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“I’m home, Snow!”
I walk into our flat, already expecting Simon to greet me with a kiss, but I only find silence instead. I can't hear him anywhere —not in the bathroom, not in our room. I call his name again, but the result is still the same.
I walk around, leaving my things on the nearest sofa, and that's when I see it —an envelope with my name on it. The flashback of the last and only time this happened hits my memory, and fear ruffles through my entire body. I slowly open it, praying to magic that it's not another goodbye note, because I don't think I could handle it again — not after everything Simon and I have gone through in the past months.
Relief comes to me as I read the message in Simon's messy calligraphy
Babe:
I’ve noticed there’s something I still owe to you after everything we’ve been through
Meet me on the train station at 6
(and please, please wear jeans).
-S.
I look on the back of the note and inside the envelope again, but there’s nothing that could tell me what Simon meant. It doesn’t seem like a goodbye note, but there’s also no clue of what’s going on. I decide to trust him, then —Circe, I’ve always trusted him, there’s no harm in trusting him on this one.
As I get ready, my stomach tickles like I've got butterflies inside. I can't help the grin on my face as I put on a pair of black jeans, wondering why in the name of magic Simon requested it. I add a navy blue shirt with purple flowers shirt, and a long black coat, —to fit with the jeans— and leave to the station.
My eyes dart around, looking for him, and it only takes five minutes to picture him standing on one of the platforms, looking for me too. Simon Snow, former Chosen One, and current boyfriend of a vampire, is holding a bouquet of flowers —of lilies —, and is looking directly at me. My feet walk to him by themselves, as I feel a grin taking form on my mouth. I swear his eyes shine brighter as they look down at my legs. Once again, I thank my vampirism for keeping my creeping blush unnoticeable.
“Baz” The few steps that are still between us are shortened by Simon. “These are for you.”
He hands me the bouquet, and I take it, bringing it near to my face. They smell so good and intense.
“Thank you.” And there’s the blush again. I lean in, giving him a peck on his cheek. "So, what's that that you said you owe me?"
He takes my hand, leading me into the far end of the open train. Though the car is empty, we stay standing near the door. My back is pressed against the wall, Simon’s arms on both sides of my shoulders, racketing me inside this little space. Not only can I smell the flowers now, but his essence too; the mixture of two of my favourite smells flooding through my nose.
“You haven’t answered my question.” I whisper.
“You’ll see soon, babe.”
The last rays of the evening sun stream through the window behind him, lighting up his bronze curls and turning them into gold. He looks like some type of angel like this. I lean into him again, finally kissing his lips, and it’s so good. It only gets better every time, and I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.
We pass by a few stations, with no one walking into our car. Simon is pressing me against the walk, with his lips on my neck and his tail wrapped around my wrist, when we arrive to London. Simon gets off me and takes my hand again, leading me out of the train.
The London night greets us with a soft breeze of cool air that makes a few strands of my hair fly out. Snow notices and stops to fix it, putting them behind my ear and caressing my cheek in the process.
“Are you going to tell me now where we are going?”
“Nope, it’s a surprise.” He even has the guts to smile nonchalantly at me. “But we are very close now.”
We walk a few blocks. Snow never lets go of my hand —he even squeezes it sometimes.
This is so much better that everything I could’ve always imagined, because it’s real. Because this is something that we both want, now.
“Close your eyes, babe.”
I want to argue, but Simon really sounds into it. I do what he sees, and feel his hand pulling me forward through the street, and then stopping. I hear a door open, and then we’re inside some warm place.
“You can open them now.”
It takes me a few moments to realize where we are. It seems like a pub, but I think it is more like an ice cream shop, except it is fully decorated with neon signs all over. I've never seen a place like this —even Vegas blinding lights were so different, so wrong. He guides us to a booth, sitting on the opposite side of the table. A waitress comes over to us just a few minutes later to leave a pair of menus to us, and I discover it’s only about ice cream and milkshakes flavours.
“I can’t help feeling bad at myself for never taking you on a date after almost two years, love.” His hand takes mine over the table, nears to where I’ve left the bouquet. “You’ve always deserved so much more.”
“Snow, we’re not having this conversation again.”
“I know, I know. It’s just, I really wanted to take you on a date. Bring you flowers, having ice cream together. We deserve a normal life, don’t we?”
I recall Vegas again, until I decide all that doesn’t matter —that’s a hurtful past, and now we’re done with that. My lips curl up into a soft smile. Over the table, I squeeze his hand, and then intertwine our fingers. His face is lightened up by the neon lights, but I can still see a soft blush taking its place on his cheeks.
“Thank you, darling.”
When the waitress comes back again, we tell her our orders. A mint and cookies ice cream for Simon, a strawberry and vanilla one for me. A chocolate milkshake for us to share —though I’m fairly sure I’ll let Simon have the most of it.
As soon as the waitress brings them, we both start eating.
"How did you find this place?"
There's ice cream dripping from Snow's lip. I extend a napkin to clean it, and take advantage of the situation to let my fingers trace the shape of his mouth. His eyes close as I do.
"I just did. I didn't want to take you to a boring place, so Penny helped me find this one. Thought you'd like it."
He hasn't even finished talking when he's already shoving a spoon full of ice cream into his mouth. I should find it disgusting, but I don't. Having Simon doing normal things like this —and not killing magical creatures and playing the soldier in meaningless wars— makes my heart soften, because this is the life he deserves.
"I very much do, yes." I'm halfway through my cup, but he's already finished his. Playful blue eyes staring at mine, chin resting on his hand.
"D’you want some?"
He slightly startles, sitting straight —not pun intended.
"What? No, babe. Thank you."
If anything, Snow is a shitty liar, at least when it comes to me. I raise an eyebrow at him, not buying it.
"Simon Snow rejecting food? Is that even a real thing?"
"You're a prick." He rolls his eyes, but still takes his spoon up. My hand stops him before he does anything.
"That's what I've heard, I spent eight years living with a boy who used to call me that." Instead, I take some ice cream with my own spoon, guiding it to his mouth. "Open."
He doesn't even protest. His lips part not so slightly, and his tongue comes out before I drop some ice cream. And I definitely shouldn't think too much into the way he licks the spoon clean, making some noise of satisfaction, but my eyes refuse to break contact with his. It’s like my 15-year-old self is taking control of my mind, and I feel the small amount of blood in my body going all the way up to my cheeks.
As soon as the spoon comes out of his mouth, I look away. I try to clear my throat, but fail terribly at it. He notices how I’ve got all nervous, and laughs.
“Is something wrong, babe?”
I shake my head, taking a sip of the almost empty milkshake. As if my actual embarrassment wasn’t enough, Snow walks around the table, sitting beside me and touching my arm.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, looking at him this time. For a small moment, I hate the grin on his face —a grin he’s definitely learnt from me.
“Well, then you don’t mind if I eat more from your ice cream?”
I’ve gone totally speechless, so I only shake my head again. Simon takes another spoon, taking it slowly to his mouth, not breaking eye contact with me again. He eats it painfully slowly, and I can’t handle it. The neon signs in the wall have all my attention now.
The idiot laughs, leaning into my side. I feel his face getting close to mine, his lips caressing my cheek. I turn slightly to face him, and his lips swiftly find mine. He tastes like vanilla and like Simon Snow. I love this moron so much, and he knows it.
“I love you.” He whispers between kisses. I still can't believe we’re doing this kind of romantic stuff in public, but I won’t complain.
At the end, we end sharing my ice cream too. He still tries to play dirty, and makes it up with kisses. I offer to pay our bill, but he doesn’t allow me to.
We’re walking to the door, but he stops me in front of one of the signs: a heart made of blue and white lights, and kisses me again. I almost let the flowers fall, but his hand catches it before I do so. His free hand finds its way to my ass, my long coat covering it.
“Have I ever told you how fucking good you look in jeans?”
I shut him up with another kiss, taking a mental note of buying more jeans the next time.
Once we’re out on the street, I try to walk to the station, but he pulls me against him. I think he’s gonna kiss me again, but he guides me to the opposite direction instead. We walk to a park, through gardens and empty benches, and stop in a plain, lonely spot.
Before I can ask something, Snow drops onto the floor, insisting me to do the same. I try not to think about how dirty my clothes could end up, and lay at his side. My head rests on his chest, right where I can hear his heartbeat.
“I wanted to look at the stars.” His voice is so low, now. I don’t say anything, just stare up at the sky. It’s not a specially cloudy night, but the city lights don’t allow us to see too many stars. “I wanted to remember that night at Watford, though it’s very different now.”
I move my head up, trying to look at him. Now my chin rests on his chest, and whisper near his mouth.
“I love it. And I love you.” I cut off the distance, taking my time to delight myself into the kiss. His lips fit so well in mine, like we've always been fated to do this. Fated to love each other, to have a life like this. “I love you so, so much.”
Simon kisses me again, and again, and again, until I’m drunk on him.
Up in the sky it’s just the moon and a few twinkling dots, but being in Simon’s arms, loving him —and knowing he loves me—, it’s much better than everything else.