was patient zero there might be something in here about it."

"Right." Baz nods, taking half of the stack. He takes the window seat this time, a comfortable-looking spot with tons of throw pillows. Simon feels wrong taking the bed, so he ends up sprawled out on Baz's couch.

Agatha's couch, actually, but it smells like his cigarettes now, so it's more his than it'll ever be hers again. Maybe she'll steam clean it once he's gone. Remove the traces of Baz that now litter the room.

His stomach lurches at the idea of Baz leaving, of the room going to someone else. It's a bed-and-breakfast, that's what happens, he tells his unrealistic mind. He just looks so in place here, stretched out in the window, reading. He has his ankles crossed, having slipped off his shoes before he sat down to read. Simon followed suit, but he'll regret it when he has to lace up his boots again in a few hours. He tucks his legs under him and tears his eyes away from Baz to start on this journal. 

It’s a lot like yesterday, the two read in silence for hours together. Though, this time, one of them will occasionally get up to get them both cups of coffee. When Simon does, he has to ask Agatha how to make Baz’s stupid, disgusting drink. He makes sure to put in a little extra cocoa for Baz.

The afternoon sun streams in through Baz’s window when Simon stands up, stretching his body out. He’d read five volumes of his father’s medical journals, and absolutely none of it led anywhere. His father was a rambling man, even his writing. Simon lets out a quiet yawn, dangling to touch his toes as he says. “I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up again at the window. Baz’s shoulders are slightly slumped, and the book lay clutched to his chest. Simon steps closer, and from this angle he can actually see Baz’s eyes closed shut. Simon’s heart squeezes when he realizes that Baz must have not slept at all last night, if he had already analyzed samples before five in the morning. Long black lashes flush against his cheek, and his hair falls around his face. Rays of sun fall onto his face. The light that flits over him only serves to enhance him, Simon thinks. His sharp cheekbones look like they’re drawn in bold right now, and he looks so peaceful. 

He’s also shivering, Simon notices in alarm. The idiot had been messing with virus samples right in his own room, as if he couldn’t have even asked Agatha for a spare room. He carefully reaches out to feel his forehead for a fever, and is surprised to feel that Baz is dead cold. He takes the man's wrist into his hands, and he’s just as cold there. 

Baz runs cold, he makes a mental note of that and tiptoes across the room to the bed. He picks up a large, fluffy white blanket. It was so soft it felt like fur, but he could tell it was synthesized just from the sheen on it. He carefully pulls the book away from Baz, marking his spot for him, and then lays the blanket on him. Baz lets out a small sigh in his sleep, and Simon has to yank his hand out of the air and away from Baz’s cheek. His damn arm has a mind of its own. 

Simon walks as quietly as he can to Baz’s desk, writing out a quick note in chicken scratch. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow with Twyre at ten, sleep well Basil.’

He has to add some teasing edge to it. 

Simon stalks out of the room and down the stairs, finding Agatha in the foyer. He waves to her, explaining quietly. “Baz fell asleep, he really needs it so I’m going to the Steppe to pick Twyre.”

She gives him a skeptical look, but nods. “Yeah, alright. You can leave the clothes here, yours are dry.”

He'd forgotten that he was still in Baz’s clothes, and his ears flush. He scratches the back of his neck, nodding. “Right, thanks Ags. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles at him, her most kind one. “Bring Penny, I miss her.”

“Can do.” He hums, waving again to signal that he was leaving to change in the bathroom. He tugs off Baz’s clothes, balling them up on the counter before changing into his normal clothes. His thick, tan sweater was fluffy from the wash, and his jeans were still slightly warm. He pulls on his green jacket, he runs warm but not warm enough to escape September in the Steppe.

He bids ado to Agatha and leaves out the backdoor. The house is right on the riverbank, and a Worm isn’t even a block away. 

He feels guilty using a second fingernail today, these are scarce even for Steppe folk. The worms absolutely hoard them.

Simon just can’t be bothered to walk another two hours by himself. He’s already running on empty here and the river will take him to the perfect Twyre spot. The herb always blooms first on the river bank out in the Steppe, so that’s where he asks to be dropped off. Since he wasn’t with Penny, or in a rush, Simon quietly thanks him. “ Bayarlaa, khatangher. ”

The Worm gives him a big, toothy smile. He doesn’t reply, but he looks happy to receive the praise from a Menkhu. The only Menkhu.

Simon sighs, and he pulls out his knife from his pocket. He gets to work. It’s a mindless job, which after the hours of reading he appreciates. With Twyre, you want to keep as much as the plant intact as possible, as the medicinal properties reside in the stems too. Simon would find a populated spot, crouch down in the grass and cut as close to the ground as he can. They need more of this stuff than just samples; he knows pure Twyre would be an asset later, so before anyone else has this idea, he decides to take as much as he can carry. After half an hour of this, he has an entire armful of the red, yellow, and purple variants of the herb. It smelled as amazing as always, crisp and sweet. Red is the most overpowering, both in terms of smell and taste. Most locals prefer red Twyrine for this very reason, because it packs more of a punch. 

If the rest of the world knew much about the Steppe at all, Twyre would probably be banned the same way Poppy plants are. The herbs themselves hold strong medicinal properties, but are also known for their hallucinative ones. They aren’t as strong as something like acid, especially used in small doses like in medicine or when fermented like in Twyrine, but if eaten raw, they’ve been known to cause killer trips. Simon accidentally found that out once, when he was little, and wanted to figure out if it tasted as sweet as it smelled. It does, in fact, Twyre tastes like a melted down candy apple, but in his child self it caused the worst delusions. Or so Simon’s told, he doesn’t really remember the trip itself. He just remembers not getting the smell of rust out of his nose for days afterwards.

As he cuts at another stem, he spots two tiny feet approaching him in the grass. The owner wasn't wearing any shoes, and their feet were filthy . He finishes freeing the herb, before looking up to see who was standing over him. He comes face to face with a child; a little girl who was eye level when he crouched. The rest of her wasn’t any less dirty than her bare feet, and her curly black hair had leaves in it. He gives her his most charming smile, to which she frowns. “Are you Snow?” she asks, arms crossing.

If he didn’t know what he did about the man, he’d be concerned that Baz’s offspring was running loose. Instead, he keeps his smile steady and answers. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m Murky.” She says, plopping down next to him as he continues to pick Twyre. “I hate you.”

He doesn’t look at her, humming. “What did I do?”

“You’re a liar .” She huffs. She must be ten or eleven but when she speaks, she reminds him of those teens playing gang. “Ms. Ebeneza says that you’re gonna cure the ill, but you aren’t.”

“How do you know that, Murky?” He stays patient, knowing that she’s just a kid, and she’s probably more scared than him. “I’m collecting Twyre for the sick right now.”

“There isn’t a cure.” She says, frustrated at his notation. 

“That isn’t true, we don’t even know what this illness is yet. There can’t not be a cure, kiddo.” 

She stands, looking at him like he was really, really dumb. Her face is scrunched up like something smells bad, and she says loudly. “We know what this is! Why don’t you bother speaking to Ms. Ebeneza.” 

She doesn’t give him time to respond; she kicks his side as hard as she can and runs away. He stumbles a bit, more surprised than anything, and lands on his ass.

He watches her figure grow smaller, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. Who the hell is that girl? She seems to know more than he does and supposedly hates him. It didn’t add up. Simon hasn’t been back long enough for him to have done anything to have made her hate him. He stands up, turning back in the factory's direction with the herbs in tow.

Simon clutches the Twyre to his chest, and decides that he’ll have to visit Ebb tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Day IV.

Rust and soot fill his lungs once again as Simon opens his eyes. He gasps, looking down at his feet. His legs were wrapped up to the knee in vines that grew from the ground, and when he tried to move forward, spikes grew. 

Terrible noises of his own flesh ripping filled his ears, but the scream that accompanied it wasn't his own. His eyes dart around, and this time he can see clearly into the fire. Baz stood in the center, the same vines held each of his limbs in place. Simon could see that the spikes were stabbing into him too, blood poured from all the wounds into a puddle at his feet. He looked like the bull that Simon had dissected, and his mouth goes dry as they lock eyes.

Gray fills his world, his every sense, as his hands fly to his legs. He can't feel the pain, or smell his own blood as he rips the vines off of his body. He doesn't lose eye contact with Baz as he frantically tears at them, to no avail. Each inch he rips off grows back two inches longer. He begins running, instead, ignoring the blood flying everywhere as he painstakingly gets closer to Baz. The flames lick his shoulders, but Simon doesn't stop. 

He's so close now, only a foot or so away. He reaches his hand out, forcing his voice to work. " Baz! "

Baz blinks, swallowing hard and reaching his own hand out. His entire arm is wrapped in vines, spikes digging into his skin as he tries to lean closer. Simon grabs the bound hand, mixing their blood together on the vine. " Simon- " Baz pants, eyes burning bright in the firelight. " I- "

Simon shoots up in his bed, hands clutching the sheets. He looks around the room quickly, trying to get his bearings on the world around him.

He's in his father's old laboratory, in the bed. He's drenched in his own sweat, and the back of his eyes were prickling with hot tears, but he's safe. He's also free, he can move his limbs just fine. 

Simon closes his eyes, thinking back to his last memory of Baz. He had fallen asleep in the window, head propped on the glass, with rays of afternoon sun illuminating his skin. Not fire lighting up his eyes , Simon sighs with relief at the memory.

It was a dream.

Just a dream.

A terrifying, extraordinarily real feeling dream. But a dream nonetheless.

He lets out a sigh and looks up at the clock. It’s seven in the morning already, meaning that Simon didn't have to try to go back to sleep. It's a good thing, really, because he wouldn't have been able to.

This is the second Baz related nightmare he's had in the past few days. Penny wasn't even in this one, he can't pass it off as it not being about Baz to even himself anymore. The thing he couldn't determine, though, is whether it's just his own paranoia or an actual bad omen.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut again, quietly whispering. "Please, mother Boddho ." 

He isn't one for praying, and this isn't even technically prayer. The Kin don't believe in any gods, but rather in the magic of the Earth itself. They personify the Earth as a cow, a mother who births new life. Speaking directly to the Earth isn't the same as praying, because they don't believe that she can actually hear you. The idea is more to appeal to the magic of the Steppe, to put what you want to happen out into the open and hope that the Steppe can hear you. That your lines aren't already tied around your own throat like a noose. 

Simon's probably are, he thinks to himself grimly. 

He still continues though, because he can't just stop now. "Please protect Baz from his fate, he has to make it out of this."

He adds nothing about letting them take him instead, because he knows it could actually change his fate for the worse. If he wasn't already doomed, he didn't want to curse himself. He'd say it in a heartbeat if he thought it would change anything, but fate doesn't work like that. He can't cut off his line to lengthen Baz's. It just doesn't work like that. He’d just cut off his line, but Baz’s fate will still play out however it was meant to. He squeezes his eyes tighter, mumbling out. "I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't."

He feels so vulnerable right now, in nothing but his pants, on a shitty bed, admitting to the one thing he'd been beating around the bush about mentally since his first dream.

He's scared for Baz more than he's ever been for anyone else. Penelope would pull through, she wasn't just a mistress, but also the smartest person in town. And no one else has appeared in his dreams other than those two, so he wasn't as worried about them. Of course he's concerned about the entire town, he's anxious as hell about this virus, but still..

The only person who's been in such danger in his dreams is Baz, and he can't stop thinking about it even as he pulls himself out of bed to pull his clothes on. Simon chews on his lip as he stuffs a few mason jars full of Twyre, shoving them into the inside pocket of his jacket for later. 

Maybe he should get a bag.

He doesn’t bother nosing around in the cabinets; he had already exhausted the little supply of food that his father had kept here. It wasn’t much, and anyway, he’ll get food from Ebb. She’d always fed him every time he came to her house. Which was a lot, so much of his youth was spent in her cottage out in the Steppe. She spends most of her days with her goats (she says they’re magical, Simon is inclined to believe it because she’s never wrong), and always gives Simon toast covered in goat cheese with tea when he comes to see her. He feels bad leeching off of her kindness, but he doesn’t have the time to stop in town if he wants to see Baz by ten, like he promised.

And he does.

His traitorous mind supplies him with a mental image of the dream. Of their blood mixing. Of yesterday, of seeing Baz’s blood turn an inky black. And then, as if to balance it out, of his jet-black lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks. 

He thinks about his need to see Baz as if he’s monitoring a particularly ill patient. He’s a tragedy waiting to happen, and it’s Simon’s job to keep that from happening . If he told Penny this, she’d say he has no obligation to save Baz even if his dreams were predictions. He’d tell her that no one else was going to, and she’d ask why it matters to him.

He won’t be telling Penny any of this for that very reason, because he doesn’t know why it matters to him. Or, at least he can’t put it into words. He can’t tell her about the way Baz looked at him that night, because there’s no way on Earth she’d understand without seeing it.

His eyes were the same color as the river in the darkness that night, and they shone in the torchlight, but there was a distinct shine there that was all Baz . 

How could Simon possibly explain to Penelope that he can’t let that light go out?

Basilton Pitch is an all-consuming forest fire in his life, but if the rain came, he’d shelter that fire with his own body just to keep it from going out; that much he knows is true. Even if it burns him.

And oh god, it will burn him.

He’d go up in flames if that’s what it took, though, and that’s why he can’t tell Penny. Because he can’t explain to her why, or how, just that fate wants Baz dead and Simon distinctly doesn’t.

He decides not to think past that as he steps into the cool fall air, just that he likes Baz’s continued existence on Earth. He likes his private smiles, the ones he gives Simon before trying to mask them, but Simon catches them. He likes his gray eyes; he thinks that when he and Baz stand next to each other, they must look like day and night. Simon's eyes look like the Gorkhon during the day, and Baz at night.

Simon always thought that the river was the most beautiful at night, when the moon shone down on it.

He can see the Gorkhon river from where he is, chewing his bottom lip. He can see the island in the distance where his father was laid to rest. He can see the spot where they sat side by side. 

Simon shoves his hands in his pockets, and he can feel Baz's handkerchief. He runs the soft fabric in between his fingers, anxiety gnawing in his stomach as he walks toward the direction of Ebb's cottage. 

He thinks back to the little girl — to Murky — who had said with all the confidence in the world that there is no cure. She called him a liar, even. He hopes Ebb actually does have answers, otherwise he'll have no clue where to go from here. He'll be taking shots in the dark even more than he normally does, and with what's actually on the line, he can't do that.

Because it isn't just Baz, the entire town is in danger. The whole fucking Steppe could be eradicated, wiped out. Their culture lost forever because of this illness. Penelope, Agatha, Shepard, Ebb, everyone . This is bigger than himself, and he knows it. He hates how powerless he actually is right now, how he has no tools at his disposal worth a damn, and yet he's all the town has, in terms of a cure.

So much is riding on him, on his ability to put his feelings on a shelf and figure this out. He knows he might actually have to choose between the town and Baz. His dreams indicate as much. The town's on fire, but both times he's only worried about Baz. 

He's only gone to Baz.

He doesn't know why his dreams would make him choose, though, Baz is working for their good too.

He decides not to dwell on it. He can see Ebb's cottage now and if he thinks about the idea of choosing anymore, he might just break. He can help everyone, he has to. There's no other way. 

Ebb will have answers too, he decides. She always does. Ebb's the mum he always wished he had; she's empathetic, smart, and she always knows what to say to him to make him feel better. 

He should tell her about the dreams — about Baz — since he knows Penny isn't on the table right now.

Maybe, if it goes well enough. He takes in a deep breath as he stands at Ebb’s front door, steeling himself for having to knock. It takes him a whole two minutes before he actually knocks, because he’s nervous. Not about what Ebb will think, per se, but what he might learn. 

He does knock, though, with great effort, but he does it nonetheless. He can’t call himself a complete coward, not yet anyway. Ebb yells something about being right there, and a second later she is. She looks like she’s just washed up, because she isn’t covered in mud for once. Her pale blue eyes shine when she gives Simon a toothy grin, clasping his shoulder. “ Khybyyn, ” she says, before switching names. They do this --- in private usually --- just call each other by their real names like friends do.

“Simon.” 

“Ebb.” He beams back at her, the anxiety in his chest shrinking. 

She pulls him inside, hand staying on his shoulder firmly. “What're you here for then, kiddo?”

“I can’t just visit you?” He laughs, even though she is right.

She knows she’s right too, and her grin doesn’t falter. “Not when you’re as busy as you are.” 

He hums. He’s walking beside her and into the living room now. “Right you are, though I’m sorry I can’t just help you herd today. I have a few questions to ask, about this virus and… something akin to fate.” He says the last part carefully, digging himself into it now before he has time to opt out of it.

Ebb raises one of her blonde eyebrows, but she just nods and points to her big, fluffy rocking chair. It was her favorite, and whenever Simon came by with trouble, she insisted he sit in it. When he was younger, he would have argued with her, told her it’s her house and she should have it. He’s not 15 anymore though; his bones ache and he’s tired in a way he hadn’t ever been, even when he’d pull all-nighters for uni. 

So he sits down, and she disappears into the kitchen for a bit. Not long, only a minute or two, and she comes back with a plate of food and tea. She actually had made him a sandwich this time. Maybe Ebb could sense the hunger so deep it was settling in his bones. It wasn’t fancy; two slices of turkey, a slab of goat cheese, and sliced tomatoes on toasted potato bread. He eats like it’s the end of the world and this is the last meal on Earth, and it doesn’t take him long to polish it off with a swig of tea.

He sets his dishes down on her coffee table, and she doesn’t make a move to clean them up yet. Neither of them are in that much of a hurry, Ebb’s cottage is relaxing and warm from the fire she has going. He stretches his arms back over his head, letting out a small yawn before looking at her. He smiles again, he’s always smiling at Ebb. She always looks like she could cry at any moment, from sadness or happiness, and Simon’s always smiling at her to reassure her that everything is fine.

Everything is not fine, and they both know this, and yet Ebb gives him a watery smile back. She’s trying to be stronger for him, he thinks, ever since his dad’s funeral. He wishes he knew how to tell her she doesn’t have to be; she just has to be Ebb, the kind goat herder and leader of the worms that he’s always relied on. 

He doesn’t. He thanks her for the food, though. “ Bayarlaa , I really needed that."

"I know, I could tell by the way you walked." She hums, leaning back into her couch. "Now, tell me what's up?"

He pulls his legs up, making sure that his boots hang off the edge of the chair. He nods, saying. “Well… I wanted to ask about someone I met. She’s just a child, she came up to me and- she called me a liar, for saying I could find a cure. She said to talk to you, that you might know what this virus is.”

Ebb's smile fades, and she shakes her head sadly. "Murky… She's a sweet girl, you know. She comes here almost everyday to keep me and the goats company. She lives in a broken down train car, and when I tell her to come live with me she refuses. And I-I have an idea of what the illness could be, it's a lot like the plague that killed her parents."

"A plague?" Simon asks, shooting up in his seat. " Ebb , why didn't you tell me sooner? When did this happen?"

"Nobody knew about this until yesterday-" She reasons, eyes looking a bit watery now. “And- Well, it happened when you were gone, Simon… At the Termitary. There was an outbreak of a strange plague, and your father contained it by locking all of the butchers away. They lost a fourth of their population.”

“My father did that?” He gapes at her, right hand absentmindedly finding the handkerchief to rub in between his index and thumb. “He- Did he ever find a cure?”

She shakes her head, tears falling onto her cheeks now. “No, he never did. Not a working one, at least. He- The town decided it was better to cover it up, since they thought it only would infect butchers. He named it the Sand Plague, and he claimed that it was dormant. Though, I- I have heard that they've locked the Termitary again, amidst this all.”

His eyes go wide — he had a name for this now — and his heart sinks a bit. Baz’s idea of it being something he was infected with might actually be viable, it could have laid dormant in his system for years. Or however long ago this happened. He should ask Ebb, before he runs to Baz. 

“How long ago was this?” 

She looks up at him, wiping her eyes. “Two years, almost three now. Murks was nine at the time. No one but the butchers involved, me and your father would know of it.”

He chews his lip, messing with the fabric silently for a bit. “Thank you Ebb, and I… I see why the poor child would resent me, I- My father, he-”

“You don’t have to say it, kiddo.” She says softly, looking him in the eyes now. They were red rimmed, which made her pale blue more vivid than it’s ever been before. “I know you loved him, we all did. That doesn’t mean you have to- Well, agree with his methods. Boddho knows I never have. You- You’re softer hearted, you aren’t as ambitious as he was. He wanted to revolutionize our medicine on his own, you just want to heal the sick. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll save us all from this plague.”

He can feel himself tear up, giving her a watery smile. “Thanks, Ebb. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiles back at him, reaching out to grab both of his hands. He pulls his hand out of his pocket to take them both, taking the handkerchief with him. “You’d be fine, you’re smart enough, kid. Now, what was the business dealing with fate? I’m no healer, so I’ll be much more helpful in that field.” 

His cheeks flush, and he looks down at their hands. He drops the handkerchief into her palm, and she looks at him with wide eyes. “Baz Pitch, I- My dreams tell me he’s in danger.”

“Basilton? The doctor?” She asks, pulling her hands away to inspect the cloth. She holds it up to her face, and if she hadn’t just cleaned he’d probably snatch it away. (And then feel bad about it, but relieved because he doesn’t want even a speck of dirt to sully the memory of that night.) He nods, and she continues. “What do your dreams entail?”

He closes his eyes, imagining them even though he doesn’t actually have to. “Fire… Fire in town square. He’s in it, always, and last night there were these vines wrapped around us both. Everytime we moved, we’d be stabbed, but I- I still ran to save him.”

She looks at him for a moment, and it’s not with her normal kind eyes. Her gaze feels like it’s soul piercing, and he’s reconsidering if he should have told anyone about this. But then, she looks down to the handkerchief. Her concentrated look melts into a small smile, and she gives it back to him. “Basilton is, indeed, in danger.”

He cocks an eyebrow, taking it back gratefully. He finds the bottom left corner of it, where there’s a tiny embroidered rose with the name Pitch stitched right underneath it. “Why’re you happy then? I know people don’t like him much but-”

She shakes her head quickly, interrupting that thought. “ Goodness , no! He’s in danger, but I think if you stick by his side that fate will be in his favor.”

“You think I’m the key to saving him?” He can hear the hiccup in his own voice. 

She tilts her head a bit, the smile not leaving her lips. "Why else would you be getting these dreams, kiddo?"

His lips part a bit, as if he was going to say something, but his mind goes blank. Instead, he just smiles a bit at her and nods. "You're right, Ebb. You always are."

"You don't have to flatter me, now go, get on. You have a Steppe to save." And then, something that could constitute playfulness greets her soft features. "And a boy to save."

Simon turns bright red, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket. But he nods, and he stands. "Next time I come, I hope it'll be just to help with the goats."

"If it's not, it's fine Simon." She looks so motherly here, on her couch with a cup of tea now in her free hands. "I'm here to guide the Kin, and that includes you."

He nods again, feeling a swell in his chest at her kindness. "I won't let you or the Kin down, Ebb. I… I won't make my father's mistakes."

She hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of her tea before replying. "I'd have warned you already if I thought you would. "

He gives her another watery smile of his own; being around Ebb makes him feel like he's allowed to be as open and emotional as he wants, since she never holds back herself. He says his goodbye, and she looks on with her kind smile as he leaves.

Next stop is Penny's, who he’s sure is in her warehouse hideout again. That’s where she keeps everything that’s important to her, she had put a curse on the door when they were kids to only let the four of them in. He wonders absentmindedly if they could amend the list, remove Micah and add Baz, so that he could help them. 

He’d like to add Baz to the list, show him their old hideout. Maybe he’d show Baz all of the best spots in this town someday, he’d like to be able to close his eyes and be able to imagine the man in every corner of his town. He’d like to take Baz to the Steppe during the day, he’d like to lay in the Twyre and make him believe in the magic of the Steppe. Baz made Simon believe in the magic of the Kin’s cemetery, and he isn’t even a part of the Kin. Simon doesn’t even know if Baz knows what Steppe magic is, which might be the worst part.

Agatha knew as much about it all as they did, though, so maybe she’d give him the rundown on it. Nobody knew the Kin the way Simon did, at least not anyone from town, but what he knew was more cultural and less magical. He’s supposed to be able to feel it, but he’s never been able to. At least not in a meaningful way, in the Steppe he feels a low buzzing; a warmth in his chest that’s supposed to translate into abilities. Penny says that it feels like a well that she can draw from, but the most Simon’s felt was-

Well, it was with Baz. He felt like he could’ve lit a spark in his palm if he tried that night, the way his fingers buzzed and his chest was on fire. 

That’s when his brain circles back to what Ebb had told him.

Baz .

He could save him, he would . Whatever terrible things fate has in store for him could be prevented if Simon stays by his side. He knows she meant metaphorically by his side, that they have to stay a team, but his brain doesn’t want to physically leave either. He’s worried that if he does, some terrible being will sweep the man away and into the flames.

He knocks on the warehouse door, feeling a bit antsy to get to Agatha’s now. Penny doesn’t open it though, Shepard does.

Apparently the curse can be amended.

Shepard gives Simon a big, friendly grin and a wave. He turns his head back, calling. “Penny, Simon’s here.”

“Oh thank god.” She exclaims, and appears in the doorway with him. She takes one look at his dumbfounded face and waves her hand, answering with a flippant. “I needed someone to help me test my theories.”

“ What theories, Pen?” 

She huffs, grabbing both men’s wrists and pulling them out of the doorway and into the crisp air. “I’ll explain on the way, for now we have to get to Agatha’s. I want to see Pitch.”

Simon gives her an alarmed look, and tugs his hand away. “I was going to invite you to come with me anyway, but what do you need there ?”

She huffs again, and Shepard gives him a good-natured smile. “She’s been testing some magic on virus samples, wants to run it over with Pitch.”

“Just call him Baz.” Simon murmurs indignantly, before looking to Pen. “And why not me, I have the same-”

“Same amount of schooling, I know .” She sighs, “You’re a surgeon, though. He’s a thanatologist, he’s more used to samples and theories. You’re more practical.”

“Fine, but you can’t hog him. I’ve information from Ebb that I have to tell him.”

Penelope rolls his eyes, before looking up at him. “I won’t hog him, Jesus, Si.”

“You have a tendency to hog people when you get on one of your rants, Pen.” He shoots back, and Shepard chuckles. 

Penelope shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t stop. “He’s not wrong, Penny.”

She crosses her arms, but she doesn’t look actually mad. She wouldn’t be mad, she knows that they’re right. Penny grumbles out, “Alright, fine- I won’t hog Pitch.”

“Baz.” Simon corrects, unhelpfully.

“He calls me Bunce, I’m not calling him by a nickname.” She gives him a suspicious side eye. “Why do you ?”

Simon goes a bit pink, looking at his shoes. “Uh- He asked me to-”

“And have you asked him to call you Simon?”

He shrugs, unhelpfully. “Kinda. I threatened to kick him and then Agatha laughed at me.”

Shepard visibly has to hold back a laugh, and Penny doesn’t even try to hold back hers. “Then you don’t have to.”

Simon just shrugs again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not bloody well gonna stop now.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks at him thoughtfully, before giving Shepard a look. “You’re weird, Si.”

“Yeah, yeah. We established that years ago.” He grumbles, and she nudges him with her elbow. 

“Calm down, let’s pick up coffee on the way there.” Pen offers.

He looks at her dubiously for a bit, before giving her a nod. “There’s a place I saw by Ags’, they sell scones too. I ate at Ebb’s but I’m quite starved.”

“Traitor.” Shepard says under his breath, causing Simon to let out a hardy laugh.

“If you brought me some now, I wouldn’t have this problem-”

Shepard looks at him for a moment, the humor dying on his face. Simon stops laughing. “I haven’t been able to open shop for over a day now.”

“Oh, right. You are in the eastern district.” He mumbles, feeling like a dunce.

Shepard waves his hand, god he was so good-natured. He’s like having an agreeable dog as a friend, but way smarter and better at baking. Simon feels that he himself must be like having a disagreeable dog for a friend, slightly trigger happy and loud. Penny’s just Penny, though.

And Baz is a cat, his mind supplies.

They walk mostly in silence for the rest of the way to Agatha’s house. Or, at least Simon does. Penny and Shepard chat on and off, about really anything; his bar, her mom, anything that comes up. Simon could probably join in, but he feels a bit lost honestly. He hasn’t been here for a lot of what they were talking about; he hasn't had the 'Penny catch up time' that he wanted either, it's been too chaotic. He notices her grin while she talks to Shepard though, and knowingly smiles to himself.

She looks at him the way she used to at Micah, all those years ago, only probably increased by tenfold. 

His brain briefly stutters on Micah, but decides he'll bring that whole situation up later. They can create a game plan with Baz and Agatha, it'll be better to do it like that.

They stop at the cafe two blocks from Ags' place, and Simon decides to just buy the whole tray of scones. He orders his normal black, and a mocha breve, two sugars with a side of pumpkin puree. 

Penelope stares on in pure horror as he mixes the drink together from over her tea, a grimace on her face. "That Pitch is truly disgusting."

"You put like three sugars in your tea, which I'm sure Ags would have your head for." Simon snorts.

"That's different, and either way it doesn't excuse you enabling him." 

He laughs again, holding himself back from a good old fashioned teasing hip shove. She was holding Agatha's drink as well as her own, and he doesn't want to cause any spillage. "Yeah, yeah. It is pretty gross."

She just takes a sip of her own drink, nodding up at the big house ahead of them now. "There's Aggie's."

Simon almost retorts with an 'I know' , before he realizes it was meant for Shepard. The man hums appreciatively, "Finally, I don't think I'll ever get used to the lack of cars in this town."

"Me neither." Penny and Simon say in unison, and then both laugh at each other.

"We've always wanted to add proper roads, I just don't know how it would work with the river." Simon explains, to which Penny nods in agreement. "We'd have to demolish all of the houses already built and start from scratch."

"That's what Dev always says when I bring it up." Shepard offers.

"Dev?" Simon asks, feeling a bit dumb. Not for the first time today.

"Devlin Grimm." Shepard answers, and Simon makes an oh face.

"Baz's cousin, built the dumb tower. Right." He nods, and Penny looks up at him. 

She narrows her eyes, saying. "How do you know he's Baz's cousin?"

"His name is Grimm -Pitch, Pen." He huffs, as if Baz hadn't had to remind him of the same thing two days ago. "Honestly, I thought you were the smart one here."

"I am, I just don't keep a mental journal of fun Pitch facts." She raises a teasing brow, and Simon turns pink. He looks away so that they can't tell he is, but honestly they still probably can.

He shakes his head, hopefully losing the color in his cheeks, and looks back up to the house that they reached the front of. Shepard knocks for them, being the only one with a free hand. 

A man that Simon hadn't met before opens the door, but he looks familiar. He's attractive, he has dark hair and brown eyes. He looks a bit like Baz, but a lot less sharp around the edges. Like if you took Baz, made him pale as snow, and smudged his features. Still dashingly good looking, but a lot less-

Simon doesn't know what he's less, actually. Less Baz, he supposes. 

Shepard speaks first, smiling at him. "Dev! Good to see you, didn't know you'd be here though."

Oh.

That's why he looks like Baz.

"Didn't expect to see you either, Shep." He answers, his voice a deep rumble of a London accent. Deeper than Baz's, less sharp yet again. "Hello to you too, Penelope and-?" He turns to face Simon.

"Simon." He supplies, and the man nods.

"You're here for Baz then, I suppose? That's why Niall and I are here, anyway." He steps out of the way in, gesturing for them to come in. He calls out behind him into the foyer. "Agatha, you have guests."

"Who is it?" She yells back.

"Shep, Penelope and Sn- Simon." He stutters on Simon's name, and Simon's eyes go wide when he realizes that it must be Baz's fault. No one else calls him Snow, at least no one who he spoke to regularly. 

"Oh good, send them in here." She replies, and Dev points his finger to the door to their living room. 

"You heard her then, c'mon." He walks through the open door, and Simon can't help but notice that he walks differently than Baz too. Swift, deliberate, but less graceful. More like a bulldozer than the force of nature that is Baz Pitch.

Speaking of Baz Pitch, when Simon enters the room, he's greeted by quite the sight. Baz sits on the couch, in his normal slacks and dress shirt, with his long hair done up in a ponytail. A messy one, at that. Bits of inky hair still framed his face, which somehow makes him look even more magical.

Simon gulps, and then feels a pang of guilt that he hadn't noticed the whole other person sitting right next to Baz. He's a softer looking man; he has dirty blond wavy hair and brown eyes much like Dev's. His are more of a dark copper though, and Dev's are rich oak.

Baz's are the color of gray crystals right now, the sun shone in through the window and illuminated his Gorkhon eyes. 

Simon stands for a second as the rest take seats, the only spot left is the one next to Baz that Niall hadn't taken. He sits, placing down their coffees and bag. 

"Sorry, didn't know you two would be here. Would've got you something." He mumbles, before straightening up and giving a proper wave. "Anyway, I'm Simon. It's nice to meet you, you're Niall Kelly, right?"

"That I am." He says, in a distinctly Irish accent. He has a huge smile on his face, he looks friendly with his double dimples. Simon only has one of those. "You're the Mage's son, yeah?"

He nods, still never going to get used to that term. "Yeah, I am. I've heard a lot about your architecture, I like The Broken Heart."

"He thinks the Polyhedron looks like shit, is what Snow means." Baz supplies, and Simon winces. "Don't worry, I've told them so myself."

"Yeah, yeah." Niall laughs, not unkindly though. "It was an experimental piece, that one. We let the kids play in it now, but the Staintons seem to think it has some greater importance."

"The Staintons are wank offs." Simon hums, causing the whole room to laugh together. 

"Ay, right about that." Niall raises a mug in toast, which reminds Simon of the drinks. 

He grabs Baz's, which he labeled 'Basil' . He pushes the cup into the man's hand, before opening up the bag and pulling out the huge to-go box of scones. He opens it up, glad that he bought extra now. "Go on, then, they're for everyone." He hums, and everyone reaches out to take one or two for themselves.

Simon waits until everyone’s taken what they want, there are three left over, and Baz hasn't grabbed even one. Simon grabs the box, pulling it closer. He takes one out and puts it on Baz's thigh, to which the man lets out a resigned sigh. "They're sour cherry." Simon hums quietly, trying to keep this just between them. He can see Agatha lean in a bit from her chair though, and chooses to ignore her.

Baz gives him a long and incredulous look, before finally picking up the scone from his pant leg and taking a small bite of it. He takes a sip of his coffee as well, and snaps to look at Simon with a raised brow. 

"You added pumpkin." He states, but it sounds almost like a question.

"Yeah, it's your creation, innit?" Simon smiles sheepishly, taking a bite of his own scone. He tunes out Agatha and Penny's conversation as he eats in peaceful silence next to Baz, he finishes his scone much quicker but waits for Baz to finish to break the last one in half. He offers Baz one piece, to which he's thanked by a shy smile and the man's long fingers brushing his own when he takes his half. They don’t say anything to each other, but they don’t have to right now. It’s like the first time they met each other properly , when Simon had offered him scones and they spoke on that walk. He watches Baz eat his half, and mumbles under his breath something that’s been on his mind for days now. “Why do you eat so slow?” 

Baz gives him a sideways glance, but doesn’t seem mad at the question. “I hate eating around people.”

“Why?”

“Makes me feel gross.” He says so quietly that Simon’s sure that only he could hear. He meets Baz’s eyes, the two had both finished by now and he wants to say something .

He opens his mouth, but a girl from across the room clears her throat. 

Penny has turned her attention to Baz now that she sees he isn’t eating. Simon has to hold back his sigh, instead biting his bottom lip.

"Pitch." She says to get his attention, and he looks up from his coffee. 

"Bunce." He seems to slip back into his normal self quickly.

"I have some things I have to show you, regarding the virus. Agatha says that she's briefed you on the mistresses, right?"

"Naturally." He replies cooly, hand reaching out to smooth his shirt. "I have to say, I'm still rather skeptical about it all, but there's always been reports of magicians popping up around the world. I suppose."

Penelope lights a fire in her hand, right there in the middle of the living room. It wipes the smug indifference off of Baz's face, who yelps in surprise. He quickly regains his composure though, nodding. "I see."

"So you do." She chuckles, putting it out. "I have, well, I have healing powers, as well." Her demeanor changes at that, and Simon's mouth goes dry.

He cuts in, scooting forward in his seat. " Penelope ." He starts, tone warning. "That can't have been what you were testing-"

"Simon, it was just samples. And I- I have to try-" She protests. 

Simon shakes his head.

"It kills what you're healing half the time!" He points out, raising his voice a bit.

"I wasn't going to use it on people-" She argues, mouth twisted into an angry frown at him now.

"You shouldn't use it on a plague at all." He growls, to which Baz's hand shoots out and grabs his forearm. Simon spins around to face him, eyes wide.  

Baz had his eyebrows furrowed, a grimace on his face. "What do you mean by plague, Snow?"

"I found out what the disease is, this morning. From Ebb." He watches Baz's face twist in confusion and quickly adds. "The lady from the funeral."

"This is huge-" Baz starts, before cutting himself off. He seems to be studying Simon's face intently, looking for some answer to a question he hasn't asked Simon yet.

He has to be the same shade of his hair by now, Simon reckons. He speaks before anyone else can, and before Baz can embarrass him anymore. "The Sand Plague, is what she said he named it. She told me that they covered it up a few years back, only the Kin would have known about it."

Baz's eyes light up at that, and he tightens his grip on Simon's arm. "I remember seeing that name." He speaks in a way that tells Simon he's holding back right now.

"In my dad's journal?" He asks, very acutely aware that everyone is currently watching this.

"Yeah, yeah-" He nods quickly, putting his coffee down and standing. He doesn't release Simon's arm, he just tugs on it. "I have to show you this, come on."

"What? Baz- She said they never found a cure for it. Baz-" He huffs out as Baz tugs on him harder. "Baz, hold on, listen to me-"

" Snow ." He says dangerously, turning back to look at him. "Come on, I have to show you this."

Penelope stands up, and Baz hisses out. " Just Snow."

She sits back down, but glares daggers into him. 

Simon has to be beet red right about now, painfully aware of the scene they were causing in Agatha’s living room. He finally stands up, following Baz out of the room and up the stairs. They weren't slow this time, Baz is nearly running and Simon is trying his best to keep up with the man as they ascend the staircase. He finally lets go of Simon's arm at the top of it, to his relief (and dismay, really he had quite complicated feelings on this matter).

Baz opens the door to his room, and Simon follows him in. He starts digging through a pile of books, to which Simon just stands behind him with his hands in his pockets. About three minutes, or seventy years in Simon time, pass before Baz produces one of the late Menkhu's journals. He flips through it for a bit, finding the page before reading out. " Sand Plague, cure unknown -"

Simon interrupts, "As I was trying to tell you-"

"Shut it, Snow." He hisses, but there's no venom to it. Simon shuts his mouth, and Baz looks back to the book. " Termitary bulls are immune to the virus, while other animals aren't. No black spots in their blood ."

Simon gapes, looking between the book in his hands and Baz's face for a moment before he nods, slowly. "Okay, okay- I see what you mean, Baz."

"We need that bull blood." Baz states.

"I own a bull." Simon offers, to which Baz raises an eyebrow.

"Why- You know what, I'm not going to ask." He shakes his head, shutting the book with a thud . "Either way, it specifies Termitary bulls. We need one of those. That's the big lump shaped building in the east, right?"

"Right." Simon nods, reaching into his pocket and producing his jars of Twyre. He sets them on the table, sighing to himself. "So, what you're saying is that we need blood from the Termitary?"

"Precisely." He hums, taking a look at the jars half heartedly before turning to face Simon again. "Can you get us in?"

"First of all, there's no way they'd let you in. They're locked up right now, Ebb says, so they might not even let me in." 

Baz's mouth twists downwards, and he looks towards the floor. "We have to get in."

"I know that ." Simon scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I'll figure it out. For now-"

"For now." Baz interrupts, looking back up. "We have to focus on the living, they've opened up a hospital that we should go visit later, since we have a name for it now."

Simon sighs in relief, nodding. "I thought you'd never say so, god."

He nods, before letting out a sigh. "That's later, though. I think we'd better join the Scooby gang downstairs, lest Bunce bursts in and demands to show me her voodoo again."

Simon lets out a laugh at that, looking Baz in the eye finally. "It's not voodoo, but I do agree- I don't want her trying her healing magic on it anymore, it's unpredictable."

"She doesn't seem to agree with you." He points out, completely unhelpfully in Simon’s opinion.

"Well." He crosses his arms, as if he's already in an argument with her. "She's not a doctor, is she?"

Baz raises an eyebrow, laughing in surprise at that. "Well put, Snow- If not shocking."

"How's it shocking?" 

He shrugs, and Simon thinks he might just actually go insane at how casual Baz can be around him. He seems to do it just to get under Simon’s skin. "It just seems like you tend to agree with her."

"She tends to be right, I'm not a pushover." He counters, and Baz lifts his other eyebrow at this. 

"I'll believe it when I see it, Snow." He says with a sneer.

Simon groans, turning towards the door. "Whatever, Baz. I'm gonna go plan with the rest of them, you should join when you decide to stop being a twat."

"I can join while being a twat, you know." Baz says, and Simon can hear his footsteps behind him.

"Nope, I'm barring you from joining if you're gonna be a twat. Niall and Shepard don't deserve it." He stops himself from looking back at Baz, Simon wants to add to the effect. He hears the man let out a puff of air behind him, and smiles to himself.

“Niall, huh?” Baz changes topics, almost gracefully. Almost.

“Yeah, Niall. He’s far too nice to be your best friend; he lets kids play in his massive art piece, for fuck’s sake.” He teases, looking back now at Baz. The man has a small frown on his lips, and Simon almost rushes to apologize.

He doesn't, though. Baz teases him with no remorse, though, he mentally notes that he much rather likes when Baz smiles at him. He waits for Baz to speak first, and when he does he says. "I suppose we're even, since Bunce is far too intelligent for you."

Simon laughs at that, a chesty thing that comes out louder than he expected. "I suppose we match, then."

Simon looks away when Baz narrows his eyes at him, but a second later the man hums. "I suppose we do."

He smiles to himself, shoving his hand in his pocket again to mess with the handkerchief. It’s become a weird form of comfort, especially after what Ebb said earlier. Baz is behind him right now, pouting like a kid (probably, Simon couldn’t bring himself to look). Baz is safe, and Simon can keep him safe.  

Penelope always thought that he had a savior complex, as she called it. She’d tell him that he doesn’t have to nurse back to health every bird with a broken wing he sees on the sidewalk, that he might be a healer but that doesn’t mean he has to save everyone. She’s right, of course, it’s a terrible way to live. 

Living the life of a savior is the same as not living at all, Penelope always would tell him when she’d get too worried. 

She’ll say the same thing now if he tells her about Baz and fate. He knows she will, she’ll say to focus on what he has to do and not who he has to save. And she’d be right again.

But-

Simon sneaks a glance at Baz, who was making his way down the stairs behind him. He isn’t pouting, he doesn’t look prickly at all . He looks almost bashful, actually. He’s looking at the ground, the smallest of an upturn to his lips. He doesn’t even notice Simon looking at him, which makes Simon’s heart swell a bit.

The life of a savior might not be living, but neither will be a life in which he willingly let this man go.

Let him die , he reminds himself what was on the table.

He knows that everyone and everything is in danger with his plague — and just maybe he should think about that a bit more — but he just can’t focus on it as much. He’ll work himself to the bone before he gives up on his cure, and everyone who knows him knows that. They can work together, as bleak as the world may seem right now. But then again, he knows that he might just think like this because he wasn’t dreaming about anyone else in the fire, now was he? Pen had a guest appearance in the first dream, but since then has all but disappeared from his dreams all together. It's just Baz now, either in the fire or in dreams he can't remember a second of; only the color.

Gorkhon gray.

He looks away from Baz's face before he can notice him staring, sure he'd make some sort of snappy comment. He'd probably go a bit pink, though, as he had when he realized Simon heard him sing. Maybe that would be worth it.

He's still debating the costs and benefits of riling Baz up on purpose when they reach the bottom of the stairs. Simon shrugs towards the doorway to the living room, and he lets Baz make his entrance first. The two reclaim their spots on the couch, and Simon waves off their stares as casually as he could. God, the two just make scenes everywhere they go.

"Alright, so- I figure you all aren't here just to shoot the shit, yeah?" He says, and the group nods. "Right then, we need to think of a plan. Baz and I might be the only professionals, but we can't do this alone."

"He's right." Dev chimes in, looking from Baz's face to Simon before continuing. "Niall and I- Well, we have shared ownership of a few buildings around here. We could use one as a temporary lab."

Simon nods immediately. 

"Oh thank god, he's been using his bedroom -" He ignores Baz's glare. "We definitely can't use The Broken Heart, the Twyre in dad's home incubated the plague."

"There's an empty home on the west side I use for storage, I'll clear that out for you two." Niall suggests, and Simon nods again.

" Great, thank you." He hums, looking up at Baz now. "That's near the theatre too." 

"It's good, yeah, so we can have quick access to the hospital." Baz nods, glare having left his face by now. He looks contemplative, the way he gets when he's making a mental map of what to do in his head. Despite only having known him for a few days, he's impressed by how quickly he's been picking up on the man's moods.

Maybe it's a side effect of having to save a hillbilly town from extinction with only one other person; you skip the casual acquaintances part and pick up on their quirks immediately. 

Simon nods again, enthusiastically. "The west district is closer too, even the farthest edge of the west is just an hour's walk from here."

"Perfect." Baz agrees, before looking over to Shepard, seemingly changing modes. "I assume The Broken Heart isn't open, correct?"

"Yeah, we agreed we can't run it during all this." Shepard answers honestly.

"Good, it'd be moronic to try." Baz says, quickly carrying on before anyone could scold his brashness. "Before you closed down, did you see any more butchers?"

"None, which is worrying considering that they're our main batch of clients." 

Simon looks from Baz to Shepard, realizing what Baz is getting at. He interrupts the conversation before anyone can speak again. "Baz, he won't know anything."

"And how do you know that? If they like him, surely-" Baz starts to make his case, but Simon holds a hand up to cut him off.

"The butchers hate the townsmen more than any other group in the Kin, Baz. Pen got in once with me, she accidentally called them by the wrong name. It wasn't offensive, just meant kid, but she got physically thrown out." He explains, shaking his head. "I refuse to let anyone in this room even attempt to go, alright?"

Baz looks indignantly down at the ground, and Simon shoves his side slightly to get him to look up. "Especially you, emshen ."

He huffs, looking away even further. Though, he does concede. "Fine." 

Behind him, Niall covers his mouth trying to stifle a chuckle. Both of the men's heads turn to face Niall now, who looks a bit alarmed. He just shrugs though, lowering his hand and revealing his small smile. "I've never seen anyone talk Baz out of his bad ideas before, is all."

"I don't have bad ideas, Niall." He snaps, but his ears are light red now. "And besides, Simon's the only one here who knows about the Kin. Why wouldn't I listen to him? It'd be like you deciding you know more about a heart transplant than me." 

"I suppose so, it's just a bit jarring." He doesn't stop smiling, looking over to give Dev a knowing glance. Dev returns it, and Baz looks more than a bit murderous. 

Simon chuckles, and this time Baz's head whips around to give him a killer glare. Simon bumps their shoulders together, saying. "They're just taking the piss, Baz."

"Snow, these are my friends- They’re-" He starts, but actually stutters when Simon stands up and reaches a hand out. All he can manage to get out is, "Evil." 

"Yeah, yeah. Ags, can I use the kitchen? I have a feeling Baz and I won't be able to eat after the hospital." He asks, not looking away from Baz — who actually did take his hand to help him up, but quickly releases it once he's up — and Agatha just hums for a second.

"Yeah, sure." She decides. "Make enough for us all, will you?"

"'Course." 

Baz clears his throat, "And why do I have to help?"

"I like your coffee." Simon shrugs before adding. "And your music, go grab that."

Baz rolls his eyes, not speaking or moving at first. A beat passes, and then another. And then-

"Fine." He drawls, swiftly leaving the room and heading back toward his own bedroom. Simon smiles to himself, before waving at the group.

"We'll just bring out the plates when the food's ready." He hums, and the group seems to give him a collection 'okay' before they go back to their respective conversations. Simon leaves the room, meeting Baz back in the kitchen.

Baz somehow beat him to the kitchen. He must have really sped up the stairs. Seventeen Seconds is playing, and Simon smiles even wider. He must've brought down the favorite songs tape.

Baz is leaning against the counter in the kitchen, seemingly waiting for him. Simon takes off his green jacket now, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs. "Oh, now you acknowledge polite behavior?" Baz gives him a teasing smirk.

"What can I say? My heart's ruled by food." He shoots back, not missing a beat. 

"Tell me something I don't know, Snow." Baz says in a sing-song tone as he turns around to measure out his coffee grounds.

"Something you don't know? That's harder than you'd think." He huffs out his laughter as he opens Agatha's fridge. "Hmm… did you know that there's no such thing as a female worm around here? We don't know how they reproduce."

"That's disturbing." Baz gives him a disgusted look, and Simon chuckles loudly at it. "You could've chosen a more pleasant fact."

"First thing that came to mind." He shrugs, pulling out a nice-looking cut of beef. "You like mashed potatoes?"

"Don't see why it matters." He drawls, though when he sees Simon's thoroughly unamused face, he sighs out. "Yes, fine, I do."

"Good boy." Simon teases, for that he receives a death glare. He just smiles just a bit wider at him. The song changes just as Simon's pulling out a chopping block, and his head perks up. "Oh, I love this song!"

Baz looks over to the walkman, letting out a hum of approval. He says nothing as Simon mumbles along to the lyrics, seemingly not wanting to interrupt. Simon starts to get a bit louder as he expertly cuts the meat up, starting to actually properly sing. By the bridge of the song, he's fully into it. 

" When I'm a walking, I strut my stuff and I'm so strung out. I'm high as a kite, and I just might stop to check you out." He whisper-sings out, shooting a glance to see Baz looking a bit scandalized. He rolls his eyes, singing the chorus one last time before saying. "It's as if I didn't hear your kitchen rendition of There is a Light That Never Goes Out just yesterday."

"That's different." He protests, crossing his arms as he watches the coffee machine whirl to life.

"How so?" Simon laughs as the song changes over to Talking in Your Sleep .

"I didn't know you were watching, for one."

Simon scoffs as he bends down to pull out a pan. "You knew Ags was. I will say, you have a better voice for it than I do."

"Do I now?" Baz sounds a bit taken aback, and when Simon stands up, the man's gotten to work peeling potatoes. He's rolled his sleeves up, Simon notes mentally. "You're decent, if not shameless."

"You can't have shame when singing Blister in the Sun ." He counters, and Baz shakes his head.

"That's why I pointed out that you knew I was watching." He sighs, but an amused smile graces his face. 

"I don't care much, though." He shrugs, which pulls a laugh from Baz.

"I can tell."

The song shifts again as Simon puts on a pot of water to boil for the potatoes. The first few notes play, and Simon hums along. " Take me out tonight - It's your song, Baz!"

"It's not my song ." Baz huffs.

He chuckles as he butters the frying pan. "It's your song."

"I don't own it."

"You might as well." Simon teases, but shuts up as the chorus starts. 

Baz had started singing along, his voice more restrained than yesterday, but he was still singing . He looks like he's in his element again, much like yesterday. Simon watches his long, elegant fingers peel the skins from potatoes. His musician's fingers are slightly flushed right now, a bit red at the knuckles from the work. Simon can't help but watch intently as the owner of those beautiful hands sings about dying young. 

It feels poetic, but he's far too stupefied to think of anything clever. He returns his gaze to the pan, tossing the meat in, but he joins in quietly on the second chorus. " To die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine ."

The two of them fall into an easy routine as the end of the song plays, and they do their respective tasks. The song switches over, and Simon hums out. "Definitely your song."

"Is my death wish really that obvious?" Baz says in a playful tone, much like he had earlier, but Simon doesn't jab back. 

He gives Baz a long, meaningful look before shaking his head. He'd considered telling Baz off for joking like that, but he knows it won't go anywhere. If Baz wasn't going to value his life, Simon just had to value it double. 

"It's a beautiful song." He settles on, and Simon doesn't have to look back to know that Baz is looking at him with wide eyes. He does, though, and is glad he did. Baz is looking at him as if he's just seen the most interesting thing in the world, his gray eyes wide and lips parted slightly as he stares at him incredulously. He doesn't reply, though, just strides over to take the discarded chopping block from Simon's side of the kitchen. Simon watches him scrub it clean with more force than strictly necessary out of the corner of his eye. Baz finishes cutting the potatoes up, shoving them into the pot before putting the lid on. 

He looks back to Simon now, who's cooking their meat on low. "What kind of music do you like, then?"

He shrugs, and feels like he must look like a twat shrugging so much. "Whatever I can find, I like...I dunno, stuff with nice tunes. Doesn't have to be upbeat, I just like it to be faster paced I guess."

"So no Gregorian chants after all?" He says sarcastically, and Simon knows he's pulling his leg on this one.

"Maybe if you fill me with enough Twyrine." He shoots back, just as sarcastically.

"Can't have you getting hungover mid epidemic, can I?" Baz sneers, but he adds a second later. "Perhaps afterwards I'll see if Love would play some chanting at the bar."

"God, those poor herb brides. Tormented by Gregorian chanting just to torture me." He says dramatically, but his chest soars a bit at the idea of seeing Baz after this is all done.

"A small price to pay, really."

"God." He shoots Baz a glare that dies as soon as he sees the look on Baz's face. He looks so natural like this, hunched over the coffee machine, face relaxed. He looks calm. He averts his eyes quickly, of course, he has food to cook and Ags would kill him if he burnt her meat because he was ogling a city boy. He decides not to finish whatever thought he had before he looked at Baz, mainly because Baz had killed it and Simon can't remember it. 

Sometimes, looking at Baz does that. He'd be reading in silence with the man, look up to say something witty about the book he had in his hands, and it'd die on his lips. Baz's soft, neutral expression had taken his clever thought by the neck, strangled the life out of it and then buried the body where Simon's sure to never to find it. His face is all hard edges, perfectly sculpted lines and pouty lips; but when he's not paying careful attention to how, he becomes less of the subject of a statue and more of an oil painting. 

He can see it now, Baz is the type of man that artists would paint time and time again but never stop because they're never able to capture the way the light bounces off his golden skin. He's the type of man that had sonnets written for him, the type of man that Simon can easily see being some aching heart's muse. 

God, he's the type of man that Simon could see going to war for. He'd probably do it, too. Not to gain his affections or any of that cheesy straight bullshit, he just wants to keep Baz safe. Muses are fleeting, and the people in those old paintings are all tragedies in their own right. He chews on his lip as he quietly finishes the meat, pouring the drippings into a saucepan for their potatoes. He decides he shouldn't go down this route.

The rest of their time in the kitchen is draped in comfort, Baz's music drifting lazily through the air as the men take turns mashing the potatoes. They don't speak much more, too focused on their respective tasks now, but it's just as nice. 

There's no war he needs to fight, not right now, at least. Just potatoes to be mashed and gravy to be stirred. Coffee to be poured for Baz. They plate seven plates together. Simon balances three on his arms and Baz picks up two. As they carry them out, Simon remembers what Baz had said earlier. He feels gross eating around others, and he gets an idea. They place everyone's food in their respective hands carefully, before going back to get theirs. Baz picks up his plate, and Simon grabs his sleeve before he can walk away. He raises a raven eyebrow at Simon, who just gestures to the counter. "Eat with me?"

Baz's face twists into something that resembles confusion, but nods. Simon sits up on the kitchen counter, forgoing chairs and manners. He sets his plate in his lap, patting the spot next to him. 

Surprisingly, Baz actually does the same. He expected some snarky comment on his manners, but he didn't say a word. Simon smiles to himself, stabbing a fork into his potatoes. "It's less stuffy here."

Baz quietly hums in agreement, taking a tentative bite of his food. His face lights up, looking down at it again. He takes another bite, and Simon's never been more glad for Agatha and Penny banding together to teach him to cook than he is right now. 

“Thanks, for uh… this.” Baz says so quietly that Simon’s surprised he actually heard it. He just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them you talked my head off about medical theories.” He says, a teasing edge to his voice to keep the tone light.

Baz shoves his arm, laughing under his breath. He takes another bite of his food, mumbling out. “You’re impossible, even when you’re being kind.”

“You say that as if you aren’t the most impossible man in the world.” Simon scoffs, shoving him back gently. “Even when you aren’t being impossible, you’re being impossible.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” He huffs behind his mug of coffee.

Simon gives him a smirk of his own for once, he says, “Just being impossible, you know how it is.”

He receives a jab in his rib cage for that, to which he exhales a shaking chuckle. He shoves Baz again, spilling a bit of his own coffee onto his pant leg. He looks down at the spot, hot liquid seeping into his skin, and just keeps laughing. Baz joins in this time, laughing along with Simon as he reaches out for a dish towel, placing it onto the spot. He presses carefully into the spot, looking up at Simon through their shared small bursts of laughing. “You’re such a klutz, you absolute nightmare.”

“It comes with the territory.” He hums out and gets a dish towel in the face. He yelps in surprise, huffing out. “You’re so abusive, honestly.”

“You’ve yet to see the extent of my abuse.” He warns, making Simon laugh again.

“Can’t wait.” He hums, taking another bite of his potatoes. Baz shoots him an alarmed look, and Simon goes beet red at what he just implied. He doesn’t take it back though, just scooping up another spoonful of food.

Baz shakes his head, turning back to his own food. “You're not right in the head."

"Neither are you!" He retorts.

"No, you're a special type of fucked in the head to willingly spend extra time with me." Baz says, growing quiet again. The way he does when he's being honest. Simon bumps his shoulder into his arm again, trying to get him to look up.

Baz does, and their eyes meet. "The left and right hand, remember?" He lowers his own voice, only wanting Baz to hear this. 

He'd been meaning to tell the man that he feels the same way about being connected anyway. He just hadn't known how to word it. Baz nods, and Simon gives him his smallest, most genuine smile. "It's the same for me."

Baz nods again, much slower this time. He can see Baz chewing the inside of his cheek, and resists the urge to reach out to stop it. They're so close now. 

So, so close.

Simon just nods back, and Baz averts his eyes now. He looks back at his food, taking a big bite now. He makes a complete show of it, too, holding the spoon up to his lips for far longer than he needs to. After swallowing his potatoes, Baz speaks finally. "Rather tragic for you, then."

"You're the one stuck in a town full of worms that you don't even like ." He hums, finishing his food and pulling himself off of the counter. Simon gulps down the last of his coffee too, looking up at Baz now. "At least you make good coffee."

Baz holds up his hand to his mouth, looking away from Simon and chuckles quietly. He looks so soft right now; he hadn't slicked his hair back today, so the raven strands framed his face wildly. The sun shone in through the window behind him, creating a halo of light around him. He looks like an angel, an actual angel. Dangerous and dark, but like he belonged in the light more than any other creature on Earth. 

Simon's about half a foot away from him now, not as close as he'd been on the counter, but his view compensates for it. He smiles back at the man, this one more of a toothy grin then the small one he flashed earlier. "There you are." He hums happily as the song changes over, and More Than This starts playing. 

It feels so fitting right now.

Baz huffs, finishing his own plate. “You cook well, so I suppose we’re even.”

“Exactly, if this whole doctor business falls through, we can open a diner.” He jokes, and Baz rolls his eyes as he hands Simon his now empty plate.

Despite his annoyance, Baz actually plays along. “I don’t think I have the diner life in me, honestly. Could it be a cafe?” 

Simon stacks the plates in the sink, letting out a contemplative noise, pretending to think for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose I’ll make Shep teach me to bake.”

“Sour cherry scones?” He prompts.

Simon scoffs out, “Well, of course.” 

He can hear Baz get down with a thud, so he shuts off the water to let them soak. He spins around to face the man, saying. “I suppose it’s about time we head for the theatre, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Baz replies, a soft sigh leaving him. 

“Yeah.” Simon mimics him, sounding a bit resigned. They can pretend life’s normal all they want, and it’ll feel that way for forty-five minutes in the kitchen, but it’s not. 

There’s a plague going on. People are dying, and they’re the only two who can do anything about it. 

Selfishly, and not for the first time, he wishes he could just run. That he could load up a train full of the people in this house, and that some other big city doctor would come fill their spots and save the town for them.

They can’t send letters, though, and the town’s quarantined.

He still wishes it was an option though, at least.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, nodding to the door and the two call out to let the group know that they're leaving. Agatha calls them anti-social, to which Simon laughs and replies that they're just busy flippantly. 

They walk in a heavy silence, the autumn sun low in the sky now. Simon supposes that neither of them knew what to say, knowing that where they were going would be filled with dozens of people, just like that poor girl.

The girl they couldn't save.

It settles in Simon's stomach like a pile of fucking rocks, and he can't imagine that it's much different for Baz.

Baz, whose life goal is to defeat death. To save everyone from the same fate his mom met; a pointless death that was entirely preventable. Baz, who appears cold on the surface but who can't resist singing along to music he likes. Baz, who tries harder to seem emotionless than he really is.

Baz, who's looking up at the pink clouds right now, lost in thought. If there's one thing he's learned about the man so far, it's that he shouldn't let him get too far deep in his own head. He nudges Baz gently, who jumps a bit before looking down at him. Simon gives him a small smile, the same one he gave Baz on the counter earlier. "We'll figure this out, you know."

"I don't think I'll ever be as sure about anything as you are, Snow." He replies, the teasing edge to his voice undercut by the hiccup in his voice. 

Simon sighs out honestly, "I'm not sure about anything." 

"You don't seem it." Baz says dubiously, which makes Simon roll his eyes as hard as he can. 

"Because," He starts, his own voice trembling a bit. "I'm not sure about anything, about the plague or my own abilities or… well, anything at all. But- There’s people I have to protect, I can’t just let the Kin die out, yeah? And I- I have Ags, and Pen, and-” 

He stops, looking Baz in the eyes properly now. “And you.”

“Me?” He asks disbelievingly. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Snow.”

“No,” Simon laughs quietly, not breaking eye contact. “But we’re doctors, yeah? Our entire lives are based on just… prolonging the inevitable. That’s what my dad used to say, at least, that being a doctor was just putting off someone’s death more and more. I don’t- I’ve never agreed with that. With him.”

“How so?” Baz asks, getting that curious glint in his eyes that he always got when Simon spoke about himself. “Because to me, he seems right. I’m just procrastinating on my own death, and pushing others off to a later date.”

“I think..” He sighs, stopping in his tracks now. The phrase ‘procrastinating on my own death’ rang in his ears. He puts more inflection in his words now, “I think we save people, that we protect them from what could be a premature death. When I see you all — my friends — I know that I’m right. I don’t want to put off their deaths, Baz. I want to lengthen their lives .”

“Isn’t that just a glass half full situation, though?” He responds, though he doesn’t sound goading at all. Simon huffs nonetheless.

“That isn’t the point!”

Baz turns to face him fully now, arms crossed. “Then what is your point?”

“That I-” He stops, suddenly feeling warm in the face. He has to break eye contact, and Baz makes an impatient noise.

“Use your words, Snow.” He pokes, and Simon can feel the same electricity on his fingertips now.

He forces himself to look back up, and he must look wild because Baz actually winces. He steels himself for what he’s about to say, and Baz seems to recognize it because he doesn’t push him any further. 

“I don't care if I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, because all I know right now is that-” He pauses, taking a deep breath.  “That I want you to live , Baz. You’re so hell-bent on self destruction. I don’t want you to just be putting off the inevitable, that’s so fucking grim and terrible.”

Simon raises up a hand, gripping his shoulder now. “ I want you to live. ” He says again, as if saying it pleadingly will push the electricity in his fingertips into Baz. As if he could push his own life into the man. He’d do it too, if he could.

Baz doesn’t say a word though, and Simon drops his arm. He looks away from the man now, and begins his pace again. Baz doesn’t move, but quietly behind him he hears the man say.

“I suppose... that I could try.”

Chapter Text

Day V.

The theatre is a miserable, terrible place, and Simon had that well learned yesterday. Whatever atmosphere he and Baz had built up was thoroughly fucking destroyed. The place was drenched in illness, in hopelessness. 

Simon's been to the theatre before, he used to tag along with Agatha to watch late night plays, the free ones that art students put on for practice. The two of them would smuggle in a bottle of Twyre, and pass it back and forth while they'd watch the shitty acting. Even in his half drunken stupor, though, the theatre was a foreboding place. There were statues on both sides, one of a character in a bird mask with hollowed out eyes, and the other a long and spindly thing with a white mask. The lights were even more dimmed now, — the plague made the patients sensitive to light — and it gave the place a sinister feeling from the get-go. 

This was nothing compared to the stench of the place, the plague had such a disgustingly specific smell to it and it absolutely overwhelmed the place. It smelled like rotting , like the people laying in their makeshift cots were rotting from the inside out, but Simon supposes that's not surprising.

They were.

That was the worst part of it, that everyone in that room was rotting from the inside out, their blood was black and murky. And all the pair had was herbs and well wishes. 

Baz had tried giving one woman doxycycline, Simon had watched him carefully administer it into her. 

Simon watched as he found her artery expertly, disinfecting it quickly with one hand and a needle in the other. He watched Baz hold her skin taut, watched him carefully inject the liquid into her body. He watched as the woman spasmed, and ran over to take the needle from Baz. She had her frail fingers clutched onto his masked face, forcing him to look at her. She tried to speak, tried to say anything, but her head kept jerking as Baz frantically tried to find something to calm her body down. Simon was trying to find a drug to sedate her too, but when she finally produced a word he snapped around to look at her. She wouldn't let Baz's face go.

"She's… dying." The woman had coughed out, blood and foam coming out. Her body finally slumped back with a thud, hands falling limply from Baz's face.

Baz watched her for a whole ten seconds, eyes a storm of emotion. 

Simon had to drag the man out after that.

The two walked in silence back to Agatha's, neither of them able to properly articulate the absolute horror that had settled into their bones. 

Simon used Agatha's shower and left. He didn't even say goodbye to the living room, which still held Dev and Niall even three hours later.

He didn't have any words that he could say.

The trip back to his place was miserable, he kept replaying the last scene over and over. Him, frantically looking for something to save her. Baz, doing the same but not having no range because his head was in her vice grip. Her last words. Baz's eyes.

Baz's eyes .

That’s all he saw in his dreams. He woke up probably over twenty times that night, and each time he drifted back off into sleep all he could see was Baz’s storm gray eyes twisted up in emotion. He’d try to reach for Baz, and each time he touched the man’s face he’d accidentally light a fire. Each dream had a different variation on this, the first time he jumped back and stood in horror as Baz burned. He usually tried to put it out, or he’d try to pull Baz away, but by the last dream he didn’t move. He cupped Baz’s face, stared him in the eyes and let them burn.

Baz never said a thing, he didn’t even scream. He just… stood there, with that same pained expression that he had at the theatre. No matter what dream Simon did, Baz just stood there. He just burned. And Simon burned with him.

He’d gladly burn if it’d take that expression off of Baz’s face. He reckons that he wouldn’t even feel it as his flesh melted, as his bones turned to ash and his lungs filled with smoke.

God, he will burn if he doesn’t get his lazy ass up. 

Everyone will.

So he stands up, though his bones ache and his stomach is in knots. He can’t tell if it’s from hunger — he had retched up last night's potatoes — or anxiety, though he reckons it might just be both. He shakily grabs his jacket, shoving his pockets full of everything he might need. 

A scalpel, carefully put in a leather case for easy carrying. His wallet. A few small bottles of Twyre extract. A surgeon's mask. Baz’s handkerchief. A bottle of morphine that he found stashed in his dad’s cabinets. That’s all he really needs for the day, but it’s also all that he owns currently. He doesn’t own the handkerchief, it’s Baz’s. He thinks, at least. Simon doesn’t know. Maybe it’s his now, it’s been in his possession for over forty-eight hours. It still smells like Baz, though, so maybe it is his. 

He smells like Baz, though. Like bergamot and cedar. Like cigarettes and mocha. Like fresh water and moonlight. (Simon doesn’t know what moonlight smells like, but it has to be what Baz smells like. Maybe the moon smells like him .)

Simon shakes his head and pushes his way out of his front door, but finds himself thoroughly ill equipped for what was on his front doorstep. A small girl, black crazy hair and mud on her face; Murky, he remembers her well. She stood there, looking indignantly at the ground. She doesn’t look up at him, but she does acknowledge his presence. “Snow.”

“Murky.” He nods, running a hand through his hair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ms. Ebeneza told me to tell you that I’m to stay here during the day.” She says, a childish pout threatening to break her face. “She says that my current home isn’t safe. But I won’t sleep here!”

“If your home isn’t safe, you can sleep here.” He starts, kneeling down so that they’re eye level. “You can have my bed.”

“No.” She says, looking up at him now. “I hate you.” 

He sighs, but just nods again. “I know, I-” 

He doesn’t get to finish his thought, as the little girl had taken it upon herself to push past him and through the big doors. She doesn’t go into the lower level of the backroom, staying up at the top of the stairwell on a stack of hay. Her shoeless feet dangle off the stack, and she looks back to him. “Leave.” 

Simon’s words die in his mouth, and he closes the door quickly.

He spins around, facing back towards the Steppe now. He doesn’t get Ebb’s play here, they both know that Simon’s factory room wasn’t a great place for a kid. It barely has plumbing , only having a toilet and a sink to wash your hands before preparing ingredients. There’s no truly comfortable place, a small dining table, two wooden chairs and the terrible bed are all the furniture the place has. The rest is all medical cabinets and terrible homemade machines that his father had built.

The place fucking reeked of David Snow, everything about it is unequivalently his. 

It just doesn’t seem suited for a girl of her age, for a girl who hates the Snows and thinks that they’re hacks.

Apparently Ebb has some sort of plan though, and he lets himself get only that far with the wondering before he has to rein his mind back in. He doesn’t have the time today to make the trek up to the north district, and he’s quickly approaching the spot where a worm always sets up shop. He digs into his wallet, feeling around for a fingernail. Simon winces when he realizes that he only has four of these things left.

He’ll have to bargain with a worm later to try to get more.

He pays the worm though wordlessly, stepping into the boat and telling him to drop him off behind Agatha’s house. 

He has a plan. 

He’ll go to Agatha’s, find Baz, and hold him in his arms. He’ll wrap Baz in a hug so crushing that it’ll squeeze that look from his eyes. Maybe Baz will push him away, or sock him in the face. But maybe not. 

Maybe he’ll return the hug, and then they can walk back up those spiral stairs to go plot in Baz’s bedroom.

Okay.

Maybe Simon doesn’t have a solid plan. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s gonna do about anything with the plague, he barely knows what day of the week it is — Thursday, he thinks — let alone what to do about the fucking epidemic. He can see that it’s getting worse though, the central district was starting to board up their windows. He can see people in the street right now, all of them rushing to get their shopping done before they can’t leave their houses anymore. And he doesn’t know how to save a single one of them, they’re all relying on him and he can’t.

Not until he knows that Baz isn’t burning, at least. He can’t do this without the other man, as stupid as it seems.

Baz might not be a man of mystical inclinations, but Simon sure can be when he chooses so. His dreams were telling him something , what exactly was yet to be determined. Baz is in danger, yeah, but how much more danger than the rest of the town? He can’t be more doomed than the rest of them, Simon rationalizes. Ebb says he’s in danger, and Simon believes it, but he thinks that Baz won’t leave his dreams because he’s important .

Simon knows that he needs Baz to find his cure, and Baz will need him for the vaccine. They’re so simpatico, and without Baz he wouldn’t know where to start.

He knocks on Agatha's door, running a hand through his hair again nervously. He tugs on a curl absentmindedly, and can't even muster up a smile when the door swings open. It's Agatha, and her gorgeous face is already all twisted up. She has one half of her bottom lip sucked into her mouth, her eyes are half lidded and her nose is scrunched up. 

She's anxious.

She lets out a small sigh, and it sounds disappointed. "Oh, Simon. Are you here for Baz?"

"Yeah." He says slowly, cautious of her current demeanor.

"I'm sorry but he uh-" She lets go of the door, shaking her head. "I don't know where he is."

"You lost a grown man?" He narrows his eyes, trying to sound teasing but the pit in his stomach has already become a black hole.

She lets out a small puff, crossing her arms. “I didn’t lose him. He left.”

Simon’s eyes widen, and his hand goes instinctively to the handkerchief. “Why?”

She gives him an exasperated look for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t know. He asked Dev for a lighter, drank a cup of straight black coffee in two gulps and left probably about ten minutes after you had.”

His mouth goes dry, and he struggles out a noise of having heard her. It was supposed to be a hum, but it sounds strangled and wrong.

 “I’ll go check the theatre.” He turns on his heel, facing the street now.

Agatha sighs. “Si, wait.”

“What?” He looks back at her over his shoulder, brows knitted.

“We don’t know where he is, the plague’s already spreading to the central district, you won’t find anything out about this in the damn theatre.” She explains, and lets out another much more exasperated sigh at Simon’s dumbfounded expression. “What I’m saying is that maybe taking up Niall’s offer of a lab right now is smarter than going on a Baz hunt. He’ll be back, yeah? He probably just found a lead.”

Simon spins back around now, crossed arms mimicking her own. “ Baz has been missing, in the midst of a plague outbreak, for over ten hours, Agatha! And besides, I’m shit without his advice. If he’s not at the theatre, at least I can treat some of the sick.”

“I just don’t think it’s smart.”

He scoffs, turning away again. He doesn’t look back to mumble out. “I don’t care if it is.”

And then he’s off. He walks at a fast pace at first, but as soon as he knows that Agatha cannot see him whatsoever he fucking runs .

He runs as fast as his feet can carry him. 

He’ll run until his legs buckle and then keep going. Ebb’s words bounced around in his mind as he ran, and he didn’t even try to drown them out. She said that if he could protect Baz, that he could save Baz. 

Maybe this is it then, maybe this is when Baz will be engulfed in flames and Simon’s already too late. 

I think if you stick by his side that fate will be in his favor.

He shouldn’t have left last night. He saw what happened at the theatre. 

He left, and now Baz is missing.

Baz .

He thinks about Baz’s eyes, Gorkhon at night gray. He thinks about the soft expression on Baz’s face when he told Simon that he’d try to live . He’d wanted to grab him in that moment, he really did. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eyes. Stare into those gray eyes and tell him ‘ you don’t try, you stupid wanker. I’ll teach you to live.’

But Simon doesn’t know how to live to begin with, so he couldn’t make a promise worth the shoulder grab. So he didn’t.

He should have. He doesn’t have to know how to live yet in order to keep the promise, he’s sure that Baz could teach him to live too. They could learn together, learn what it meant to be alive for the sake of it together at twenty-two. They’d find this fucking cure together, Baz would create his vaccine and they’d make sure all of Europe had a dose. They’d go back to college — back in London — and they’d study for tests together in the library. Simon would come over to Baz’s dorm for all nighters and Baz would make coffee for them, Baz would smoke inside and he’d nag at him the whole time but he wouldn’t wash his sweater for days. He’d like the reminder that they’re alive, that Baz is alive enough to be able to ruin his favorite sweater with smoke. 

Baz is alive now, Simon thinks. He has to be.

Despite Baz’s safety being at the forefront of his mind constantly, Simon had never really considered the possibility of him actually dying. His brain supplies him with the image every night, so you’d think eventually he’d think it through, but he just hasn’t. Maybe it’s because, in his mind, Baz is a force of nature. He’s a wildfire that no amount of rain can put out, he’d burned through all of Simon’s boxes already after all. Baz wouldn’t stop being Baz until he’d claimed Simon’s entire thought process without even knowing it, he thought.

But he’s a human.

He’s a stupid, soft fleshed human who can very much die and Simon, you moron what were you thinking leaving him alone last night .

Gorkhon gray fills his senses as he runs, so when he finally stops to open his eyes he has to adjust to the light. The theatre stands in front of him, less tall and less foreboding now that all he can think about is finding Baz. Or maybe it's less foreboding since nothing in there can be worse than not finding him.

He pushes the doors open, bracing himself as the stench of plague hits him. He adjusts his mask one last time before taking a step in. He weaves through the front room carefully, stepping into the main hall and spotting a figure crouched over a table in the corner. He couldn't make out the figure well, but they had obviously dark hair and Simon doesn't know any other soul on Earth who'd enter this place. He sucks in a deep breath of air.

"Baz!" He calls to him, waving his arm above his head.

The man spins around, and Simon's chest immediately deflates. And then an intense wave of confusion rolls over him. Micah Hernandez stood there, even from this far back he knew it was him. Now that he's straightened up, he can tell that he's a good 5 inches shorter than Baz and a whole lot less angular. Even in the low lighting he knew who stood across from him; Micah Cordero.

Simon walks across the hall, deciding to stop a respectable seven feet away from Micah, in case he was still murderous. Simon puffs up his chest a bit, looking over the man. “Micah.”

“Simon.” He responds, voice devoid of any emotion. 

Now that he’s up close, he feels stupid for ever mistaking Micah for Baz. Other than the shared hair color, neither of them look even a bit alike. Micah’s face is symmetrical in a handsomely boyish way and his hair stops at his jaw and falls in dark, fat curls. He’s worn the same John Lennon style of glasses since they were twelve, and has a button nose. His brown eyes look slightly larger than they actually are behind his spectacles, and his face is carefully calm right now. 

Simon crosses his arms before speaking in a low, intense voice. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know that now .” Micah snaps back, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. “Look, Simon, I don’t have time for this. I’ll deal with the patients here today, okay?”

“That’s not-” He almost says ‘that’s not what I came for’ , but that’d sound proper selfish and Simon doesn’t want to look worse. “Listen, I’ve been looking for you. I know about Gregory.”

Micah brings his hand down, dangerous glare dancing in his eyes now. “You know nothing.” He hisses out.

“I know more than you’ll ever admit.” Simon says roughly, standing his ground. “You know I don’t care about Menkhu law the way they do, but you can’t just steal a corpse.”

“I haven’t done anything of the sort.” He tilts his jaw up, eyes narrowing. “Besides, shouldn’t you attend the riots at the Polyhedron and not here, accusing me of body theft.”

“Riots? What the hell is happening at the Polyhedron?" He growls, stepping closer into Micah’s space.

Micah holds his hands up, sighing condescendingly. “Maybe you’d know if you did your job , Simon. Maybe your Baz will be there too.”

His eyes widen and he takes a step back, shaking his head. “He’s not mine , I just-”

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t care who his keeper is.” Micah sighs again, turning back to his table in annoyance. “Just leave , Simon. Go deal with whatever big adventure you have while I wade through the mud. You're good at that."

"Micah." He says warningly. "I don't care if my dad liked you more than me, you shouldn't care if I studied at uni."

"So self-righteous." He doesn't turn to face Simon, but his shoulders square. "Go. Go save the girl, or the day, or whatever big thing you have to save that Ebb prophesied. I'll care for the ill."

God. Why did he have to bring up Ebb's prophecies right now of all times? Now his mind flashes back to Baz, to his secret smile and inky strands of hair that framed his face. 

"Fuck you, Pen was right. You have changed." Simon spits out, before turning on his heel. "Call me when the Kin starts to hunt you down, maybe I'll decide to be useful. Unlike you."

Simon doesn't wait for a response, but Micah probably wasn't going to give him one anyway. He slams the front doors closed, and with that he's back on the sidewalk. He's not far from the Polyhedron now, it's just five blocks north from here. He can't see any riots, though, so they must be at the base.

He's looking for Baz right now, but he can't just ignore whatever's happening. And as much as he was a smug bastard about it, Micah might have actually had a point about Baz being there.

Baz wouldn't just leave that alone.

Though, Simon can't imagine that he wouldn't drag him along to see whatever's happening. They're a team now, and this seems important.

By the time he rounds the corner at the base of the Polyhedron, his lip is chewed almost completely raw. The scene he finds doesn't make it any better.

There's a crowd of people gathered at the base of the tower, and he can hear chanting. 

"She's dying! She's dying!" The crowd of mostly men screams, and it immediately strikes him as that woman's last words. His eyes go wide and he begins to shove through the crowd, in the middle there's a man holding a herb bride by the bun on her head. She's in the normal scrappy clothing that they wear; it's all twisted wrong from trying to wiggle out of his grasp, exposing her body as she lets out grunts of discomfort.

Simon averts his eyes, feeling like a total pervert just for having looked in the first place. He steps into the man's space, grabbing the wrist that was holding the woman. He raises his voice, partly to be heard over the crowd (who are now booing and hissing at Simon), but mostly to intimidate the man. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing to this woman?”

“Hands off, mate. She’s a plague spreader, a Shabnak-adyr .” He spits back, pushing at Simon with his free hand. 

Simon stands his ground though, trying to force the man’s hand off of her. He wouldn’t let go, though, so Simon balls his hand up in the man’s shirt and pulls him closer to him. “How would you know that?”

“I fuckin’ saw her!” He protests, letting go of his hold on the woman’s hair only to pull it up and sock Simon in the face.

Simon doesn’t even stagger, throwing a punch of his own at the man. Normally he’d just leave, it’d be easier to just take it and leave. But right now he can’t , the woman is surrounded by men who want to fucking burn her and if he doesn’t make an example of the man right now then no one will. So he throws another punch, and then another, and he keeps throwing punches until the man lets go of him and takes a step back. Simon takes a step forward, hoisting him up by his collar. “The only shit you know about spirits are from the ones you buy at the pub. Go fucking home.” He growls, before letting go.

He turns back to face the rest of the crowd, barking out at them. “The rest of you lot too, out of my sight before you end up like his sorry ass.”

None of the men stuck around after that, but they all made it seem like they had the idea. Like suddenly they remembered that they have something to do, though it only occurred to the bunch after they watched their ring-leader get a split lip. 

Simon turns to face the herb bride, who's fixed her garments (thank fucking god). She's different from the woman that Simon met back at the pub, she'd painted her face so that she looks pale as a ghost. Her hair's done up into a knotted bun, and sticks were in it seemingly on purpose. 

"You alright?" He asks, stepping a bit closer. She shakes her head, immediately reaching to grab his hand.

" Bayarlaa, " she starts, looking into his eyes. " Bayarlaa , Yargachin . Thank you."

"You're welcome," Simon says, not bothering to correct himself. " Basaghan , what was this about?"

She looks pained, shaking her head slowly. "The townsmen… they think that a Shabnak-adyr caused the sand pest. They've been finding women in the street.."

His heart just about stops; this woman isn't the only one being accused of being a Shabnak-adyr . They're just evil spirits said to wear the skin of a woman, and under those guidelines any woman who dealt with magic could be a Shabnak-adyr .

Penelope could be.

"Is there anywhere you can go?” He asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

She nods, wringing her hands together. “ Sahba Usp’tae is welcoming us to her home, I got caught on my way there.”

Simon nods quickly in relief, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll escort you, but on the way we have to pick up Pen.”

“Bunce?” She asks, big eyes peering at him curiously. “Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

Simon looks at her, face alarmed as he violently shakes head. “I- No- Ew -” He sputters out.

The bride laughs quietly, trotting up to his side and grabbing his arm. “Good, then she won’t be mad.”

“Mad?” He asks, looking down at her curiously as they start their walk. She has both of her arms wrapped around his bicep, and she looks a bit mischievous. 

“The brides,” She starts, a glint to her eyes. “We’ve been taking bets on who the young Menkhu, you , would marry. My bets on that city freak.”

“ Baz ?” He coughs out, face as red as his hair now. She nods, looking satisfied. 

“The girls from the pub say that you practically fell all over him, even when Anya was there.” She explains, but it doesn’t actually explain shit.

“Anya? Is that the bride who wants to marry me?” He asks, and when he receives a nod he carries on. “I was annoyed with him, he was being a prat.”

“Oh really? What did he do?” She presses, her grip tightening.

“Well-” He huffs, not actually knowing what to say. “He’s just insufferable.”

“I see…” She hums out as they keep walking, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I suppose you can’t wait for him to go back home then.”

Simon sucks in a breath, like he has something to say. But he doesn’t have anything to say. He doesn’t want Baz to leave, at least not leave him. 

He’d like to go home with Baz- Not like that, of course, just—

Back to the capital, with Baz. That’d be nice.

He stops himself from another spiral of his future with Baz, shaking his head. His cheeks are still on fire when he grumbles out. “You girls shouldn’t take bets on my love life, I’ll only disappoint.”

“It’s more fun than anything else I have to do.” She counters, pulling a sigh from Simon. She shoots him a grin at that, a toothy thing that shows off her full set of slightly sharper than normal teeth. “I’m Inessa, by the way.”

“Hello.” He says, sounding as exasperated as he feels with this entire conversation. 

She smiles wider at that.

"Do you have any fingernails on you?" She asks a bit suddenly, tugging him towards a worm. 

"Only a few, I really need to save them." He admits, looking down at her dubiously. "Would you rather ride than walk?"

"'s quicker." She mumbles, reaching down into her clothing. He watches the woman pull out two fingernails from underneath her breasts with abstract horror, too shocked to say anything. She opens his palm, placing it in his hand.

It's warm, he thinks immediately. He looks at her, and her grin's still there. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Alright then, I'm having them drop us off at the warehouses."

"Works for me." She says sweetly, as if she didn't just pull coins out of her tits in front of Simon.

He shakes his head, palming the coin as they reach the worm. He gives the worm a small smile, handing him the fingernail. "Warehouse district, please."

He makes a grunt of understanding, before turning to the bride to accept her coin. She says something to him in their native language, but Simon tunes them out. She lets out a gasp though, and turns to Simon. "Did you hear that?"

"Huh? Sorry, I was thinking-" He says, and she gives him an annoyed look. 

She goes to say something, but the worm shakes his head. "Let Sahba Usp’tae tell him."

"He should know now ." She huffs, grabbing his arm again.

"Tell me what ?" He asks, looking between the two incredulously.

The worm shakes his head, just pointing to the boat. "I'm not allowed to tell you , you'll have to ask Sahba Usp’tae when you see her."

"What does Ebb know that I don't?" 

"Lots of things." The worm replies, and Simon sighs in defeat.

This is why he doesn't like talking to the worms. They're almost as impossible as Baz is when he gets his mind set on something. He just steps into the boat carefully, mind drifting back to Baz who is still missing. Though, he did save this herb bride (he's just lucky that he got there in time, really).

But Baz is missing, and he has no clue where to look for him.

After whatever Ebb has to tell him, he'll ask her to help him find Baz. Maybe she'll already know where he could be, tell him that fate spoke to her and he'll run as fast as his feet can fucking carry him until he untangles the man from whatever vines wrap themselves around his limbs. 

He misses Baz terribly right now, misses the way that being around Baz makes him feel whole. He doesn't feel invincible, not the way that standing next to Agatha in the street does. She makes Simon feel like nothing can really touch him, like he's invincible just by proximity because she sure as hell is. 

Baz doesn't make Simon feel invincible, in fact he makes him feel extremely vulnerable. Being around Baz makes him feel like an amethyst, like somebody broke him in half and is examining his insides. Simon knows that Baz is just as broken as he is, they're amethysts laying next to each other under a hammer. But… he thinks that maybe they can piece their broken parts together. That maybe if they do, their new whole will turn out better than that old shell ever did.

He doesn't know why he feels that way, but he supposes it's just another thing that Baz makes him feel that he just doesn't get. The bride, Inessa, said that she had her bets on them but- What does that actually mean? Why would they even bet on that? Everyone in town knows that Simon must produce an heir if they want to keep their own tree of healers alive; why ever suggest that he wed a man? 

Simon's never even thought about marrying a man, but to be fair he's never really thought about marrying anyone. He's been so focused on medicine since he was in diapers, he just didn't have time for that. Growing up all he really knew is that he absolutely wouldn't marry Agatha. Until Inessa's comment earlier, he never really thought about who he'd like to marry.

Of course the person she chose to mention was Baz, because now all he can think about is the man at a traditional Steppe wedding. They'd thread his inky black hair with spring flowers, he'd ride in on the back of a bull, and then—

Okay, he’s killing that train of thought right there.

The fact is that he hadn’t even ever considered marriage as something he had a choice in until right now. He’s a bit pissed off that Baz is the first person to kick off him realizing that ‘oh yeah my dad’s dead, I don’t have to find someone that pleases him anymore. I can love who I want.’

Fucking Inessa. 

He tries to imagine someone else on that ceremonial bull for the entire boat ride, but each time he does all he can think about is this; Gorkhon gray eyes meeting his own, jet black hair covered in pink and white flowers, and that fucking private smile he gave Simon in the kitchen. He’s officially pissed off at Inessa for putting the mental image in his head, and even more desperate to find Baz.

He hates how out of control Baz being gone makes him feel. He’s on the verge of losing control when he knows that Baz is safe, being around Baz makes him feel like all he wants to do is grab his hand and run. He’d say ‘Sorry destiny, or fate, or the bloody lines but you aren’t allowed to have this one. Thanks.’ and just book it if he didn’t know how dangerous the Steppe is once you stray too far from town. 

He spends the rest of the trip to Penny's warehouse trying not to let his worry show on his face, but by the time he reaches her place he's in full blown panic mode. The rush from saving Inessa earlier has worn off, if Penny isn't here he'll have two people to fret over. 

He'd have to choose which one to focus on.

Simon doesn't think he could do that, even if mentally he knows he would save Penny. He shakes the idea from his head and pushes the door open, only poking his head in so that Inessa won’t try to come in and burn herself. He calls out to her, “Pen?” 

His heart skips a beat when he doesn’t hear anything, and he’s about to call again when he hears a rustle. Penelope sticks her head out from behind the couch, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Si? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out, a smile spreading on his lip. “I’m coming to take you to Ebbs, she’s protecting all magical women.”

Penny bursts up, immediately running to his side. She wraps him in a tight hug, and he hugs her back even tighter. He can feel her face in his chest, then a moment later he can feel the wet hot tears. Simon pulls a hand up to her head, resting it on top of her loose curls. 

“Shh, it’s okay Penny…” He coos, giving her a second before pulling back. “You’ll be okay, Ebb will protect you now.” She nods, wiping at her face quickly. She straightens up, but it still takes her a moment to realize the herb bride behind them. She turns to Simon, who shrugs. “Picked her up along the way.”

Inessa lets out a cackling laugh, hands on her hips now as she corrects him. “He broke a man’s nose! They were going to burn me, and-”

“Yes, well. Anyone would’ve done that.” He interrupts, cheeks red.

Penelope looks between them for a second, before giving him a sly smile. “Obviously not, Si. Always the hero, huh?”

He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just what any decent person would’ve done.”

“There aren’t many decent people in this world, Si.” Penelope has seemed to regain her confidence enough to tease him now, which he supposes is a good thing. 

He just rolls his eyes, and starts walking. The girls follow next to him at first, but Inessa ends up taking the lead. He watches her from behind for a bit, noticing just how graceful she really is out here in the Steppe. Apparently he isn't the only one who feels more at peace out here. After a bit though, he tilts his head towards Penny. He mumbles to her in a voice so low he's sure only she can hear it. "Baz is missing."

She sucks in a long breath, turning her head fully to face him. She speaks in a hushed tone, "Pitch? When did this happen?"

"Last night, after we and Shepard left. Apparently all he did was take a lighter and leave, Agatha seemed a bit worried but sure he'd return." He explains, under his breath still. He doesn't want anyone else to know that Baz is missing, in case they have bad intentions and they get to him first.

"Then why are you worried?" She asks, and it's earnest. He almost hates that it is so earnest, because of course he's worried Baz is missing .

He shakes his head, saying. "It's been over twelve hours now, I can't shake the feeling of worry. After I take you two to Ebb's, I'm going to find him." 

He should tell her about Micah, but with an herb bride right there it's too risky. And also because she'd probably disregard her safety to go kick his ass. 

She just sighs, shaking her head at him. "You're gonna get yourself hurt, Simon."

"What if Baz is getting hurt?" He prods, and she softens her expression a bit. Not a lot, but enough to make him soften too. "Listen, I just- I can't rest not knowing where he is. And plus, he's helpful, yeah?"

"I suppose so… just don't do anything crazy, okay?" She says, and when Simon doesn't respond she pushes. " Promise me."

"I can't lie to my best friend- Ow, that hurts!" He shrieks out when she jabs his ribs, causing Inessa to turn around. Simon shoots her a smile, and she just rolls her eyes and keeps walking. "I'll be fine, Pen. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." She nods, pulling her hand back now. "I wish I could come with.."

"I know you do, but it's just not safe. Though, I don't think anything bad will happen." To me he wants to add on, but doesn't. He hasn’t explained the dreams to her, and he decides that today isn’t the time.

So much for no secrets his brain echoes, and he bites his lip.

Ebb’s house is in view now, and he feels such relief that he doesn’t know how to not fall over right here and just sleep in the Twyre. This entire day has been just completely exhausting, and it’s only two in the afternoon. He knows he can’t though, and that he's lying to himself when he says he doesn’t know how to keep going.

All he has to do is remind himself that Baz is missing.

But that brings up the issue of him wanting to get going right fucking now. Tear the damn city apart, find him and never let him out of his sight again.

He can’t do that, just like he can’t immediately save the infected. He needs a plan of attack, and he can't do that by himself. Simon isn't stupid, but he sure is impulsive on the best of days (today isn't the best of days).

He knocks on Ebb's door, and she immediately opens it. She'd have been waiting at the door for people, then. He greets her with a wave, saying. "Have room for two more?"

"'Course I do, Khybyyn. ” She gives them one of her kind smiles. They’re all kind, really, but this was one of her extra kind smiles that she saves for when people really need it. All three of them really needed it right about now.

She ushers them into the house, leading them to the cramped living room where a bunch of other women sat. Herb brides, witches, and even normal Steppe women all sat around in Ebb’s living room, chatting and passing the time together. Simon gestures for Penny and Inessa to join them, and waits for them to leave before turning to Ebb. “ Kehtey , Ebb… a worm told me that you have something to tell me.”

Her face goes grim, and she nods. “Oh, yes. I was going to send for you if you didn’t come but- Well, I figured that you’d want to bring young Bunce.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t abandon Pen.” He says quietly, looking over his shoulder to look at her. She’s sitting next to a girl with long, red hair and a traditional robe on; they’re deep in conversation, probably about magic.

Ebb makes a humming noise to get his attention, and gestures to the door behind her. “Why don’t we speak in the kitchen? There’s no one in there.”

He nods, and so she leads him across the hall and into her kitchen. She points to a stool at her counter, he sits down across from her. Simon watches in silence as she puts a kettle on, anxiety now palpable in his stomach. Every second felt heavy. 

Ebb doesn't speak as she makes the tea, she doesn't even hum a tune like she normally would. She just solemnly works, pours two cups, gives him one and then leans on her counter slowly. She gives him a careful look, as if sizing up how gentle she should be right now. "So… I assume you know that Dr. Pitch is missing, yeah?"

"How'd you know?" Simon asks, hands gripping his mug. "I- I was going to ask you for help finding him."

"It- Well, it has to do with what I have to tell you." She sighs, dropping her head. "The butchers found him today, he'd broken into the enclosure that we keep the bulls in for the Termitary. The place still isn't even open, you know."

Simon's blood goes cold, eyes wide now. He gapes up at her, looking for some sign of this being a joke. He knows that she wouldn't joke like this. "No- He wasn't taking blood, was he?"

She nods glumly, tearing up a bit now. "They'll- You know what they'll do to him."

"They'll hang him by dawn." He says, voice sounding as numb as he suddenly feels. He looks into his tea, his own eyes feel hot suddenly. He tries to hold himself together, he's in Ebb's kitchen and he can't start screaming yet. "Is he being kept at the Abattoir?"

"Yeah, he is. But, Simon-" She says but he's already standing up. "You know there's only one way to get him out..."

"I know, Ebb." He shakes his head, setting the full mug down. "I-" He starts, but knows that nothing he can say will make her any less sad about this entire thing. Nothing could help him either.

So he doesn't say anything, and neither does she. He walks as calmly as he can to her front door, only slightly slamming the door. 

And then he's off, he runs faster than he probably ever has in his entire life. The tears that threatened to break free in the kitchen are streaming down his face now as the cool Steppe air hits his face. 

The Abattoir is far away, and the river doesn't run by it so the only way is on foot in the Steppe. It's a big structure, just off the old Kin town that's been abandoned for generations now. The Abattoir isn't abandoned though, it's where all of the creatures that don't live in town reside. It's a massive structure that's deeper than it is tall, being inside of it makes you feel like an ant in it's hill. He's not even allowed inside certain parts of it, since he's not a full Menkhu yet.

They'd let him in the prison though.

He knows they will, and if they don't he'll cause a fit.

Stealing bull blood — especially Termitary bull blood — is one of the highest offenses in the Kin. It's only underneath being found dissecting a body illegally in their culture. You'd think that bulls on the slaughter wouldn't be so sacred, but they are to the Kin. They're worshipped almost as much as Buddho herself, the entire town relies on those bulls more than anything. For food, for income, for commerce. The entire town's industry would fall apart without them, and a complete outsider was found tampering with one's blood.

He'd be lucky if he even saw dawn at that.

Simon's mad. If he wasn't so fucking scared, he'd be screaming and punching things. Baz did this, he didn't listen to Simon about how dangerous it was and went anyway. He doesn't even know why Baz would do such a thing, it's not like he doesn't know that Simon has connections to the Kin and it was only a matter of time. And he still did it anyway. He did it and now Simon's paying the price. He's livid at Baz.

But then.

Then the horrible image invades Simon's head, and he tries to shake it out. But it won't leave his head, the mental image of him actually being too late ; of Baz hanging there, lifelessly. 

His feet inexplicably start to move faster.

He arrives at the Abattoir by dusk, which is a fucking feat considering the distance. He grabs a hold of the solid iron bar on the doors, and he pulls it open. The entrance is lit by two hanging shabby chandeliers, and two worms are positioned in the front. They don't even flinch when they see him, one speaks up. "Is the Menkhu here to see the prisoner?"

"Yes." He answers, trying to sound more confident than he feels. He comes off more emotionally constipated than anything discernible, really.

"You're just in time." The other lets out an utterly cruel laugh. "His punishment's set at midnight."

Punishment . The word bounces around in his head for a bit, feeling more and more wrong as it does. Punishment isn't losing your life, punishment isn't taking the one fucking good thing that's come out of this terrible week. 

This isn't punishment, this is murder.

He doesn't say any of that, instead he says. "He meant no harm, I promise-"

"It doesn't matter." The first worm hisses, and Simon jumps back a bit. "You can't bail him out, the punishment is already set."

He can bail him out though.

He knows a way.

It makes the pit at the bottom of his stomach grow larger.

"I understand, may I at least speak to Dr. Pitch then?" He says, instead of revealing his hand.

The first worm sighs, but he nods his smooth little head quickly. "Fine. I'll take you to see him."

"Thank you." Simon politely bows as the worm stands up now, leading him out of the entrance and down into the stairwell. They walk down probably 12 flights of stairs and aren't even at the bottom when they hit the floor that Baz is being kept on. They navigate through the mostly empty prison cells for what seems like hours before they reach Baz's.

Simon's eyes fall on Baz, on alive Baz. His heart's still beating, and he's fucking there even if he's being kept behind bars. He's slouched over on the small cot they provided him with, head in his arms when the worm hits the bars to get his attention. "Wake up, Pitch. You have a visitor." The worm grunts out, and he sounds so venomous that even Simon goes stiff at that. 

Baz's head jerks up, gaping at Simon. He seems to be trying to find something to say, when Simon cuts in. "Thank you khatangher , may I have a moment alone with him?"

"No." The worm states simply, and Simon stops himself from narrowing his eyes.

Simon feels himself slip into the worm's native tongue, hoping to get his point across. "Yuunde, be oylgono ugyb?"

(Why, I don't understand?)

The worm crosses his long arms, looking at Simon as if he'd done something wrong with a scowl. "Holaeghe-ut golghoy ekh gerkhen syakhyl. Oluhn ekhe-barag."

(This outsider broke into our sacred land. He harmed our bulls.)

Simon stands his ground and pushes further. "Medenegshe, unente tenegh. Myy uymen, kheleer bou shagna . "

(I know, it's true that he's a fool. But this is wrong, allow me to speak to him alone.)

The worm seems to take a second to think, arms still crossed. His frown deepens a bit. Simon speaks again, in English this time. "I'm the closest thing to a Menkhu you have, do me this one favor."

That puts the nail in the coffin, and the worm finally gives in. He looks to Baz — who's standing against the wall now — and then back to Simon. "I suppose you are. Fine. Ten minutes, and you aren't allowed inside the cell."

"Thank you." Simon bows at him, he just grumbles and turns away. Simon waits until he hears the door to the floor click shut to turn back to face Baz.

The man looks fucking rough, he has blood dried on his face and dirt in his usually shiny hair. He's still beautiful , a traitorous part of Simon's brain thinks. He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at Baz. "What the fuck were you thinking, Basilton?"

Baz looks away, arms crossed over his stomach protectively. "I couldn't wait on that blood, Simon. You saw what happened to that woman, I can't let more people die because I'm waiting around ."

"Do you even know what they're going to do to you?" Simon raises his voice slightly, grabbing one bar to steady himself.

"They just keep saying that they'll punish me." He answers quietly.

"Baz-" Simon says, desperation leaking into his voice. "They're going to hang you."

He makes a choked noise, finally looking up to meet Simon's eyes. He looks… he looks terrified, he looks like a man who's scared shitless and it breaks Simon's heart right in half. He wishes he could reach for him. When Baz speaks, it's a quiet croak. "I- Well, I assume there's nothing you can do then. I'm sorry, Snow, I know that I told you-"

"You still have to keep that promise." Simon interrupts him.

Baz looks at him incredulously, eyes wide. "First of all, it was just a statement. And secondly, how do you expect me to do that ?"

"I'm going to save you." He hums, feeling more confident that this is what he has to do now that he can see Baz. "I just… I need you to promise not to freak out, okay?"

"Are you going to kill someone?" He asks, not sounding half as appalled as he should at the idea. 

Simon shakes his head, huffing out. " No , I'm not killing anyone. I just want you to know that there's a ritual I have to do, and I don't want you to be caught off guard."

"Well, what does this ritual entail then?" 

"I-" Simon starts, but is interrupted by the sound of the worm coming back. Has it already been ten minutes? He turns to face the worm though, saying. "You can't keep this man here any longer."

"Yes we can, Menkhu." The worm replies, sounding annoyed.

"No, you can't." Simon takes a deep breath, looking at Baz for a split second and then back to the worm. "I'll be performing the binding ceremony tonight. With Dr. Pitch."

"With Pitch ?" The man's permanent scowl breaks to actually gape at him. "Tonight?"

"Yes." He confirms, looking at Baz. "The main floor is still seven, right? I'd like to do it there."

"Are you doing this just to cheat his death?" The worm ignores his question, still gaping.

"I don't think that matters, does it?" He thanks God that his voice didn't crack. "As Menkhu, it's my choice."

The worm looks between the two of them for a stomach churning twenty seconds. Finally, he reaches into his pocket and unlocks the cell. Simon immediately walks in and grabs Baz's arm, pulling him back to the worm. The worm looks at them for another ten seconds before turning around. "Fine, I'll gather a crowd on the main floor. Be there in no less than twenty minutes, or you both will be punished."

And then, he leaves. 

Simon turns to see Baz, a nervous smile on his face. He can't help but smile, not when Baz is here . His arms wrap around Baz before he can even stop to think about it, and surprisingly Baz doesn't even push back. He just whispers. "What the fuck is going on?"

Simon whispers back. "This is how I'm getting you out alive."

"What is a binding ceremony ?" He presses on, and Simon lets out a small sigh.

Simon pulls back a bit, looking away. "It's- Well, you know how I'm a Menkhu?" 

"Yes?" Baz answers, sounding a bit confused.

"Well, you know how the Kin is." He shrugs, and Baz scowls at him.

The man crosses his arms again, looking at him like he's trying to crack a puzzle. "No, Simon, I do not ."

"Oh. Yeah, right." And suddenly, Simon's feet become extraordinarily interesting to him. "The binding ceremony just binds one person to a Menkhu, so that even though you're an outsider you'll be treated like a part of the Kin legally."

Baz takes a beat to respond, and another. And another. Simon starts to believe he's not going to say anything, and looks up just in time to catch Baz's eye when he speaks. 

"You won't be able to get married if you do this." He sounds so pained when he says it, Simon wants to take his hand and tell him that it's alright. And then, Simon realizes what he said and it hits him just how bloody smart this man actually is.

"How'd you figure?" He asks, as if they both don't already know that Baz is completely right.

"You can't legally marry a woman if you wasted your binding on me, Snow." He snaps, a lot more venom in his voice than Simon expected. And then, when Simon's about to say something shitty back, Baz mumbles out. "Just let them hang me, it's not worth this."

" Bullshit ." Simon curses, hand reaching up to grab Baz's collar. He pulls Baz close to his face, admittedly closer than he meant to. "There's no way in fucking hell I'm leaving you. I'll cross the marriage road when I get to it."

" Snow -" Baz implores, and Simon raises a hand up to stop him.

"Simon. My name is Simon." 

Baz looks down at him, eyes widening. "Fine, Simon . You don't have to do this!"

He likes how Baz says his name, he thinks to himself ridiculously. Simon just shakes his head, eyes closing a bit now. "I do have to. I want you alive, and you have a promise to fulfill." 

Baz looks like he’s about to argue again, so Simon lets go of his collar and grabs ahold of his shoulders. “It’s too late, I can’t just tell them I decided not to do this. You heard him, we’ll both hang if I do.”

“You’re making a mistake, Sn- Simon.” He corrects, looking him in the eyes for the first time. Simon could kiss him right now, and he doesn’t even know why that option’s on his radar. He didn’t know it was an option in his mind until right now. But he’s here, and he’s alive . And he’s so unbelievably beautiful, even with the blood dried from what looked to be a blow to the nose. 

Simon doesn’t reply at first, he just balls up his jacket sleeve in his hand and starts to scrub at the blood on Baz’s upper lip. The man goes to protest, but it dies on his lips when Simon uses his other hand to grab Baz’s wrist. “I’m not going to leave you here to die, stop asking me to. Please. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“But you should! ” Baz tries to sound stern, but under Simon’s scrubbing he sounds muffled and whiny. The pair of them share matching flushed cheeks, too. Simon can’t see his face — he can sure as hell feel it — but he can see Baz’s clear as day. There’s a reddish tint to his olive skin, and this close Simon can see some of Baz’s own freckles. His are sparse as hell, but he has one right in his hairline. Simon turns his attention to Baz’s hair, racking his fingers through the waves in an attempt to get some of the muck out. Baz makes an indignant sound. “You are not my personal hairdresser.”

“You don’t have a mirror down here though, Baz.” Simon quietly points out, and that seems to shut him up. He keeps up the movement, getting bits of dried mud out bit by bit. “We’ll get you to a proper shower soon, don’t worry. Though, the trip to Agatha’s is a bitch. Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

“No.” He says quickly, but then he drops his gaze and lets out a small puff of air. “Just a bit. It’s just bruising though, nothing serious.”

Simon nods, glad for it. “Good, you got off as easy as you could have.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He mumbles, and Simon laughs quietly. He ruffles Baz’s hair a bit, making it look purposefully windswept now. (As purposeful as he could manage, at least.)

“It’s not my fault you didn’t listen to me.” 

Baz shakes his head, straightening out his collar and adjusting his ridiculous jacket as he speaks. “I just… I couldn’t sleep, not knowing that I- I failed her.”

He sounds so genuinely pained when he speaks about this, and the look returns. Simon can’t help but remember what Baz told him about his mom, about how she’d died. When he speaks, he tries to keep his voice steady. “We both did, you know. I- I know how you feel, trust me. Just… next time, if you’re gonna do something dumb, at least tell me. If you just had told me we could’ve gotten it together, and they wouldn't have arrested me.”

Baz looks surprised, the sorrowful look being replaced with wide eyes. Slowly, Simon watches the corners of his lips turn upwards into that private smile he gives Simon sometimes. It always feels like he’s handing Simon a precious gift when he does, like Baz is trusting him with something important and suddenly nothing else in the world matters.

Baz is good at doing that to Simon; making him feel like nothing else matters but keeping him safe. Simon’s starting to think that just maybe he isn’t doing it on purpose. (He knows that Baz isn’t, it’s just the easiest answer right now.) (Simon’s new approach isn’t to find a Baz shaped box, but a convenient enough answer to fit their situation.)

He smiles back at Baz, trying to match him with a private smile of his own. He didn’t know he was even capable of this until he met Baz, he sure is full of surprises. Simon finally lets go of Baz’s wrist, pointing to the door. “I think it’s about time we got out of here.”

“I suppose it is.” He replies, and he doesn’t even argue about what they’re going to do. 

He doesn’t even get why Baz would argue at this point anyway, it’s not like Simon doesn’t know that he can only perform the ceremony with one person.

He won’t be explaining to Baz that it’s technically a soul binding ritual, that’ll be apparent later he supposes. It doesn’t work like it does in the old tales though, nothing about their lives will change in any other way than it gives Baz more rights under the Kin. Out of all of their practices, it’s really the most bollocks. It doesn’t even change their fates at all. 

It is a nice thought though, he doesn’t mind the idea of being bound to Baz. It won’t bind Baz to him though, which he decides to mention as they ascend the stairs. “If you’re worried about it, this- This really doesn’t have any weight to anyone but the Kin.”

Baz gives him an odd look, eyebrow raised now. “What do you mean?”

“I-” Simon has to drop his gaze, unable to look at the man now. “You know, maybe I can’t get married but it won’t affect you at all. You can still marry any bloke you fancy.”

Baz makes a humming noise, signalling that he understands. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Simon doesn’t really think he will. But a few flights below where they’re expected, he speaks so quietly that Simon doesn’t even know if he was meant to hear it. “So can you..”

“Hm?” He stops now, turning up to look at Baz.

Baz stops too, and it’s his turn to look at the ground as he explains himself. “So can you, you know. Not- I mean, not the bloke part-” He catches himself a bit too late, and Simon chuckles.

“Eh, maybe.” He finds himself saying lightly, causing Baz’s head to snap up. He shoots Simon a questioning look, and he responds with a shrug. “Maybe, on it all. I haven’t even gotten there yet, how do I know it won’t be with a bloke?”

“You’re gay?” He questions, both eyebrows hitched now. 

Simon laughs this time, actually bloody laughs at his expression. “I just told you! I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Neither have I .” Baz counters, so Simon just shrugs again and starts walking.

He waits a bit before replying, until they only have a flight left. “I’m pretty sure it won’t matter, they don’t let you rebind. Not even if your chosen dies, dad never remarried.”

Baz doesn’t say anything at all after that, walking with his head down. He waits until they’re in front of the iron doors to grab Simon’s wrist. “You don’t have to do this, Simon.” He implores in a tone so quiet, it’s barely above a whisper.

“I know that, I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t already made up my mind Baz.” He shakes off his hand, but looks back to shoot him a small smile.

He’s afraid that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Simon opens the doors with one hand, trying to channel his inner Menkhu and not Simon Snow. There’s a crowd that fills up nearly the entire floor, and when they hear the men enter, every creature whips to get a good look. Herb brides, worms, stray butchers, all kinds of members of the Kin stare the pair down. Simon grabs Baz’s forearm now, holding it between them as he starts walking. A path clears as he strides, and he doesn’t look at any of them. 

He can hear them though, some murmuring about what this means. Some about why now, of all times. He can hear one worm chant ‘it’s a boy!’ , even. He can tell that Baz is freaking out, something that he isn’t really used to. Simon leans in subtly, whispering. “Play it cool, you’re here because you want to become one of us.”

Baz nods curtly, looking away from the crowd and onto the stone circle in front of them. It’s the most ornate thing in this place; the rest of the structure is dingy and sparse, and when you get deeper it becomes more of a cave structure than a building. Not the main floor, though. This is where ceremonies are held, mainly coming of age and ones of birthright though. Nobody gets married down here, but as the Menkhu it’s his responsibility to bring his chosen into the Kin down here on the Taglur , the sacred stone circle.

Normally this is done as a courting ritual, even if it isn’t strictly one. He’s never even thought about doing this platonically before now, and it still doesn’t feel like it is . Bringing Baz in front of his people like this feels so goddamn intimate, it makes his skin itch and his heart pound take up residence in his throat. Normally, Ebb would be here too, she’d see this whole thing over and give them her blessing. They aren’t lovers, he doesn’t need her blessing but seeing a worm take her spot still makes him feel a bit nauseous. He wishes she could be here. 

Simon stops in the middle of the circle, he looks out to his people and raises Baz’s arm. The crowd lets out fucking ravenous cheers, and it makes Simon smile a bit.

They still need their Menkhu, even if he’s young and fumbling.

The worm looks to Simon expectantly now, so he speaks up in the voice he always used with the Kin. It was pure faux confidence. “ Sayn baina! I’m Simon Snow, the last remaining Menkhu. Recently, my father died tragically young, as you all know.” He pauses as the crowd takes a moment to wish him peace, and Simon does as well. “Today, I stand before you all to invite a new member into the Khatanghe , into our people. Not as a lover, but as a friend.” 

The crowd makes noises of shock, but Simon silently holds up a hand to silence them. They do as he says, and he turns to face Baz. 

He stops to give Baz a small, encouraging smile, before he begins the ceremony. He quickly strips off his jacket, not even bothering to fold it up. He tosses it and his sweater in a heap on the floor, exposing his bare chest to the entire room. Simon attempts to pay no mind to the eyes on him, straightening up and looking Baz in the eyes now.

Gorkhon gray greets him, though his pupils are blown now in what Simon can only guess is shock. He doesn’t break eye contact with the man as he reaches his hand out expectantly, the worm placing the handle of a blade in his hand. With his free hand, he takes Baz’s right and places the knife in it carefully. He doesn’t let go of the outside of Baz’s hand yet though, pulling his newly free one up to right over his chest. He uses one finger to mark the spot, making a small X shape over it. “I need you to cut here, Baz.” He breathes out, trying not to draw attention to the fact that Baz has no fucking clue what he’s doing here.

Baz's hands are shaking now, and his eyes drop to look at the knife in his hand. "I can't hurt you." He mumbles out, and Simon tightens his grip on the man's wrist.

Baz watches in detached horror as Simon pulls his hand up to his chest, pressing the cool knife into his skin. He drops his hand now back to Baz's forearm. "It's okay, just one slash. Just enough to bring blood, okay?"

Baz looks back at his face again, but he can't quite meet Simon's eyes. He nods wordlessly, taking a shaky breath. He closes his eyes, and Simon can feel the small line of skin on his chest break. Baz works as quickly as he can, bracing his other hand on Simon's shoulder as he does. When he pulls the knife back, Baz slowly opens his eyes. Simon's heart breaks a bit at how bleary his Gorkhon eyes look now, but he can't stop yet. Simon takes the back of his other hand now, both hands were clutching onto Baz as if he's a lifeline. 

He uses his own hand to carefully dip Baz's thumb into the blood that starts to form at the wound. Baz looks down at their hands now, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He pulls Baz's thumb up to his lips now, pressing it to his lips. Both of their hands shake now. He takes a second, taking in a deep breath before he presses Baz's own thumb to his lips now. He watches his blood smear on them, red staining his pretty pink lips. He must look the same, Simon muses. He drops Baz’s hand between them, and Baz mouths out. “I’m sorry.”

Simon shakes his head, giving him one of their private smiles. Baz doesn’t return it this time though, he looks as if he’d just strangled a puppy with his own hands against his will. Simon holds back a sigh, turning around now so that the two are shoulder to shoulder and facing the bulk of the crowd. He holds up Baz’s arm again, and the crowd goes fucking wild. He supposes that it has been over two decades since the last binding ceremony though, so the crowd doesn’t care if it’s platonic or not. They’d just watched the last remaining Menkhu mark his chosen, and they’re happy. Simon is too, but not for the same reason.

For a good minute or so, he can almost forget that this isn’t a real binding ceremony. He can almost pretend that the sand plague isn’t ravaging his home, and that this is a happy occasion. He’s beaming from ear to ear when he looks back at Baz, who looks like he wants to hurl.

His smile dies then, he lets go of Baz’s arm finally and then he waves to the crowd before quickly pulling his sweater and jacket back on. Simon gestures to the door now, and Baz slightly nods back. He lets out a puff of air, intertwining their arms this time before he begins a sprint through the crowd. The path absolutely doesn’t clear for them this time, Kin of all kinds reaching to pat Simon on the back or ruffle his hair. He doesn’t stop through, pushing through the people to just get Baz out of here .

When the pair finally makes it out the door, Simon doesn’t stop. He keeps running, his feet ache and he could feel the blood staining his sweater, but all he knows is that he has to get Baz out of here. He won’t stop running until Baz is out of the place he was meant to be executed in, until the pair are safe in the rolling fields of the Steppe. He won’t stop until Baz is fucking out .

They speed through the now unmanned entrance, both guards must have come down to watching the ceremony. He pulls Baz through the iron doors, finally untangling their arms as the smell of Twyre in bloom hits him. He’s panting now, leaning down to brace himself on his knees. In between short breaths, he puffs out. “How about that for a prison break?”

Baz doesn’t say anything, so Simon looks up at him now. He’s still bent over when he sees it; Baz standing there, arms crossed over his body protectively. He’s shaking, his shoulders are shaking but he’s not crying. He just looks shell shocked. 

“Hey, Baz, it’s okay. I forgive you for acting on your own.” Simon straightens up, taking a step closer now.

Baz shakes his head harshly, taking a step back. “That’s- You shouldn’t forgive me, Snow.”

“Well, I do.” He states simply, because it’s true. It doesn’t really matter to Simon anymore, because Baz is so alive.

“I ruined your life .” He says, sounding distressed and desperate.

Simon shrugs, and ignores Baz’s groan of disapproval. “Baz- Baz, seriously. I haven’t even ever thought seriously about marriage.”

“You’ll want to.” Baz says indignantly.

Simon takes another step forward, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders again. It’s dark now, but he knows that Baz can see his face well enough to see the fire in his eyes. If he can’t contain the wildfire Baz lit inside of him, he might as well show the man that it’s there and he fucking matters . 

“I want you to live. I want that now, not in some far off future that I’m not sure is even coming.” 

Baz’s face twists up weirdly, a mixture of surprise and melancholy. It seems to settle on melancholy though as he opens his mouth. “You only want another doctor in town during this shitshow, you’ll regret doing this the second this is over.”

“I’m not gonna fucking regret not leaving you to be hung, Baz.” Simon tries to sound confident, but he just sounds pleading now. Baz is still shaking, and Simon wants to kiss him again.

He wants Baz to know that he doesn’t regret this, that he won’t end up regretting this ever. 

Simon wants to kiss Baz so badly it’s physically starting to eat at him. He wants Baz to know how much he was losing his mind, he wants Baz to hear it and believe him.

Baz’s shaking starts to get worse, and tears are pouring down his cheeks now. His Gorkhon eyes are pained and filled with water now, and Simon can’t stand it anymore. He can’t take this, he can’t stand Baz not listening to him. Baz can’t just light a fire in the pit of his stomach and then act like it’s not real, act like he doesn’t consume Simon’s every waking moment. He’s taken his dreams for himself too.

Baz is alive, and yet he won’t listen to a word Simon says.

It’s not fair . This isn’t fair to him at all, it’s like Baz just disregards the way he burns Simon from the inside. You can’t do this to me, Baz Pitch , he thinks. 

You can’t light a match in my heart and then submerge yourself in the river. You have to burn with me.

Simon tightens his grip on the man’s shoulders, and then presses his lips against Baz’s.

Chapter Text

Day V.V (Baz)

Simon Snow tastes like tears and blood right now. 

He tastes like salt and copper, and something more . He tastes like how Baz takes his coffee, sickeningly sweet. Christ, he'll rot all of Baz's teeth out one by one.

Baz doesn't mind.

He's stopped crying at this point, because he's too busy trying to match Simon's intensity. Because Simon's mouth is killing everything he was going to say, and he couldn't possibly stop himself now. He's been parched in the desert for weeks, and Simon's an oasis. 

He pulls his own hands up to cup Simon's face now, mouth working in overdrive to try to match his movements. 

He doesn't know why he's doing this. Why they are.

He shouldn't be kissing Simon Snow out here, in the darkness of the Steppe, still in front of the place that they just ran from. He's weak though, and of course the boy he's thought was cute for years but only met five days ago would find that weak point. 

And anyway, how could he say no? He wants this, and Simon just gave away his ability to ever marry to save his life. If anyone deserves to exploit his one weak point, Baz figures it's Simon.

He never knew Simon's name back at Uni, but he saw the man around campus constantly. He's almost violently beautiful, what with his head full of ginger curls and the constellations of moles and freckles that littered his skin. He almost glowed, it was common knowledge in Baz's friend group (Dev and Niall, before they left) that he'd practically already gone out and bought the wedding band. Now that Baz is the only person Simon can legally marry, that joke is not as funny anymore.

It's not like he actually had feelings for a pretty stranger, even Baz knew this. He didn't have time for any of that either, he had his plate full enough with juggling university and his work on the lab. He knew that it was ambitious — starting his own laboratory before he even gets his master's — but he did it anyway, nothing would stand in his way.

But fighting death itself is a lot more than sheer willpower can tackle, and in the year that it's been open he's barely made a dent in anything. That doesn't stop the media from going wild, a twenty something socialite opening a laboratory claiming to be anti-death was what the papers had been waiting for since they'd opened hundreds of years back. People back in the seventeenth century are so jealous of them, because they don't have a story that juicy. All being famous has done to Baz is make it so that he's got even less of a social life, and somehow even more pressure. That's how he'd ended up in this town, his father threatened to cut his funding if he didn't find anything substantial by the end of the year.

It's September now, and all he's found on his noble quest is that he really likes kissing Simon Snow. He's doing this nice thing with his tongue right now, and Baz thinks that he could get used to this.

He's never kissed anyone before, he's never had the time. He's always too busy to go out on dates, to attend parties or even go to school events. He always thought that it was for the best, that if he was alone with his medicine and theories that he could do good for the world. Maybe that's all still true, but the moment he first spoke to Simon Snow he finally understood why he could never take his eyes off him in the library. He's magical , just not in the way that Baz has grown to expect from this town. He's magical, because he's like a lantern and Baz is a moth. 

He can't remember the name for it, but it's something to do with fate that Simon mentioned at his father's funeral. The Kin were always talking about fate, and "the lines" , Baz honestly can't understand most of it. But when Simon explained to him what he meant that night, by the river… Baz knew that some of it must be true. There’s no other explanation, Simon Snow is a magnet and Baz is just a pile of iron shavings. He didn’t even know the cute boy from uni’s name when he heard that Simon was wanted for murder, and before he even saw the train schedules he knew they were wrong. In his head, no one with a name like that could ever be a patricide. 

And then Simon burst back into the guest room after leaving in a huff, he was still covered in dirt and had his own blood on his cheek; yelling about Baz not saving dogs. He thought they were children, and he was so genuinely angry. And Baz thought to himself — as he watched Simon stomp back off to go save poisoned dogs — that he was fucked. He’s still fucked, but in a sort of good way.

He’s fucked because Simon’s wrapped him in his arms fully now, and they’re still kissing. It feels like it’s been hours, days , but it’s probably only been a minute or so when Simon finally pulls back for air. He doesn’t let go of Baz though, he just leans down and rests his forehead against Baz’s shoulder. 

“Fuck, Baz..” He breathes out, voice barely a whisper.

Yeah, that accurately sums up the situation. Baz lets out a shaky laugh, hands winding up into his hair. "Yeah- Yeah , I know. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He asks, seemingly too tired to look up and gape at him. "I'm the one who kissed you."

He holds back a shrug, not wanting to send Simon's head flying off his shoulder. Or to look like the damned man right now. "I'm the one who locked you into a-"

"Baz, please just shut up ." Simon groans, tightening his grip on him. "I'm not mad about the marriage thing- For fuck's sake, I just snogged the daylights out of you!"

"That doesn't mean you want to marry me." Baz huffs, indignantly. He's being stubborn.

He won't stop yet.

That makes Simon sigh, finally looking up to lock eyes. “Fine, I’m not getting the wedding ready already, but I’ve never kissed anyone before. That has to count for something on your list of worries.”

Baz meets his gaze, and thinks he must look stupid. His mouth’s slightly parted, and his eyes are wide as saucers. He searches Simon’s face for a second, before he cups his cheek again with one hand. Baz initiates the kiss this time, and it’s a lot less forceful. Just as desperate, but both men are softer about it this time. Simon’s so, so warm, he runs hotter than Baz knew was possible. He closes his eyes and leans further into Simon, and it’s like kissing the sun. He’s pure gold, he’s a summer day spent lounging and a cup of hot chocolate on a February day. Simon Snow is the most important person in the world, Baz is completely convinced of it now. And he’s never kissed anyone before.

Neither has Baz, to be fair, but it’s surprising that Simon hasn’t. He had to be turning away dozens of people on campus, just judging by the way that he pulls people in. (Maybe he doesn’t pull everyone in the same way, but he sure as hell pulled Baz in.)

Baz is the one to pull back this time, and inexplicably he can feel himself pull a grin. He doesn’t bother trying to make it a sneer, just mumbles out. “Yeah, yeah… it does. Let’s just get home, you absolute nightmare.”

“Home?” Simon tries to raise an eyebrow at him, it looks forced and silly. 

Baz resists kissing him again just for that, nodding. “Agatha’s.”

“My place is closer.” He points out, to which Baz scoffs.

He untangles himself a bit from Simon, pinching the bloody sweater and pulling it slightly. “You’re covered in blood, I’ve been in a dirty cell all day. And you don’t have a shower, Snow.”

He huffs, grabbing Baz’s wrist. “I hate that you’re right.”

“You think that you’d be used to it by now.” He teases, letting go of the man’s shirt but not making a move to pull away from his touch. "C'mon, I want to disinfect that cut too."

Simon's messing with his hand now with his free one, as if trying to memorize their shape using only feel. He's running his thumb over Baz's knuckle now when he grumbles out. "It's not even that deep, I'll do it myself."

"Nonsense." Baz hums, nudging him gently. "We can both shower, and then I insist that I disinfect it. I’m a doctor, you know.”

Simon’s eyes bare into him for a second, before giving him a slow blink. “Yes, Basil, I’m a doctor too.”

"Simon." He huffs out, intertwining their fingers together now to punctuate his point. "I'm going to treat it."

Simon seems to start to argue, but then he looks down at their hands. He lets out a defeated sigh, and lets their hands drop in between them but he keeps them clasped together. "Fine, alright- We better get going if we want to make it back before midnight though."

As soon as Baz nods, Simon starts walking. He doesn't let go of Baz though, he's pulling him through the Steppe like you'd drag along an uncooperative child in the grocery store. But not as angry, more excited. Simon turns back to look at one point with a full on smile , he looks like he might be working himself up a bit thinking about what they were doing. It's so fucking cute, and Baz thinks he might jump him. Just cling on and start kissing again, he wouldn't ever stop or let go of Simon. Like a koala.

Or a parasite.

Simon probably wouldn't mind, he thinks. He just probably wouldn't like that the towns only two doctors are MIA because they're mouth fucking in the Steppe. So he just holds on tighter and matches Simon's pace, they're nearly running now. The town's still pretty far away, even with their pace, and Baz makes the mistake of looking up at the sky.

He stops in his tracks, mouth parted as he makes a 'woah' sound. He's never been out this far in the countryside, so he's never seen stars this bright. He feels Simon tug on his hand, but doesn't avert his attention. When he speaks, it's in a soft murmur. "I've never seen them look like… This."

"Never?" Simon asks, not maliciously. He sounds curious, like he did everytime Baz gave him a breadcrumb about his life.

He shakes his head, tilting his head a bit further back. "Never."

Baz can practically feel Simon's grin through their connected hands now, but he still looks over to see it. He likes when he's the reason Simon graces the world with one of his toothy grins, he looks like his cheeks hurt and his eyes get this glint to them now. "When this is all over, I'll take you stargazing."

"London is a shit place to stargaze." Baz says dismissively, but he knows he'd do it anyway. He'd stare at a brick ceiling for 6 hours straight if it meant he could snuggle up with Simon.

Simon just laughs, shaking his head and holding his hand a bit tighter. "Not there, moron. Here , in the Steppe."

"Snow," He starts, shooting up an eyebrow on purpose. "I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I don't think the people in the Steppe like me much."

He shrugs. He does that a lot, half of his sentences either are or involve Simon shrugging. "I like you just fine."

"You don't count." He snaps back, but it's half hearted and Baz sounds deflated.

Simon pulls at his arm a bit, forcing Baz to step closer to him. "I very much count! I'm quite important to them, you know."

"I do know." He huffs, bumping into him gently and starting their journey again to surprise Simon. He's stalling. When they fall back into a comfortable pace, he continues finally. "I just don't know how they'll reconcile you being so important to them, and also you having just snogged the man they wanted to hang from the gallows."

He looks over at Baz incredulously, making a soft click noise with his tongue. "I wish you'd stop thinking so much. Do you like our kissing?"

"Yes."

He shrugs again. God, Baz wishes they were at Agatha's already. Simon looks up at him, blue eyes narrowed. "Then stop overthinking. It does neither of us good, and I can't shut you up myself right now since we have to get to Ag's."

Baz laughs, leaning into his shoulder a bit. At least they're on the same wavelength. Despite having the same damn thought, Baz huffs out. "You act like snogging can undo years of pessimism."

"You act like it can't!" Simon retorts, but he doesn't push Baz off of him at all. 

"That's what pessimism is , Snow." He tuts out, Simon squeezes his hand in response.

"Then let me do the thinking." He hums out, as if it's the most simple thing in the world.

Baz scoffs, and he'd cross his arms if could. He could drop Simon's hand, but no. No, he really couldn't do that. "But I'm the thinker of our ragtag group."

"Penny can do that." He suggests, helping Baz avoid nearly falling into a hole.

"She doesn't have any training." Baz pulls himself up a bit straighter, but his voice doesn't have any venom in it. 

Simon gives him a good, long stare before saying. "She knows enough to stay out of jail." 

"Fuck you, Snow." 

He makes a faux shocked gasp, pulling his free hand to his chest. "I don't move that fast, Basil!"

Baz rolls his eyes at the man's theatrics. For Christ's sake, people call Baz dramatic. He doesn't have a witty remark, though, and Simon's just worried for him anyway. He sighs, pulling their hands up between them. "I'll try."

"Try moving that fast?" Simon gawks, looking genuinely confused. "Baz-"

" No , you dolt." He manages to hiss out, all of the warmth in his body now taking up residence in his cheeks. "I'll try not to overthink so much. Maybe the power of a good snog can do my brain some good."

Simon grins at him like his face would fall off again, and he thinks that he'd agree to just about anything if it means he could see Simon look so goddamn happy because of him. 'Yes, of course I'll go to war for you Snow . ' He can hear himself say, easy. Simon Snow is the type of man that he can see himself dying for with no qualms, which makes it hard when he wants Baz to live for him. 

Baz has agreed to try two things that his stubborn brain wouldn't have gotten down even with intensive therapy and a lobotomy. Simon's either a miracle worker, or Baz is just really whipped. 

He's choosing to believe that Simon's a miracle worker.

They walk in peaceful silence together for the rest of the trip through the Steppe, hand in hand. Neither of them want to break it yet, and honestly Baz feels like they both need a moment to process what they're doing. It's not like Baz really needs it, he knows exactly what he himself is doing. 

He's leading a very handsome boy back to the place he's crashing in to snog and maybe even forget that the world is ending for five whole minutes. It's simple, really, and it's not like he has much of a plan past; get Simon home, shower (separately), patch Simon up and then continue where they left off in the Steppe. He doesn't need more time to process what he already knows; he's wanted to kiss Simon Snow since he first saw him in the library, and that was just a shallow attraction. Once he met him, once he really saw Simon, he knew he was fucked well and good. He knew that he'd never be the same, Simon's one of those people that you look at and go 'yeah, you're either gonna ruin or save me.' and then, without stopping to think about it, think 'I'd be happy either way.'

Or maybe that's just Baz, but he can't blame himself; when he looks directly into Simon's eyes it's like he's peering into the man's soul, as cheesy as that sounds. His eyes are blue, the boring kind that you see on Barbies and super models. Just bright, strong blue, but his gaze feels like a scalpel to Baz's veins sometimes. They're so strong , like a perfect encapsulation of Simon himself. Brave, loyal, compassionate. Reckless, stubborn, fierce. Kind and caring but with no sense of self preservation. 

He's beautiful, everything about him is so perfect to Baz. He wants to take his hand and find a way out, to take him far from here; where people actually deserve him. Nobody here treats him well, even people who respect him treat him like he's a moron when there's not a single person in this town with half the skill in Snow's left pinky. He'd tell him this, tell him that he's sorry, that they can go and hide.

Simon wouldn't listen.

He's so loyal to this town that he’d probably go down with it if it comes down to that. Baz thinks that he won’t let it get to that, because he couldn’t keep his promise then. He wants to tell Simon this as well, to take him by both hands and say ‘ Simon Snow, you can’t sacrifice yourself for this shithole if you want me to make it through this alive. A world without you is a world without the sun, and now that I’ve felt your warmth I can’t ever go back to the cold.’

And then they’d kiss and run away together.

He knows that they can’t do that.

They’re the only people with any kind of training in the fucking town other than that Cordero twat, and he’s been trained by Simon’s dad who god only knows how good he actually was. When Simon talks about his dad, he seems like he wants to be more sad about his death than he actually is. Simon had to run away and live on his own at only sixteen in order to get any semblance of normalcy, something that he’s only mentioned in passing as to why he doesn’t remember seeing Baz around. Baz didn’t care about that part, his heart was too busy breaking.

Simon’s life is a tragedy. He’s everything that’s reflected in his eyes and more, and he’s probably the best thing to happen to Baz in a decade . When Baz’s mother died, he thought that the only thing he’d ever feel again is that low droning sense of loss, the kind that never really leaves. Simon says he overthinks, Baz thinks that he underthinks. It’s not like he expected to lose his mum when he was just in grade seven, he barely even had the mental capacity to understand sex ed at the time. After his mother died, he never wanted to be caught mentally unprepared again. He started bracing for everyone in his life to leave; for his dad to get hit by a bus, for Fiona to overdose, for Dev to get caught in a robbery gone wrong. Anything was possible, and it still is, but when he looks at Simon he doesn’t want to be prepared for his death. It’s the only time he’s ever actually cursed his overthinking, because in the past it was painful but he felt like he was doing something productive. Now? Now he just doesn’t want to do anything but keep this man safe. He knows that he absolutely cannot prepare himself mentally for Simon’s death, no amount of emotional numbness would save him from that grief. It’s not like preparing for his other loved ones to die would really help in the end, but with Simon even thinking about him dying or going away makes him feel like he’s falling. He feels like he’s falling into an endless well, and the only way out of it is to look towards Simon.

That’s why Simon’s so good, because he’s the sun, and Baz has been frozen for so long that he didn’t even realize he’d lost feeling in his limbs until he felt his warmth.

He can’t let go of this, even if he knows it’ll probably end in the worst pain of his life. He’d rather burn than go back to the cold. So he squeezes Simon’s hand a bit tighter as they walk through town square, and he leans so that their shoulders bump together. Simon looks up at him and gives him one of those world ending grins. Baz wants to kiss him again, and is trying to figure out how to when Simon speaks. "You're probably starved."

Oh lord, he's so cute. Baz nods, not even trying to front since he hasn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. "Yeah, I haven't had anything since what you cooked for us last night."

Simon pulls his lips into a thin line, seemingly a combination of sad and thinking. Baz is trying to think of what to say when Simon shakes the expression off his face. "Let's get you some scones on the way in, then."

"Can we share them?" He blurts out, feeling extremely soft but honestly he doesn't care. "I like… I like when we share."

Simon doesn't bother hiding his enthusiasm, nodding quickly. "Yeah, we can split them Baz. No coffee though, it’s too late." 

Baz lets out an extra dramatic sigh, earning himself an elbow in the side from the arm that was still linked to his own. It’d annoy him if he wasn’t laughing too hard. Simon makes him laugh in a way he didn’t know was still possible. “Fine, fine- No coffee, scones are enough.”

“I’ll buy you tea.” Simon offers, voice gentle. He sounds worried still, and Baz reckons it’s his fault still.

He waves his free hand dismissively, which makes Simon frown a bit so he rushes to explain. “Agatha has tea, Snow. I promise, I’m not going to keel over and die.”

“I’m just worried ‘bout you, Baz.” He mumbles out, giving his hand a small tug. 

Baz lets out a long, drawn out exhale. He watches Simon intently out of the corner of his eye, trying to think of what to say. He settles on leaning a bit closer as they walk. “I know, but you really shouldn’t fret so much.”

“You were in jail for god knows how long, I think I’m fretting the perfect amount. Did they give you any water at all?” Simon huffs out, but doesn’t move away.

“I hardly think that hydrating someone you intend to hang is a smart-” He starts to reason, but abruptly stops when he sees Simon’s face go sour. His mouth twists up a bit, and he’s got a death grip on his hand now. “Are- Are you okay?”

Simon looks at him now, nodding slowly. “Yeah, yeah I- Just don’t mention that so casually, please.”

“Why?” He asks before he can stop himself, face heating up in embarrassment. He sounds like a child. “I mean… Well, what I mean is that it didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, but you have no idea how terrified I was.” Simon speaks in a voice so low that it might as well be a whisper. “I didn’t know where you were, my best friend’s being hunted and then I find out that you’re scheduled to be- To be killed .”

Baz pulls their hands up a bit, stroking the back of Simon’s with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Simon. I- Honestly, I didn’t expect you to come..”

“Why wouldn’t I come?” He asks, sounding a bit hurt by the idea.

“I got myself into that situation through arrogance, I assumed you’d write me off. I would’ve written myself off.” Baz explains quietly.

Simon stops in his tracks, pulling Baz to a stop with him. He doesn’t say anything, just carefully reaches up and cups Baz’s face with one hand. Their eyes meet for a moment, Simon’s are searching for consent to which Baz nods. Simon doesn’t waste any more time, he leans forward and captures Baz’s lips again. And he doesn’t even care that they’re in the middle of town, where anyone could see them, because they’re kissing again and Christ does it feel good. Simon kisses like he’s trying to breathe life into Baz, like he thinks that one good kiss will save Baz’s life. He does, actually think that. Simon thinks that a solid snog will undo years of bad mental hygiene and lack of regard for himself, and the worst part is that when they’re together like this Baz almost agrees with him. Maybe kissing the living daylights out of Simon is a viable solution, his traitorous brain tells him. 

Simon’s hand trails down his body slowly, making stops along the way to briefly hold his shoulder or squeeze his other hand. He rests the hand on Baz’s hip under his jacket now, and it seems like that was his destination because he doesn’t move it any further (Baz’s life is full of only the smallest miracles). He finally pulls his lips back, barely half an inch so Baz can still taste Simon’s breath on his lips when he speaks. “I’m not going to write you off, Baz. You can stop thinking like that now, I give you full permission to expect the most from me, no matter what situation we’re in.”

“Simon-” He breathes out, making the man smile a bit at the name. “I’m not going to take advantage of you like that, putting that pressure on you isn’t fair. Not when everyone else already expects so much..”

Simon leans back into his lips, pressing what feels like a timid kiss into Baz’s now, which is odd considering that he wasn’t nearly this shy when they first kissed but it’s not like Baz is complaining . He only lingers for a second, before whispering into Baz’s mouth. “I don’t care, it’s not like I’ll just let you die. I’m gonna come, if you expect me or not, and I want-” 

He interrupts himself to smash their lips back together, and this one is much less shy, bordering on chaste now. He stays on Baz’s lips a bit longer this time before he’s pulled back again to finish his sentence. Baz would make a snarky comment about how long it took him to actually get a whole thought out, but he can’t very well tell Simon to use his words when he’s quite busy using his mouth . “I want you to rely on me.”

“I can’t just-” He starts, but is interrupted by a peck on the lips. Each time he goes to speak, Simon does this, as if stopping Baz from saying whatever terrible thing he had to say would stop it from being true. He could push Simon away, but he doesn’t make any attempt to move at all. When he stops trying to argue, Simon pulls their hands up to his mouth. 

He presses a kiss to Baz’s hand, mumbling out. “You bloody well can, Basilton.”

“Are you gonna keep kissing me if I say that I can’t?” He teases, sounding as snarky as he can when he’s this breathless.

Simon pouts for a moment, letting go of his hip and taking a step back (he doesn’t let go of Baz’s hand, though. Small miracles.) “Nope, I won’t kiss you again until you stop being such a stubborn twat.”

Baz doesn't pout back, and it's a real effort not to. He's already being a bit of a petulant child though, so he doesn't pout back or huff. He just sighs, giving Simon's hand a gentle pull. "I just hate the idea of you doing something — something for me — that gets you hurt, Snow. Even tonight, I-"

"For fuck's sake, Baz." Simon interrupts as they start walking again, both men needing something to do with their legs. "The binding really doesn't affect me like you act like it does."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just-" He lets out a sigh of defeat, leaning into him a bit again. Simon lets him. "I trust you, alright? I really do, you've done nothing but protect everyone you care about, I suppose I'm just baffled as to how I made the list."

Simon laughs, he actually laughs at Baz. Full chested laughter, leaning way too much of his body weight on Baz. “Baz- Basilton. Dr. Pitch , I’m quite sure you know how you made it.”

Baz shakes his head slowly, and Simon looks at him as if Baz is the one being stupid. “Yes, Snow, I’m well aware that you’ve snogged my brains out multiple times in the past hour. I meant- Before that!” He huffs out in frustration.

Simon shrugs, and it really doesn’t help anyone at all. He’s going to tell Simon this when the man points to a lit shop on the corner. “There’s the place I wanted to get scones from, I can't believe they’re still open.”

Scones.

Right, they’re going to buy scones. His stomach lurches, and it snaps him out of it, which he’s glad for. He’s doing a pretty shit job at not overthinking, but Simon’s still clutching his hand so at least he’s not fucking it up too bad. As long as he can stop himself from spiraling too much, or putting his foot in his mouth, then they’ll have a fine night. They’ll share a box of scones, take showers, drink tea and (hopefully) kiss more. Baz is praying they kiss more, he wants to see what Simon looks like in the light of his lamp, in his bed and under his hands. He wants to count Simon’s moles as he disinfects and bandages the cut, he wants to lock eyes with Simon and make him smile. 

He’s barely even paying attention as they stand in line at the cafe, it’s a new one and Simon seems excited, but Baz is dazed in the bright lights of the cafe. Lack of sleep and food seem to be getting to him, on top of the excitement of the past few hours. It’s all so surreal that for a moment he thinks maybe he’s already been hung, and this is his dying dream; but his brain couldn't conjure something this amazing up even on the best of days, and Simon's still squeezing his hand even inside. He decides that this has to be real, and their eyes meet. 

Simon smiles at him again, and it's so pretty . "Is sour cherry okay with you?"

"Yeah, that's good Snow." He's so quiet that he's scared Simon doesn't hear him, but when it's their turn to order he gets them a dozen sour cherry scones, and a tea to split. It’s a compromise, so Baz takes out his wallet and pays for half of it. He’s on a really strict allowance right now, and it’s not like there’s any way to get more money if he’s trapped here for months on end, but he feels wrong letting Simon pay for everything. 

The pair (begrudgingly) finally let go of each other’s hands as the food’s handed to them. Simon takes the box, and Baz takes the tea. The two of them walk through town now, sharing scones and taking sips from their large black tea (Simon ordered it with two sugars and milk, seemingly to match Baz’s tastes. He is unfairly cute.)

Simon eats five scones, and pretends that he had six. Baz tries to argue, but Simon just shrugs and says. "Then, you might as well finish this one off."

He picks the damn thing up, breaking it in half and puts one half in Simon's mouth before he can protest. They spend the rest of the walk to Agatha’s like this, it’s easy to walk this way since they don’t have to navigate any of the infected districts. Those districts are… Dangerous, and it’s another reminder that the pair are running on borrowed time right now. But he can’t really manage to care like he should about that fact; because yes of course he cares immensely but he just was almost executed, and really he can’t do anything tonight productive anyway so he might as well spend it making out with this beautiful creature.

Simon knocks on the door for them both, and despite having thrown the trash out in her dumpster he woefully doesn’t take Baz’s hand again. He supposes it’s because they’re about to see Agatha, which he respects, but wishes it didn’t matter. It’s not like Agatha would out them, but- Maybe Simon just isn’t ready. 

That’s fine.

He’s fine with being Simon’s secret, as long as he’s Simon’s.  

Agatha opens the door, and she looks dreadful. (As dreadful as Agatha Wellbelove can look, anyway.) She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees them, though, and turns her head. “Dev! Niall! Si found him.”

Baz can hear the sound of clattering, and then two pairs of feet speed walking. His two best friends appear behind Agatha, pushing through to wrap Baz in a tight hug. He isn’t much of a hugger, but he hugs them back because Snow has softened his cold, dead heart tonight in the microwave of his kiss. Now it’s all soggy and lukewarm, beating half heartedly as if it had never been dead; just cryogenically preserved. 

They pull back finally, and Dev clasps his shoulder. “Where the hell were you?”

“Jail.” He mumbles under his breath, causing all three to circle in a bit more. All of them look like they’re about to jump him, but he doesn’t have the strength to retell the story. 

Simon, being the best person to ever exist, hops in. He waves a hand, signalling for them to back up — which they do — before he jumps into an explanation. “You all know the laws about the bulls at the Termitary, right?” He starts, and they all nod and hum out their agreements. “Baz tried to take a blood sample.”

They all turn to Baz, looking at him like he’s an alien. He holds back a sigh, crossing his arms as Agatha says. “How the fuck is he still standing here? I thought that there were no exceptions.”

Simon scratches the back of his neck now, and Agatha’s eyes widen. “No… Simon, you didn’t-”

“It was the only way.” He shrugs, and Baz is feeling even worse about it somehow. He wants to say something, but Simon probably realizes that this would get to him and adds quickly. “I really don’t mind, though. It’s not like I know anyone else and- It saved Baz.”

Niall gives Agatha a skeptical look, and then his eyes dart over to Simon. 

Please don’t ask, Baz prays, but Niall is a traitorous bastard and God hates him. “What did you do to get him out?”

Agatha cuts in now, hands on her hips. “He bound them together.”

“You did what?!” Dev blurts out, suddenly sounding mad. Niall pokes his arm, shaking his head.

“It’s not what it sounds like, Dev.” He says soothingly, looking back to Baz now. “Simon bound their souls together, so that under the Kin law Baz legally couldn’t be executed for his offense.”

Baz’s own eyes go wide now, and he looks over at Simon now. Simon, who’s red as a beet, gives him a shrug. “You didn’t tell me it’d bind our souls , Snow.”

“It doesn’t really do much, at least to you. And really, all it means is that I can’t get married-” He shrugs again, and Baz lets out a strangled sigh.

“You bound our souls together, Simon Snow. How does this not affect me?” 

Simon throws up his hands defensively, and there’s a line on his forehead now as his brows knit together. “It’s not like it’ll change anything, I told you- You can date whoever you like, you aren’t bound to me.”

“My soul bloody well is.” He huffs, and Simon exhales through his nose slowly at that. As if making a point.

“It’s honestly mainly something we do for legal reasons, so that everyone in our clan is still Kin without inbreeding.” He explains, and Niall lets out a snort now. “What’s so funny?”

“They’ve gotta be pissed, since it’s not like there’ll be any kids once you marry Baz.” He explains, and both men go a bit pink.

“I am not marrying Baz!” Simon huffs out, but immediately backtracks. "I mean- I don't know. It really doesn't matter to me, it's up to Baz. Like, I don't think that- Yeah, you know?"

Baz feels himself turning even pinker now, eyes wide. He has to save this, but it's not like he's just gonna turn Simon down for appearances when he's being so adorable . "Excuse you guys, if you're done, I'm covered in dirt and blood- As is Snow. Is the shower open?"

Agatha nods, he turns to Simon who shakes his head. "You go first, Baz."

"You're soaked in blood." He protests, and Simon pushes his shoulder gently.

"You're caked in dirt, I want you to go first. And then you can patch the wound up, okay?" He pushes again, and it makes Baz's heart defrost the tiniest bit more. He sighs in defeat, nodding. 

"Alright, meet me in my room after yours then?" He asks, trying to be quiet even though they can all hear. Simon nods back, a bit too quickly. 

And with that, he pushes through the traitors in front of him. As he passes Niall, he mutters. "You are a traitorous bastard and I hate you."

That earns him a chuckle and a good natured pat on the back. He scowls over his shoulder, carefully making sure that he doesn't scowl in Simon's direction. 

He heads straight to the bathroom, eager to strip off his clothes. He carefully hangs up his jacket, which he'll have to hand wash later (it might be faux snake skin, but it's still not washing machine safe), and the rest of his clothing ends up in a pile on the floor. The shower's on now, and he's scrubbing his body furiously. The dirt from his cell feels like it seeped into his pores, and he suddenly feels like an asshole for letting Simon touch him when he's so gross . He's got Simon's blood on him too, but that doesn't feel as wrong. Simon bleeding at all feels wrong, but he knows now that he bled to bind their souls together . 

He probably could've pieced that together on his own had he been slightly more in his right mind at all. But he isn't, and so that bit of knowledge hits him like a ton of bricks. He bound them together, and as much as he wishes that the idea doesn't make him giddy — it completely does. He feels like a schoolgirl, lathering his hair in extra soap as he thinks about his silly crush. (Is Simon just a crush? They’ve traded spit officially, it probably makes him more.) Simon’s downplaying it, the impact of the ritual, but Baz doesn’t mind if it actually did bind them together. He should mind it, and he probably would if Simon fucking Snow hadn’t kissed his common sense out the window.

So he doesn’t mind, his soul’s been bonded with Simon’s somehow and he doesn’t mind. It makes him grin like a moron, in fact, as he washes the suds out of his hair. 

There’s too many people in the house for his liking, sure he’s happy to see his friends but he’d be happier to snog Simon in peace without anyone wanting to try to make conversation with him. He’s so unbelievably tired, the only reason that he hasn’t passed out yet is that he doesn’t want this night to end. He’s scared that if it ends now, he’ll never get to kiss Simon again — that this was all a spur of the moment experiment that Simon won’t want to try again once the novelty of Baz being alive still wears off. Simon doesn’t really seem the type, to be fair, he’s so headstrong that even if he does regret it he probably won’t tell Baz. That thought terrifies him even more, and he wants to kiss Simon now . Because Simon wants him, if not tomorrow then at least for tonight he wants Baz and that’s all that matters.

It’s only as he steps out of the shower that he realizes that he didn’t bring a change of clothes, to which he sighs. He dries himself off as quickly as he can, shaking his long hair out like a dog and then wraps a towel around his waist. This’ll have to do, it’s not like he can conjure up boxers and a t-shirt. 

Baz tries to creep through the foyer as quietly as he can, but of course nothing would go that smoothly. From the kitchen, Simon calls out. “Baz? Are you out?”

“Yes, I am.” He answers, entirely despite himself.

He hears a soft thunk in the kitchen, and Simon calls back. “C’mere, I made you some real food.”

“I’ll come in a second, Snow.” He starts trying to creep away again.

Footsteps signal Simon walking towards the door though, and he says exasperatedly. “You have to eat, Baz-” 

The doorknob turns, and before Baz can tell him not to, Simon pokes his head out. He goes red . He goes a shade of red that Baz has only seen on patients with fevers well in the hundreds. Baz probably looks similar, looking away. “I told you that I’d be in, you idiot.”

Simon clamps a hand over his eyes, a bit too late but it’s still appreciated. “Y-yeah, yeah you did. Sorry- I’m sorry. You can go get dressed, I’ll go take my shower.”

Baz nods, mumbling out. “I’ll leave some clothes for you outside of the bathroom, and… Thanks for making food for me, Simon.”

He almost dashes off, and he would’ve if he trusted the towel not to fall. He doesn’t though, so he speed walks into his room at a reasonable pace. He didn’t pack as much as he should’ve to come here, but he thought that he’d probably be gone by now, so he only has a suitcase full of clothing. He decides to throw on his other pair of sweats and the same shirt he lended Simon the other day. He grabs the gray pair for Simon again, and a plain white t-shirt, running down the stairs to place them on the table outside of the bathroom.

When he finally makes his entrance in the kitchen, the three meddling fuckers are sitting around the table. They all have cups of tea, and in the empty spot next to Dev there's a plate piled with eggs, bacon and toast. He takes the seat, and without a word he takes a bite of egg. The three watch him for a good five minutes, before Agatha finally speaks up. “So… What happened between you two? You’re acting weird.”

Baz makes an indignant noise, mouth still full of egg. He swallows harshly, looking up at her with a raised brow. “Nothing happened, Agatha.”

“That is not what Simon said.” Niall hums, a mischievous glint to his eye. “He said that you two kissed .”

Baz chokes on his tea, and his eyes must be wider than they’ve ever been. He pulls a napkin up to his lips, spluttering out. “Did you three seriously interrogate him?”

“I’m a bystander this time, I promise Baz.” Dev offers, to which Niall scoffs.

“As if . You’re the one that kept asking for the full story.” He turns his nose up a bit, and Dev doesn’t even protest.

Agatha shoves Niall, pointing to Baz as if to signal to give him his attention. Baz doesn’t know why, but he takes the opportunity to glower at the three. “I didn’t even know if he wanted to tell anyone, you meddling twats.”

Niall rolls his eyes, and Dev actually lets out a snort. Only Agatha is keeping it together, but even then she looks supremely amused. “It’s not like either of you have been subtle. I swear, Baz, I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way you look at Simon.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Baz retorts, but it’s weak and nobody’s buying that he’s properly angry. He’s more shocked that Simon told anyone.

Agatha laughs now, and it’s good natured. “You’re just proving my point, Basil.”

Dev nudges him gently, “She’s got a point.”

He huffs, taking a big bite of toast pointedly so that he doesn’t have to talk for a bit. When he swallows, he speaks in a level voice to try to retain some of his dignity. “Yes, Snow and I kissed. How much did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell us how it happened, just that yes you two kissed and that he’d never kissed anyone before.” Agatha offers, and Baz nods. He doesn’t exactly want them to know that Simon kissed him to snap him out of it.

“That’s all I have to report as well.” He says with the slightest edge to his voice.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” A voice in the doorway asks, and Christ Simon takes quick showers. Baz looks up at him, his cheeks warm but he doesn’t have the will to look away. Simon leans up against the frame, shirt bunched up in his hands. He’s shirtless , Baz gestures to it and he shrugs. “You’re gonna patch me up anyway, I’ll put the shirt on afterwards. You’ve never kissed anyone before?” He repeats.

Baz nods slowly, not taking his eyes off of the man. He has what looks like recently closed stitch wounds on his stomach, and Baz’s heart clenches a bit at it, but other than that and the recent cut he looks fucking flawless. He has the same constellation of moles and freckles on his chest as on the rest of him, he wants to kiss them all one by one. “Yeah, well- Yes, Snow, I haven’t. Hadn’t.”

“You didn’t tell me.” He hums, a small smile on his face now. “Sorry lads, I’m gonna have to steal this one for the night. He has to disinfect my wound.” He points to the cut on his chest, something that makes Baz flinch a bit.

He finishes off his last piece of bacon, before standing up as gracefully as he can. He takes a few long strides over to meet Simon. With that, the pair leave the room and Simon’s hand instantly grabs Baz’s. He squeezes it tightly, mumbling. “Sorry… I should’ve asked you, but they kept asking and- It felt wrong to lie.”

“What, are you a bad liar?” Baz teases, but Simon shakes his head.

He looks at his feet now as they walk up the stairs. “Partially, yeah. But mostly I just felt wrong saying that nothing happened between us, I don’t- I don’t want to pretend that we’re just friends around them.”

Baz softens a bit, nodding as they reach the top of the stairs. “I’d… Well, I’d like that Simon.”

“Yeah?” He looks up now, smiling. 

Baz smiles back, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, but I think maybe we should give the Kin time to forget that- You know-”

Simon chuckles, opening the door for Baz now. “Yeah, yeah, no snogging in public.”

Baz laughs at this too, he likes when Simon makes him laugh. It feels good, it feels so good. He pulls Simon along now, shutting the door behind them as he drags him over to the bed. He sits down first, before tugging Simon a bit. "Lay in my lap, Snow."

"Stop calling me by my last name-" He grumbles, but he does what Baz says. He lays half of his torso in Baz's lap, and despite his moaning he has a soft smile on his lips. 

Baz reaches into the bag at the foot of his bed, pulling out a small bottle of saline and a packet of dry wipes. As he carefully pours a bit of saline onto the wipe, he hums out. "What's wrong with Snow? It's cute."

"I just like when you call me Simon." He shrugs, causing Baz to laugh again.

Baz screws the top back on the bottle, carefully placing it back in his bag and leaning over Simon. The man winces a bit, it must sting. Baz carefully runs his free hand through Simon's hair, placing a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry if it hurts, Simon."

Simon meets his eyes now, the smile returning to his lips. "It's not as bad as this was."  He brings a single finger to his stomach, pointing to the stitches.

"Did you do those yourself?" He asks quietly, lips ghosting over Simon's hairline as he runs over the fresh wound again. 

Simon nods slightly, seemingly not wanting to dislodge himself from Baz. "Yeah, I had to. It was right after I came into town, a group thought that I killed my dad.”

“They tried to kill you..?” Baz whispers now, and one of Simon’s hands reaches up to hold his cheek. He just nods again, and Baz presses another kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry.” He breathes out.

“You didn’t do anything, Baz.” He strokes the man’s cheek gently, as if he’s touching butterfly wings. “Though, you could’ve been less obtuse that day.”

“That’s what I was apologizing for, idiot.” Baz laughs, but it’s more of a couple of puffs of air. 

Simon grins, and he can’t see it but he can feel it. “I thought you were a proper twat. Sometimes you are, but-”

“But?”

It’s Simon’s turn to laugh now, and it’s a lot hardier than Baz’s was. “Shut up, I was getting there.” He sits up now, pressing his hand into Baz’s chest. Baz complies, leaning back onto his pillows now. Simon takes the spot text to him, pulling him over so that they’re face to face now. “You’re alright, overall.”

“That’s a pretty underwhelming assessment, Snow. And I still need to bandage that cut.” He scoffs, but he doesn’t move. Their eyes are locked onto each other now.

Simon reaches out, tucking away a few stray strands. He’s grinning. “I don’t need bandages, it’s a shallow cut.”

“Alright, fine then. That was just an underwhelming assessment, is that good now Snow?” He tries to make his voice sound as much like an eye roll as he can manage right now. 

Simon swallows, scooting his head closer. “I’m not good with words.”

“Clearly.” He drawls, but he can’t help his lips from twitching up a bit.

Simon cups his face in both hands now, and he’s still beaming like an idiot. “I’ll show you, then.”

“Show me?” Baz asks, but he thinks (hopes) that he knows where this is going.

And it is.

Simon leans in again, and Baz meets him in the middle. He’s gentle, so gentle and sweet right now. He didn’t know that kissing could be like this, that it could be so much more than just smashing lips. He never saw the appeal to it, he thought it looked gross and sounds even grosser. But when Simon’s lips meet his, he gets it . He really, really gets it. It’s like having a conversation, but not really at all like that. They’re communicating something right now, but Baz couldn’t describe what it’d be in English to anyone who isn’t Simon. Even Baz doesn’t understand it, because all he’s thinking right now is Simon Snow . That Simon’s under his hands right now, he’s filling every sense that Baz has. His soap smells so much different on Simon, less woody and more sweet. Everything about Simon is slightly sweet, he’s just to Baz’s tastes.

Baz thinks about Simon and his black coffees, and smiles into Simon’s lips. Maybe he’s to Simon’s tastes as well.  

Simon pulls away a few minutes later, lips pink and pupils blown when he says. “Baz, can I stay here?”

“Huh?” He asks, caught off guard by the question. He nods quickly, gulping. “Of course you can, there’s no way in hell that I’m letting you leave.”

Simon grins at that, pulling back just a bit to pull the white shirt over his torso. A pity, really. Baz can’t wipe the smile off of his own face though, and he thinks that if he saw himself through the eyes of someone else that he’d probably have actual hearts in his eyes.

Simon has hearts in his too, at least. His pupils are still just as blown and he won’t take his eyes off of Baz. They aren’t taking their eyes off of each other , actually. Baz quite likes it, he likes everything that Simon's thrown at him thus far. Simon lays back down with a plop, facing him again. "Hi."

"Hi." Baz says back, still breathless.

Simon beams at him, and Baz attacks again. Lips on lips, hands holding each other like they wouldn't live to see tomorrow because who knows if they will . Baz will care about the plague, and the damned town tomorrow. Tonight, he barely escaped with his life and is snogging the man of his dreams. He'll fix it all after he's counted the moles on Simon's face like sheep and gotten some sleep, until then all he can think about is Simon. 

Simon's a part of him, a part that he might never really get out. (It's good that he doesn't care if he gets Simon out of his blood, otherwise he'd go fucking mental.)

Tomorrow , he thinks. 

Tonight, Simon Snow, you're mine.