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Simon
I grip Baz’s cold hand tightly as we walk up the steps of his father’s house in Oxford on a dark and dreary Christmas Eve. He squeezes my hand back.
“Nervous?” Baz asks.
“Kind of. I can’t believe your family invited me here at all, especially considering what happened the first Christmas I spent with you,” I ramble.
"It’s okay, love.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“If I say it enough times, I will.”
I snort as Baz tentatively raises his extended finger to ring the doorbell. This is much more difficult for him than it is for me and I can’t help but admire his bravery in bringing me here.
At the very least, the Grimm’s new family home isn’t haunted, according to Baz. Spending the night here will be the true test of that, though. The old-fashioned detached house stands tall in the countryside of Oxford, fields of trees surrounding the perimeter. Despite not being haunted, it has a spooky, gothic aesthetic; I would expect nothing less from Baz’s family. Ivy adorns the front of the house, brightening up its dark panelling.
I don’t know what to expect from Christmas with Baz’s family this year. I had spent Christmas Eve with them two years ago, but by the time we reached Christmas morning, I had unintentionally drained all of the magic from their ancestral family home. Not exactly the best way to impress your boyfriend’s family.
After what feels like an eternity, the heavy door opens. To my relief, the person behind the door is Daphne rather than Mr. Grimm. She wears a bright smile on her face.
“Basil! And Simon! It’s lovely to see you both,” Daphne beams warmly, drawing Baz into a hug. When she releases him, she hesitates, unsure of how to greet me, until she eventually draws me into a hug as well. Neither of us know how to act around the other after our involvement together in cult-like activities. I’m hoping that the bizarre experience might have bonded us together, though.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Grimm.”
Daphne motions for us to follow her into the house, so we do.
Baz
My family’s new home has been extended to have two additional bedrooms, so there’ll be no more sleeping on the sofa for me and no more doubling up for the twins.
Why did I let Daphne talk me into spending Christmas here? What if this is a trap, and my father has once again invited some magickal girl over to try and force me to marry her?
Today isn’t just Christmas Eve; it’s mine and Simon’s second anniversary too. And we’re spending it with my homophobic father who hates my boyfriend; great.
The agreement was to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my family, but we spent yesterday with Lady Salisbury and Jamie. Simon’s family. It’s still difficult to get used to saying that. Spending the day with them was lovely, though. If we thought the feasts that Lady Salisbury usually prepared were extravagant, we weren’t ready for her Christmas dinner.
On Boxing Day, we’re going to visit Fiona and Nicodemus. That one will be interesting. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I think that Fiona is actually starting to warm up to Simon. She informed me that she had stocked up on Bourbons, since she knows that Simon likes them; although she hastened to accusingly add that the reason why she knows this is because he had the audacity to eat all the ones in her flat last time. I had forgotten to replace them.
I tried to persuade Fiona to join us here in Oxford, but she laughed in my face.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to spend Christmas with your father’s new family? And you want me to bring Nico with me? Keep dreaming, Basil.”
“Coward. I’m bringing Snow with me.”
“I hope he knows what he’s getting himself in for.”
I hope he does too.
After getting off the train and before getting into the taxi, I went hunting (of course Snow insisted on joining me), so I’m hoping that I won’t need to go again for a while.
“Basil!” squeals Petra as she races down the hallway to greet me. I pick her up in my arms.
“My, you’ve gotten even bigger since the last time I saw you,” I grin at her.
After putting down my little sister, she rushes away again and I turn to Simon. “That’s Petra, but she looks identical to Sophie, so I don’t expect you to be able to tell them apart. I barely can,” I whisper. He nods attentively, as if making a mental note of this.
“Mum, take Swithin. He’s getting so heavy,” moans Mordelia as she enters the hallway and passes my baby brother into Daphne’s arms. She nods in acknowledgement at Simon and me before heading back towards the living room.
The doorbell rings.
“That will be one of the maids,” Daphne explains. “Basil, would you mind holding Swithin for a moment?” I take him from her and she hurries back towards the front entrance.
“Snow, hold the baby,” I say, passing Swithin over to him like a parcel.
Bewildered, Simon holds Swithin at arm’s length.
“He’s not a football,” I comment amusedly. Of course Simon Snow doesn’t know how to hold a baby. “Here, hold him like this.” I carefully adjust Swithin in Snow’s arms.
“He likes it when you sing to him.” Simon looks at me blankly, until he starts softly singing Livin’ on a Prayer. To my astonishment, Swithin gurgles delightedly.
“I was thinking something more along the lines of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, but I suppose that works too,” I say, astounded.
“Sorry about that,” Daphne apologises as she heads back towards us. She looks confused to see Swithin in Snow’s arms, but he gladly passes the baby back to her. “I’ll show you boys to Basil’s bedroom so you can freshen up before dinner.” I wonder whether we’re only allowed to share a bedroom because the house doesn’t have a guest room.
My bedroom here is considerably smaller than the one at our Hampshire home (not that I care, considering I don’t live here), but it has a king-sized canopy bed with a black chest standing at the end of the bed. A crimson rug with an elaborate pattern lies in the centre of the hardwood floor. To Daphne’s credit, the room does bear resemblance to my old bedroom.
Simon dumps his bag on the floor and flops down onto the bed; it was a long journey here. I grin and flop down next to him.
“No time to sleep. We need to get ready for dinner,” I whisper softly, lacing my fingers through his golden hair.
“No complaints from me. I remember how amazing the food here is,” he grins mischievously.
Simon looks stunning in the navy suit I bought for him. Thanks to Shepard’s suggestion, we ended up getting some shirts made for Snow so that he can hide his wings more comfortably.
I stand in front of him and tie his tie; he could do it himself, but it would look messier. He takes the opportunity to softly kiss my cheek. I smile despite myself.
We make our way downstairs to the dining room. We’re the last ones there, so we’re greeted with the sight of my family sat around the table, waiting for us. The table is set, but the food isn’t on there yet. Daphne is fussing over Swithin, who’s sitting in his highchair, drooling on himself. Mordelia, Sophie and Petra start whispering among themselves; presumably because Snow is here.
Instinctively, I draw my breath in when my father and I lock eyes.
Daphne
Convincing Malcolm to let Simon Snow into our home hadn’t been as easy as I had hoped; and not only because Simon had been the reason that our home in Hampshire was destroyed.
“What will the children think?” Malcolm asked sternly.
“They’ll think that their big brother is finally happy and in love. Because it’s true.”
Malcolm seems to stop and consider this statement, so I continue.
“You nearly lost him once before. Don’t lose him over this. Who cares whether he has a boyfriend or a girlfriend?”
Despite my entering Malcolm’s life when Baz was already nearing his teenage years, it hasn’t stopped me from loving him as one of my own. I’ve wanted nothing more than for him to find happiness, and although he may have found it unconventionally, I’m just glad that he’s found it.
Simon
“Hello, Father,” Baz greets Mr. Grimm formally as we sit down next to each other at the table.
“Basilton. I trust you’re well?”
“Yes, thank you. And yourself?”
“Yes.”
You could cut the tension with a knife. I squeeze Baz’s hand under the table; he could use some emotional support during this cold, awkward conversation. He squeezes my hand back in return.
Mr. Grimm turns his attention to me now. I’ve been trying not to think about this moment, but I’m starting to realise that it’s what I’ve been dreading the most. I wonder if I’m going to be acknowledged as Baz’s boyfriend, or as his pathetic friend/enemy with no one else to spend Christmas with, or just as the Mage’s Heir.
“Mr. Snow,” Mr. Grimm nods at me in acknowledgement, even though it looks like it pains him to do so.
“Please, sir, call me Simon,” I insist. Even when he thought I was the Chosen One, it was still weird to be referred to as Mr. Snow, considering how much younger I am than him.
“Simon,” he corrects himself, “how are you?”
“I’m great. Very happy to be here for Christmas. Thank you so much for having me. You have a lovely home, sir.” I instantly regret saying this as it’s easy fuel for him to deliver a comeback about my destroying their old house. To my relief, Mr. Grimm simply smiles politely and thanks me.
A maid brings out the food. Once it’s all laid out on the table, we start digging in. Just like last time, the food served by the Grimm family is still even better than the food at Watford.
“Basil, how is university going?” Mr. Grimm asks.
Baz launches into some small talk about uni. I pray that Mr. Grimm won’t ask me about uni, considering I’ve dropped out. I’m currently working as a cashier at Sainsbury’s. Whenever I get home from a shift, Baz always makes sure to remind me that I smell of cheap pizza. Doesn’t stop him from snuggling into me, though.
With my inheritance from the Mage, I still have money left over after paying rent each month, meaning I’m able to save up for mine and Baz’s future together. It’s an amazing feeling. I want to be able to afford to buy him a fancy engagement ring. Considering we’re both blokes, I don’t exactly know the protocol about which of us should propose to the other, but I think I want to be the one to do it. Either way, as long as we eventually get married, I’ll be the happiest man alive. Some people go down the traditional route and ask their partner’s father for permission before proposing to their significant other (or in the case of Gilmore Girls, Logan asked his partner’s mother; Baz and I recently watched the entire show together). If I forewarned Mr. Grimm though, I think he might have a heart attack and well, I can’t be responsible for the death of another powerful mage.
“Simon, are you at uni or are you working?” Daphne asks me, when it becomes clear that Mr. Grimm isn’t going to engage in further conversation with me.
I clear my throat. “I wasn’t enjoying my course at uni, so I’m currently working at Sainsbury’s.” I don’t ever want to go back to uni, but Baz’s family can find that out once they’ve become more accustomed to having me in their lives.
Working at a supermarket obviously isn’t considered the most ambitious career path; I’m sure that Baz’s family would much rather that he be with a high-flying magickal doctor; honestly, I think that’s what Baz deserves as well. But he still seems to want to be with me, despite the both of us knowing that I’ll never be entrusted with medical equipment. Maybe one day I can get a better job and spoil Baz like he deserves. Right now, I can’t provide him with the wealth and lavish lifestyle that he was raised in; but maybe one day. I’m secretly saving up to buy him a car. I won’t be able to afford a fancy car, but I’ll do my best to get him one that he’ll like.
I want to give Baz the life he deserves.
“That’s sensible. There’s no use in spending all that money on uni if you’re not enjoying it,” says Daphne.
Unsure of what else to say, I simply give her a smile in return. I’m relieved that she seems to be supportive.
“How is Hackney Wick treating you both?” Daphne continues.
“You should’ve stayed with your aunt in Chelsea. It’s much safer there,” Baz’s father mutters. Does he even know that Fiona is living with Nicodemus, a vampire?
Ignoring his comment, Baz responds with, “It’s treating us very well, thank you, Mum. Our flat is lovely and it’s not too far from uni.”
It’s sweet of him to say that about our flat, even though it’s tiny and he’s used to living in luxury.
After the final course (there were so many options for dessert that I couldn’t pick just one; I had a chocolate fondant and two slices of tiramisu), Baz and I head back upstairs. As usual, Baz didn’t eat much in front of his family, so I’m expecting Daphne to leave a plate of food outside his bedroom door.
“Was it obvious how nervous I was?” I groan into his neck as we sit down on the bed.
Baz laughs. “To me? Yes. To my family? Not at all. You handled it well, love.”
As expected, Daphne knocks on the door and when Baz opens it, there’s a plate of food on the floor. He brings it over to us and without even saying anything, he hands me the fork while he eats the leftover chicken with the spoon.
“You’re a good brother to your siblings, Baz,” I say admiringly as I use the fork to pick up a potato. Being here is making me wonder what it would be like to have siblings.
Baz shrugs. “I suppose I’m just good with kids. I sort of have to be, considering how many there are in my family.”
After watching a movie on Baz’s laptop, we decide to turn in early. We’ve had a long day of travelling and tomorrow is bound to be tiring.
Once I’ve changed out of my suit, I finally spread my wings out after having had them hidden under my custom-made shirt all evening. It’s much more comfortable than crumpling them under a normal shirt, but it still feels good to release them. Baz told me that I didn’t have to hide my wings around his family, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. My mere presence still makes his younger sisters gawk and whisper; imagine how they would react if they saw wings and a tail.
We settle into the huge bed, not bothering to make use of the space and snuggling against each other. His cold hands feel refreshing on my skin. He smells like home. As long as I’m curled up in his arms and I can smell his scent, it feels as if nothing bad can happen to me.
Baz
The door catapults open and Mordelia bursts into my bedroom in a whirlwind.
“Merry Christmas!!!” she screams, illuminating the previously pitch-black room with too-bright light.
“Crowley, Mordelia, you’re supposed to knock,” I groan, rubbing my eyes. As my eyes adjust to the light, I look over at Snow. He’s stirring but mostly trying to sleep through Mordelia’s outburst. He really does sleep like the dead.
“That was the rule at the old house, not here.”
Despite this rude awakening and idiotic comment, I pull Mordelia into a hug and smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“Father Christmas gave me the latest iPhone!” she squeals in return.
Father Christmas needs to reconsider what an eight-year-old could possibly need the newest iPhone for. I already knew that my younger siblings had smartphones, but it still stuns me. My disdain for this makes me sound about 50 years older than I actually am.
“I also got the new Mario Kart game! You and Simon will play it with me, right?”
My heart melts to hear my sister include my boyfriend in her plans. “Of course we will.”
“I need to go and compare presents with Sophie and Petra now. I’ll see you later!” And with that, Mordelia races out of the room. The energy of a child on Christmas morning is matched by nothing.
“Merry Christmas, Mordelia,” Simon mutters sleepily as he finally manages to wake up.
We’re left alone.
Simon slowly lifts his head up from the pillow, rubbing his blue eyes. He smiles at me.
“Merry Christmas, Baz.”
“Merry Christmas, Snow.” I pull myself closer to him and plant a kiss on his lips. He wraps his arms around me and draws me into an even longer kiss.
“When are you and the Chosen One going to get married?” Mordelia asks me impatiently over Christmas dinner. I can feel the blood rising to my cheeks. I don’t dare look over at my father.
“I’m not the Chosen One,” Simon patiently corrects her, seemingly unfazed by the rest of the question.
“Debatable,” Mordelia counters. I make a mental note to thank her for that later.
I’m guessing that Daphne was the one to tell my little sisters that Simon is my boyfriend. I had wanted to tell them myself, but I couldn’t risk my father finding out. He found out anyway, somehow. He definitely wouldn’t have been the one to tell my siblings; he’s probably of the bigoted opinion that children are too young to know about homosexuality.
This remark clearly pushes my father over the edge because he chooses now to say, “Mordelia, marriage is between a man and a woman.” Hearing that hurt me more than I expected it to.
“Actually, gay marriage has been legal in the UK since 2014,” Mordelia says matter-of-factly. When did my sister become such an ally?
“We should still be living in Hampshire,” my father mutters. Crowley, is that the best comeback he can think of?
“I am so sorry about that,” apologises Simon. Circe, I think his acknowledgement of the situation might make things worse.
Mordelia rolls her eyes. “Oxford is way nicer than Hampshire. Plus, I have better friends at my new school.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine with this.” My father sets his fork down on his plate.
“Malcolm, please don’t cause a scene in front of the children,” Daphne mutters.
My father usually isn’t one to cause a scene, but after seeing his behaviour when Daphne left, anything is possible. Simon sits there silently, suddenly very interested by his glass of red wine, practically downing the whole thing.
Daphne changes the subject, but I can’t focus on whatever she’s talking about.
“You might want to slow down a bit on the wine,” I murmur to Simon.
“I’m hurt that you think so lowly of my alcohol tolerance,” Simon feigns mock-hurt as he pours himself more wine. Saying this was a mistake; now I’ve probably turned this into a challenge.
To my relief, the rest of the meal is fairly uneventful and is mostly comprised of small talk and my siblings babbling.
“Let’s play Mario Kart now,” Mordelia insists after the meal, grabbing at mine and Snow’s arms.
“Basil will join you shortly, Mordelia. I just need to talk to him for a moment,” my father says solemnly. Snow has a worried expression on his face, but I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile.
My father leads me to the study and shuts the door behind us. At least he’s not making a scene in front of Simon, although I feel that this conversation would be more beneficial if Daphne were here to mediate.
“You’re really never going to marry a woman?” my father asks me. Circe, he’s getting straight to the point. Normally he dances over the subject of my homosexuality.
“I’m really not.” The temptation to be snarky and ask him how he can seriously mistake me for a heterosexual person is overpowering, but I know it would make the situation much worse.
My father draws in a sharp breath, glaring at me as if I’ve just drained a rat in front of him. “Please think about how difficult this is for me.”
How difficult this is for him?
“You’re not just in a relationship with a…man,” he just about manages to say, barely trying to mask his contempt. “You’re in a relationship with the Mage’s Heir. Don’t you realise how this makes our family look?”
“Simon was a child manipulated by the Mage. He doesn’t support him now.” I don’t choose now to mention that I don’t completely agree with my family’s political stance. “Anyway, the Mage is dead. Simon’s magic is gone.”
“Yet another reason you shouldn’t be in this…relationship. Simon Snow is a Normal.”
Has my father already forgotten that Simon was the most powerful mage? He’s hardly a Normal; he literally has wings and a tail. The fact that Simon lost his magic hasn’t come up before because, well, my father has been pretending that Simon Snow doesn’t exist up until now.
“My mother married you for love rather than power. You of all people should understand,” I say quietly. I’ve stunned him into silence, so I take the opportunity to leave the room; this conversation is clearly going nowhere productive.
I join Simon and Mordelia in the living room, where they’re playing Mario Kart. Simon is engrossed in the game, but glances up when I enter the room. He looks at me quizzically, as if to ask if I’m alright without alerting Mordelia to the fact that anything is wrong. I shrug in return. I’ll tell Snow later how the conversation went but right now, I really just need to turn my brain off and play a dumb video game. I pick up a controller so I can join the next game.
“Ha, I win!”
“Well done, Snow. You beat an eight-year-old girl at Mario Kart. Ground-breaking,” I say sarcastically. “Now prepare to get your arse kicked.”
“I would have won if it weren’t for that blue shell,” grumbled Mordelia.
Frustratingly, Snow wins every single race; how did he get so good at this game? It feels good to take my mind off of that disastrous conversation with my father.
“So, if you work at Sainsbury’s, does that mean you get all the food for free?” Mordelia asks Simon inquisitively, as if this is the most pressing question of her life.
“Well, I don’t get it for free, but I do get a discount. You can use it if you’d like.”
“Yes!” cheered Mordelia. “Basil, why don’t you have a cool job like your boyfriend?”
“Not all of us can pull off the Sainsbury’s uniform like Snow can,” I say coolly. Despite keeping my focus on the game, I catch Simon smirking at me out of the corner of my eye. I’m really happy that my siblings seem to like Simon so much.
Eventually, the twins want to watch something on TV and after some resistance from Mordelia, she eventually decides to play a game on her phone instead, so Simon and I head upstairs to my bedroom.
“Are you okay?” Simon asks worriedly as soon as I close the bedroom door behind us. Embarrassingly, these three words are enough to set me off crying. I don’t know why; the conversation didn’t go that terribly, but maybe it’s all just been building up inside me without me realising. This is the first time that my father has actually addressed my relationship with Simon, so it was bound to be a disaster.
Simon ushers me over to the bed. “It’s okay, babe,” he says soothingly. He holds me in his arms as I burrow my head into his shoulder, getting tears on his shirt. Everything is okay, everything is okay, as long as I’m in his arms.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Snow asks cautiously, after I’ve stopped blubbering. He wipes away my tears every now and then.
“There’s not much to tell, other than my father being a homophobic, classist git as usual. I don’t know why it got to me this time.”
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Your dad is an asshole.” He nervously looks at the door. “Shit, I hope he didn’t hear that. He may be an asshole, but I want to try and salvage some semblance of a relationship with him.”
I snort at this. Trust Simon Snow to make me laugh in my moments of misery.
“Can I give you your present now?” Simon asks.
“As long as I can give you yours.”
He grins, kisses my cheek and rolls himself off the bed.
“Merry Christmas, Baz.” He hands me an untidily wrapped present (thank Morgana I didn’t let Snow wrap any of the presents for my family). I open it carefully to find a brand new, deep red violin case with my initials engraved into it.
“Crowley, Simon. It’s beautiful.” He’s beautiful. “Thank you, love. Thank you so much.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, as if he didn’t just give me the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.
I rummage through my bag and carefully extract Simon’s wrapped presents. I’ve bought him the finest and largest selection of Belgian chocolates I could find, a Legend of Zelda game, and a purple hoodie that I’ll probably steal from him every now and then so I can smell like him. I want to buy him everything he’s ever wanted, but this will have to do while I’m an unemployed student who isn’t on the best of terms with his wealthy father. I’m shocked to see Simon tear up after opening his presents.
“Come on, Snow, don’t get soft on me now. I’ve already cried enough for the both of us today.” I cup my hand under his chin and use my other hand to wipe his tears away.
“Thank you so much, Baz. These presents are amazing. Why are you so fucking thoughtful?” Before I can laugh, he wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me. His lips taste salty from his tears.
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door. I’m expecting to find a plate of food outside my door, but when I open it, Daphne is standing there herself, holding the plate.
After passing the food to me, she places an envelope inside my hand. “From your father and me. Merry Christmas.”
I open it to find a cheque inside. “Thank you.” After giving her a hug, I hand her an envelope addressed to her and my father.
Simon and I had picked out my family’s presents together, choosing a variety of books and video games for my sisters. We bought my parents a gift voucher for a wine tasting experience in Oxford. For Swithin, we bought some toy cars, a teddy bear, and a toy vacuum. At least if my stepmother decides to abandon her children again, Swithin can learn from a young age how to clean up the house.
“I’ll open this with your father,” says Daphne. “He’ll be very grateful.” Somehow, I doubt that, but I just nod.
“We’ll be downstairs soon to watch the Christmas specials,” I tell her, partially to get her to leave. But also because I know Simon will want to watch Doctor Who.
Simon has fallen fast asleep on the sofa in front of the blaring television, head resting on my shoulder, mouth open. I ignore my father’s glares in our direction. I think Daphne will keep him in check after what happened earlier, especially while my younger siblings are here.
Eventually, my family clear out of the room one by one until it’s just Snow and me left. I gently nudge him in the side to wake him.
“Hm?” Simon startles, sleep filling his voice.
“It’s getting late. We should go up to bed,” I say softly.
Simon
Later that night in bed, Baz says, “I’m sorry about what happened at dinner.” I’m holding him in my arms, my wings outstretched behind me.
“Babe. You have literally nothing to apologise for. It’s not your fault that your dad is an asshole.” This time I whisper that last word, just in case Baz’s father is lingering somewhere.
That gets a smile out of him, until he shakes his head and says, “I know, but I want to protect you from my father’s homophobia. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”
I shrug. “If you have to deal with it, then I’m right here beside you. Anyway, I want to protect you. I should’ve brought my sword with me.”
Baz snorts. “You can’t slay my father for being a homophobic prick.”
“We’ll see about that.”
We lay in silence for a few moments, Baz tracing circles on my hand.
“So, how does this compare to the Christmases you spent at Wellbelove’s?” Baz asks, so quietly that I’m almost not sure if I heard him correctly.
I grab his hand. “Well, there was more homosexuality at this one, which made it way better. More homophobia too, but I guess that comes with the territory. And you’re here, which vastly improves things. You know, whenever we weren’t at Watford, I always thought about you.”
“That’s kind of gay.”
“I know.”
“Goodnight, Simon.”
“Goodnight, love.”
Baz
We need to leave promptly on the morning of Boxing Day if we’re going to get to Fiona’s on time. I want to see my aunt but astonishingly, a small part of myself doesn’t want to leave my family home. Despite the tension with my father, it was lovely to see my family again.
To the surprise of nobody, there was no resolution to the conversation with my father. He politely said goodbye to Simon and me without causing a screaming match, so things could have gone much worse, in hindsight.
“Promise you’ll visit again soon?” Sophie asks as Snow and I bid farewell to my siblings.
“I promise. And hey, you can always visit us in London.” Under no circumstances would my father allow this, but who knows, maybe my stepmother can persuade him. She convinced him to allow Simon to come here in the first place, after all.
I tell Daphne that Simon and I will take a taxi to the station, but she insists on driving us there. I miss driving; I would much rather have driven Simon and myself all the way to Oxford, but that would require owning a car. We’re sitting in the back of Daphne’s car, waiting for her to join us.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Simon.
He furrows his eyebrows, confused. “For what?”
“For coming here with me.”
“Oh. You don’t need to thank me for that. I wanted to be there with you. I want to be a part of your life and that involves getting to know your family.”
I squeeze his hand tightly in response and lay my head on his shoulder.
“I love you, Baz.”
“I love you too, darling.”