Archive of Our Own

you're the only friend I need

sharing beds like little kids

laughing 'til our ribs get tough

but that will never be enough

-- ribs, lorde

“Simon?” Baz said, turning his head to look at the light-haired boy beside him. “Are we going to be best friends forever?”

Simon’s response was immediate and instinctual, like he couldn’t possibly be swayed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Baz looked down, kicking his feet against the primary school wall they sat atop. “I don’t know.” Baz said, but that was a lie. If his mother could just up and die, couldn’t Simon do something too? Maybe not die, but disappear from Baz’s life, walking out whenever he pleased? He was much too young to be thinking like this at only eleven years old- but he still worried. He’d already lost his mother, and he wasn’t sure he could handle losing Simon too.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Baz, we’re never going to be not friends. That would be like..” He trailed off, trying to come up with an example. “That would be like me deciding I never wanted to eat a sour cherry scone again.”

“But you love sour cherry scones.” Baz said, looking at his friend beside him.

“Exactly,” Simon replied. “That’s my point. I’m not going to get sick of you- if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Baz looked away- it was what he was thinking. The other kids at school had stopped talking to him as much after his mother died- like somehow it was a disease they could catch. Like death was something that could be spread by a boy in his sixth year mourning his mother. Simon, Agatha and Penelope were the only ones who still talked to him.

“Baz,” Simon said seriously. “Stop thinking about it- I know you’re thinking something bad.”

“How can you tell?” Baz asked, still keeping his eyes off the golden-haired boy. Simon could read him like a book- and Baz didn’t want to give anything else away.

“You have that little crinkle between your eyebrows that you get when you’re worried.” Simon said, and reached around to smooth the wrinkle of worry off his friend’s brow. “There.” He said, and Baz finally turned back to his friend. They’d snuck away during lunch- Baz just wanted to be alone but Simon wouldn’t let him hide behind the school by himself. At least if they got caught they’d be put in detention together.

“I’m sorry.” Baz said, out of habit. Simon shook his head- golden curls flying all over the place, he hated how much Baz apologized.

“Stop it,” He said, and placed his hand over Baz’s on the rough brick wall. They had been friends forever, none of this was new- the soothing touches and kind words. It was just the way they’d been their entire lives. “I hate it when you get like this.”

“Like what?” Baz asked, a twinge of hurt piercing his chest. He almost ripped his hand away from Simon’s- but then decided that would be too passive aggressive.

“Like..” Simon gestured vaguely at Baz. “This.”

“You just pointed at all of me.” Baz said, now more than mildly offended.

“I just don’t like to see you looking sad.” Simon said, noticing the tell-tale signs of hurt flickering behind his friend’s grey eyes. “You’re my best friend , Baz. Of course I’m going to worry- I’m going to worry about you forever . ”

Baz suddenly squeezed his friend's hand tight. “Promise me,” He said- sounding desperate and hungry. Baz sounded like he was clinging onto a heavy rope that had been tossed over the cliffside- and Simon was the one holding it steady. “Promise me we’ll be best friends forever.”

He needed Simon to promise him like he needed air. Baz needed something reliable and safe- he couldn’t worry like this forever. He couldn’t spend all his time thinking about how Simon was going to decide he was a bad friend and leave at any moment. It would drive him crazy, and Baz needed the promise that Simon wasn’t going to leave him alone. He didn’t want to be alone.

“I promise.” Simon said, and Baz squeezed his hand.

“Forever?”

“Yes, Baz. Forever.”

…........................

Baz’s sheets smelled like Simon. Baz’s whole world smelled like Simon, curled under blankets in his bed. It was their Friday night ritual, watching movies until they couldn’t stay awake anymore, and then climbing into Baz’s bed together. They’d been doing it since Simon’s twelfth birthday- when he’d requested they slept in a bed instead of on the floor like they usually did at their sleepovers.

“Baz, it’s my birthday.” Simon sighed dramatically. “Can I please sleep in a real bed?

“But we don’t have a guest bedroom.” Baz said, confused. “Where would you sleep?”

“I could sleep in your bed.” Simon suggested. Baz hadn’t even thought of it, but his queen-size mattress was more than large enough for the two of them to share comfortably. “Unless that freaks you out.” Simon said quickly, but Baz shook his head.

“I don’t care,” Baz said. “As long as you don’t kick in your sleep.”

Now that Baz thought of it, he didn’t really understand why they used to sleep on the floor. You always saw the kids in the American films doing it though, pillows pressed against the floor while they stayed up half the night laughing as they ate popcorn and told witty jokes. That was what a sleepover was supposed to look like, but somehow Baz thought his sleepovers with Simon were more fun.

They didn’t eat popcorn- they fought over who got the last mint aero bar. And their jokes weren’t witty- they were all horrible puns that either ended with either a playful shove- or hands clutched to their sides as they tried to stop laughing. Plus, Simon’s movie choices were often questionable and they traded off between 80’s comedies, and whatever indie films Baz could convince Simon to give a chance.

Last night it had been a binge watch of Wes Anderson films, and Simon had fallen asleep halfway through fantastic Mr. Fox- which was a shame, it was a great film. Baz had to wake him up for long enough that they could stumble into bed together, fumbling for the doorknob to Baz’s room in the darkness.

Simon went off like a light switch, arms wrapped around Baz and head pressed into his chest. Baz was Simon’s human security blanket at night, it seemed. Whenever he woke Simon up to go study at the library together, he always found the golden haired boy with his arms wrapped around an extra pillow like it was a person- So it wasn’t surprising that Simon clung onto him like this.

A year ago, Baz could’ve fallen asleep easily like this- warm and safe with Simon’s arms and cinnamon scent wrapped around him like a blanket. He was home to Baz, he always had been- consistent and reliable and safe. Simon was a promise.

But Baz was afraid of heights, and these days when he got to close to Simon he felt like he was falling. Or burning, or being punched in in the stomach, or engaging in any other manner of un safe activities. His heat rate accelerated, his breathing became shallower, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

He knew what he was feeling, and he hated it. Baz hated that he liked Simon so much that it itched under his skin like the dirty secret it was. He hated that he wanted to kiss Simon so badly it hurt, and he’d been fantasizing about it too much recently. Simon’s lips were chapped, so they’d feel rough against his- even though Baz bought him chapstick just last week.

Baz knew that this time tomorrow night, he’d be replaying the way Simon shifted towards him in his sleep- because that was the best he’d ever get. He tried to memorize the moment- the weight of Simon’s head on his chest. The soft rising and falling of Simon’s ribcage, and the scent of cinnamon and whatever boyish deodorant he wore sticking to the sheets and pillowcases. Baz tried to re-memorize the moles scattered across Simon’s neck and face. He tried to imagine the feeling of his fingers tangled in the soft curls of Simon’s hair.

And then he made himself stop, because memories wouldn’t do him any good if Simon ever found out about his crush. Simon might have felt like a haunted house to Baz in that moment- terrifying and thrilling- but the haunted house was familiar. It was home. And Baz couldn’t lose his home- not again.

So when Simon stirred in his sleep and shifted slightly away from Baz, he didn’t try and pull the golden-haired boy back into him. He just rolled over onto his side, and did his best to pretend he was alone. It didn’t work but Baz fell asleep eventually, listening to the sound of Simon’s breathing syncing with his own.

Baz woke up before Simon did, and he slid out of bed to brush his teeth- self consciously. He didn’t want to have morning breath in front of Simon- even though the other boy had seen Baz with much worse. Simon took care of Baz when he got the flu once- and then Baz had to take care of Simon a week later.

When Baz slipped back into bed, trying his best not to look like he’d just brushed his teeth- Simon was stirring awake lazily, stretching his arms and rolling his neck like a cat.

“Morning ‘Si.” Baz said lying back down in the bed- neither of them got up immediately to get breakfast at sleepovers. They generally stayed in bed for at least fifteen minutes before going downstairs to help themselves to cereal and whatever fruit they could find.

“Mm,” Simon said, his face half buried in Baz’s pillow. “Morning Baz.”

The other boy’s eyes were sleepy and half-lidded as he gazed up at Baz, looking like a young god sprawled between his sheets. All gold hair and bronze skin and gemstone eyes. It felt like a stab in the chest to look at him- to look at what he couldn’t have. Baz swallowed- probably audibly.

Simon looked at him a little more closely after that, examining Baz. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. He was lucky Simon chose to wear a shirt last night- Baz wouldn't've been able to handle that level of torture. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Baz sat up too. “No I’m not.” He lied. “What are you talking about?”

“You looked at me all funny,” Simon said. “Like that time you and Penelope threw a surprise party for me.”

Baz shook his head adamantly. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“But you’ve got that secret face.” Simon said, reaching over to take Baz by the back of his neck. They were too close, too familiar- and Simon couldn’t have known that Baz felt like a flower was bursting through his ribcage every time Simon touched him. “I can see it.” Simon said, narrowing his blue eyes to examine Baz further, still holding the back of his neck “Spill.”

“No.” Baz said stubbornly, stupidly- because Simon could never back down from a challenge. Simon inched his face even closer to Baz, so their noses were touching. If he so much as slipped, he would fall with his lips against Simon’s.

“Tell me.” Simon said, and Baz hoped the involuntary shiver at Simon’s low voice -this close to his ear- was unnoticable.

“No.” Baz repeated, but he could feel his resolve cracking. If Simon did anything, if their legs brushed together he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from just kissing the stupid curiosity off Simon’s face.

Simon grabbed one of Baz’s wrists- wiping away the last shred of his remaining self control. Baz almost kissed Simon in that moment- but the golden-haired boy leaned back. “Why is your pulse so fast?”

He looked like he already knew the answer to the question- but he wanted Baz to say it. He wouldn’t- He couldn’t say it. It was hard enough to admit to himself, but Baz could never confess to Simon. He grabbed the other boy’s wrist, searching for a pulse.

Baz found it, beating quick and out of sync with his own- a wild rhythm under his fingertips. It was at least as fast as his own and he almost gasped with the realization of what it meant- or could mean.

“You like me.” Baz breathed.

“ You like me.” Simon echoed.

“Can I kiss you?” Baz asked, and Simon almost dropped the boy’s hand.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.” Baz said immediately, not thinking. He backpedaled “But I don’t want you to kiss me and have this mean nothin-”

Simon’s lips, it turned out, were softer than Baz had imagined- even when they interrupted him mid-sentence. That wasn’t saying much though- because Baz assumed kissing someone with chapped lips was like kissing sandpaper. It was actually like kissing someone with jagged edges that scraped softly against his lips. He didn’t know if that was normal-this was Baz’s first kiss, and Simon’s too.

Their mouths fit clumsily together, and neither of them could quite figure out who was taking the lead. One moment, Simon’s lips were parting Baz’s, and the next Baz had tugged a hand through Simon’s curls- making the other boy gasp against his mouth. They weren’t good at kissing, but the kiss was good because Baz was kissing Simon, and Simon was proving a point with his mouth.

By the time they broke apart, their faces were flushed and Baz’s lips were swollen. He was about to say something- to finish his statement from earlier- but Simon’s phone chimed from somewhere in the sheets. The blue-eyed boy scrambled for it, and picked up immediately- despite the fact that his breath was still irregular from kissing Baz.

“Dad?” There was a pause, and Baz could vaguely hear David’s gruff voice through the phone. “I’m at Baz’s house.” Simon rose from the tangle of sheets. “Yeah, I can come home.” another short pause. “That’s today?” Now Simon was cradling his phone between his ear and his shoulder, trying to gather up his stuff- looking at Baz as he spoke. “How soon do I have to leave if I want to make it on time?”

Baz’s stomach dropped- but he held Simon’s gaze.

“Now?” Simon echoed. “It’s kind of a bad time, Dad.”  David’s voice grew louder in the phone, but Baz still couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Fine! Fine! Okay, I’ll go now.” Simon broke eye contact with Baz, and it felt like it meant more than that. Like he was breaking more than just eye contact. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.” Simon paused to listen into the phone. “Okay, bye dad.”

He clicked the end call button on his phone, and tossed it across the room- onto Baz’s bed. “I have to go.” Simon said apologetically.

“I heard,” Baz said. He swallowed, and put on his brave face. “You should go get dressed, I don’t want to make you late.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “I’ll talk to you sometime this weekend.”

“Promise?” Baz said, trying not to look like a schoolboy with his first crush.

“Yeah,” Simon said- “Sure.” Grabbing his clothes and his phone, Simon ducked out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.

Baz didn’t see or hear from him until Sunday night- after almost two full days he only got a text. One sentence, six words. Enough to rip out the garden that had begun to bloom underneath his ribcage. I’m sorry, the text read, It was a mistake.

…..............................

circle me and the needle moves gracefully

back and forth, if my heart was a compass you'd be north

risk it all 'cause i'll catch you if you fall

wherever you go, if my heart was a house you'd be home

-- if my heart was a house, owl city

“How are you?” Baz asked. He was sitting fully clothed in the bone-dry bathtub of his hotel room- on skype with Simon- the bathroom was the only private space. It was August now- almost four months since the kiss. Baz had agreed to forget that it ever happened- losing Simon wasn’t worth it.

“I’m fine.” Simon said. “Swim team is going well, and Penelope said she misses you.”

“I just skyped her yesterday.” Baz said, and he saw Simon shrugging across the computer screen.

“Well, she misses you. Hey, did I tell you that they made me assistant coach of little kid’s team?” Baz wished that Simon was the one missing him instead of Penelope. Baz was always the one texting first- always the one making an effort. These days it felt like Simon didn’t care anymore. Here Baz was- skyping him from a bathtub in California and all he wanted to talk about was his stupid swimming tournament.

“No,” Baz said. “You didn’t tell me about it.”

His father had a business trip in LA, and had dragged Baz along with him. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected it to be, he just had to wear a lot of sunscreen. The art museum was cool, and the food was good. He wanted Simon to ask what he’d been doing- what he’d seen. But he just continued talking about swim team, and eventually Agatha. It went on for awhile like that- until Simon started yawning. The eight hour time difference was a hindrance, but for once Baz was glad when Simon hung up less than an hour later.

Simon barely talked to Baz all summer- they saw each other twice- but both times it was unplanned and in public. Baz felt ignored, pushed away. He knew that Simon was talking to Penelope way more than he was talking to Baz. When she skyped him the night before her phone buzzed every few minutes- Simon’s chosen text tone chiming out. He didn’t talk to Baz like that anymore.

He avoided the dark-haired boy’s gaze, and only picked up his phone if Baz said he really needed someone. Baz found it ironic that when they were kids- Simon hated when Baz felt bad. Now, it seemed Simon only liked Baz when he was looking sad. At least, that’s the only time he deigned Baz worthy of his time.

When Baz skyped Penelope yesterday, he knew all he asked about was Simon- and he knew Penelope pitied him for it. He couldn’t help it, he knew Simon had a crush on Agatha- and he and Agatha used to text back and forth about who Simon liked better. They were both incredibly insecure with their friendships with him- but the answer was clear now. Simon liked Agatha better- and Agatha liked him. Everyone in their four-person friend group knew what happened, and Penelope had ignored Simon for a week because of it.

“He was an asshole,” Penelope said when Baz tried to convince her that it was fine. “I’m not going to associate with assholes- at least ones that don’t even apologize.”

Simon tried to apologize that weekend- probably because he wanted Penny to stop ignoring him. He told Baz he just didn’t want a relationship, that he wasn’t gay, that he thought of Baz just as a friend. They were all excuses that boiled down to one thing- Baz wasn’t good enough for him. He shut Simon up before he could give another backhanded reason that he was inadequate.

“It’s fine,” Baz said. “Just don’t do it again.” like Simon accidentally kissing him again was something that could happen.

“I promise I won’t” Simon said, and for once Baz didn’t want him to promise that. He wanted Simon to promise he would look at Baz the same way he had before- not with averted eyes and guilt. But it was too late, the damage had been done- and couldn’t be undone. Baz would forever be the boy with the hopeless crush in Simon’s eyes- and he hated it.

He hated how Simon didn’t give him the time of day- how Simon had lied to him and given false excuses. If Simon didn’t want a relationship, why was he about to start one with Agatha? If Simon didn’t like Baz- why had he kissed him?

Baz loved Simon- he really did. They’d known each other since they were kids and Baz loved him before he even knew what love meant. But Simon was hurting him- every time they talked he always left feeling worse than he had when they started talking. Simon had promised he wouldn’t leave Baz- but Baz hadn’t made the same promise to Simon. Their friendship had turned toxic- and it was eating Baz away from the inside.

…...........................

“Simon?” Baz asked, the phone connection was spotty- he’d just gotten back from California, and he was staying in the family manor in Hampshire instead of their London townhouse.

“You said you needed to talk to me.” Simon repeated, his voice crackling through the phone in a burst of static.

“Yeah,” Baz said- taking a deep breath. “I do.”

“Okay, what’s it about?” Simon asked.

“It’s about the kiss.” Baz said, and Simon sighed.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about this? I thought we were done with that.”

“Yeah,” Baz said. “That’s the point- you’ve been acting weird around me for months even though we agreed to forget about it.”

“Jesus Christ, Baz.” Simon sighed. “You can’t hold that against me when you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Baz asked.

“Like you’re a compass and I’m north.”

Baz didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. It was true, he knew it but he didn’t think Simon had noticed. He changed the subject. “That doesn’t make it okay for you to ignore me.”

“I’m not trying to.” Simon said, and the speakers crackled. “Can I just text you? This connection is terrible.”

Baz sighed. “Yeah, sure.” The call dropped, and Baz typed out a text before Simon could.

I know you talk to the others more than me. He sent the text, and waited. The tiny bubble popped up- and it meant that Simon was typing.

Yeah, Simon’s text said- and then another one appeared. But that doesn’t mean anything

Baz wanted to tear at his hair- Simon didn’t understand. But it does. He typed out three rapid-fire texts. It matters to me. I want you to care Simon. I want you to talk to me.

I do talk to you. Was Simon’s quick response.

You only ever talk about yourself. Baz said. You only care about me when you’re worried I’m going to throw myself off a cliff.

Do you not want me to be worried??? Simon said, his texts were fast.

I want you to want to hang out with me again. Baz wrote. I want to go back to the way we were. He took a sharp breath before sending the next text. Or I don’t want to go back at all.

Baz what are you saying. Simon’s response was instant. Baz knew that Simon could read into his words perfectly- he’d had years of practice. He knew exactly what Baz was saying, but he didn’t want want to believe it. Baz dialled Simon’s number. The other boy picked up on the first ring.

“I’m saying I’m done with this.”

“What do you mean?” Simon asked, and his voice sounded strained.

“I’m done with you treating me so badly, I’m done with you pushing me out.” Baz stopped to take a deep breath- he felt like he was going to start crying. “I’m done with you hurting me.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Simon said softly, and Baz felt his throat close up.

“That’s the point of this Simon, you’re not doing anything.” Baz was talking faster, a sharper edge to his voice. “You never talk to me first, and you never seem to care what I’m saying. I’m the one making an effort to keep our friendship from falling apart- and you’re doing nothing. ”

“Baz-” Simon said, but the other boy interrupted him.

“You are toxic , Simon. Talking to you hurts more than it helps, and I’m done with feeling sick over you.” Simon didn’t say anything in response, but Baz could hear his breathing over the phone- ragged, like he was trying not to cry- or actually crying. An awful, terrible, smug part of Baz thought he deserved it- because Simon had made Baz feel the exact same way over and over again. It was only fair. “Say something.”

“I can’t.” Simon choked out, and Baz was right. He was crying. “I can’t talk correctly- can you just text me?”

Baz hung up.

Fine. He texted, even though it was passive aggressive. He didn’t care anymore- and he wasn’t going to hold back. Baz was done with putting Simon’s feelings before his own.

Why are you doing this? Simon’s text read.

Because I don’t enjoy feeling like shit, thanks. Baz replied.

I’m not trying to make you feel like shit

I just..

i like. I can’t be the same around you anymore. Simon’s round of texts buzzed all at once.

Obviously

and that’s why I don’t want to do this anymore. Baz took another breath before sending his next text. I don’t want you to text me, or call me. I don’t want you to talk to me when school starts. He exhaled with a shudder.

I want you to leave me alone.

And then he turned his phone off.

….................

When Baz turned his phone back on one week later, it buzzed out of his hands with notifications- like a bird trying to take flight. Most of them were twitter notifications, but there were a few texts. None of them were from Simon.

...................

Autumn came, and the leaves changed their colors slowly. Baz saw Simon in the hallways at school- and always turned his gaze away from the blue-eyed boy as fast as possible. Simon was holding hands with Agatha- and Baz felt sick to his stomach. They were a golden pair together, ruling the school with matching smiles. Agatha didn’t talk to Baz anymore- not even over text. Penelope still sat with him at lunch though, and they did their homework together over skype.

Simon ignored both of them. It was what Baz wanted. This was what Baz wanted- to be left alone. But if he wanted it- why did it ache in the center of his chest where a garden of blooming flowers used to be?

…...................

Six months later, Agatha and Simon broke up. Baz could stand to be in the same room with them.

…...................

One year later- Baz and Simon were friends again. They talked every day, but not in the same way that they used to. Baz didn’t want to let Simon get too close, because friends can break your heart, too. He learned that the hard way.

…......................

Simon’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. If he could go back and change one thing, he’d stop himself from texting Baz that sunday night when they were fifteen. He’d knock some sense into himself- because this was Baz with his storm cloud eyes and sharp angles. Because this was Baz that he fell in love with, two years later.

He knew Baz wouldn’t like him anymore- couldn’t like him anymore. Not after the way Simon had treated him. Simon didn’t like himself after what he’d done, he didn’t like that he’d hurt Baz so much. Back when they were fifteen, the day after Baz told him not to talk to him anymore- Simon asked Agatha out. That would fix everything- it was supposed to fix everything.

But it didn’t. Dating Agatha and having a distraction didn’t solve anything. Kissing her and thinking that he didn’t like how soft she was didn’t help. Being the it couple of their school didn’t make Simon miss Baz any less. It made him miss Baz more, actually- because it felt wrong to be back there without him. Well, not without him in school- Simon still caught glimpses of him in the hallways on their way to class.

Baz wasn’t by his side though, and that felt odd and strange to Simon. They had always been together before- after Baz’s mum died and Simon went everywhere with him, when Simon was failing algebra and Baz stayed up all night to help him study. He felt like one of those video-game puzzles, they always had a piece missing and you always had to go on some wild quest to get it. But how far would Simon have to go to get Baz?

Simon and Baz didn’t talk for the first half of their sophomore year- not unless a teacher forced them together. Even then, Baz always asked ever so politely if he could have a different lab partner for chemistry- or if he could work with someone else on the medieval history essay. And because it was Baz, and he had a way of charming people even when he looked sad- the teachers willingly separated the boys.

Agatha got sick of Simon’s moping- and he honestly didn’t blame her. It was a relief when they broke up, he didn’t have to pretend anymore. And Baz was starting to make small talk with him again- if they got stuck together. Three months ago he would’ve put in his headphones and adopted a stony expression before ignoring Simon completely- blasting some indie band Simon didn’t recognize through his headphones.

“How was maths.” and “I really hate pizza day.” (Simon knew that, Simon knew everything Baz hated. He was sure he was somewhere on the top of that list) along with the occasional. “I hear it’s supposed to be sunny this weekend.”- wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was Baz . Simon would take what he could get.

By the next autumn, they walked to class together, ate lunch together, and did homework at the library during their free periods. But Baz didn’t call Simon- or text him. He knew that Baz was waiting for him to text or call- He knew that Baz was waiting for him to fix what he’d broken. But Simon was busy with homework and swim team- he had been coaching all summer- and now he needed to practice for his own tournaments. He didn’t have time to dedicate full, meaningful conversations to Baz. Simon figured that not calling at all was better than calling and not being able to pay attention- or calling and falling asleep on Baz.

He was so scared of messing up- He’d already fucked up once. Simon wasn’t going to try and fix what happened between them until he was sure he could make it perfect again. At least- that was Simon’s plan. That changed with the crippling realization that he was hopelessly, totally, completely in love with Baz.

So Simon’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest, because they were sitting together in the back of a full school assembly- and Baz had drifted off with his head on Simon’s shoulder. Simon loved it, because it was Baz and this was what he couldn’t have- and yet he had it for now, for just a little while. He had Baz’s cedar and bergamot scent, and the faint sound of Baz’s gentle breathing as he dozed against Simon.

Simon loathed it, too- because he would never have this again once Baz woke up. And he would never have more than just this . God, Simon wanted more. He wanted to kiss Baz in all the places he hadn’t gotten to kiss last time- which was almost everywhere because Simon had only kissed him on the mouth. He wanted to fall asleep with his arms around Baz and his head against his chest. Simon wanted what he could’ve had- if he hadn’t been so stupid.

I was only 15, Simon reminded himself. I was scared and confused. Simon hadn’t really thought about kissing Baz before he actually did it- but once he had it was all he could think about. And about what that meant. Did that make him gay? Could he be something other than gay and still like Baz? Was liking Baz a fluke? Was liking Agatha a fluke? What was real, what counted? Simon didn’t know- and he was so scared of the answers that he pushed Baz away. Because that was really where it all came from- fear of the unknown.

Simon’s feelings for Baz weren’t the unknown now- even if it took two years for him to realize that they had been there the whole time. They’d been there like daffodil bulbs, buried deep and dark before spring came, and they burst into bloom. Simon was in bloom- and he hated it. It would make this whole thing so much easier if he wasn’t in love with Baz.

….............

Constantly killing me

When you're invading my mind

You got it covered, I can't get a thought in edgewise

What with your fast lips, and not a gap missed,

Seems like the memories are coming at me from all sides

-- from all sides, lights

Baz didn’t know why he went to Simon’s swim meet. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to see Simon shirtless- even after all this time. If Baz still had any feelings for Simon beyond the physical part of him that screamed touch !- they were buried deep. It was safer that way- better. Baz knew that he’d probably always love Simon on some level, romantically or platonically- he didn’t know. They had always blurred the lines of what their relationship was with all the cuddling and the outings that looked like dates before the kiss. But that crossed the blurry- but still defined- line.

Kissing, touching,- was not platonic.

Baz refused to let himself blur the lines again with Simon, he didn’t want to have his (most likely repressed) emotions come back and make a mess of everything again. So Baz ignored the garden that still sprouted frothy white flowers between his ribcage. He pretended it hadn’t been there the whole time- and cheered for Simon from the stands like a supportive friend was supposed to.

Penelope and Agatha said that they were going to the meet- and they’d invited Baz to come along, but they were nowhere to be found in the stands or in the large, chlorine scented room. Agatha hated the way chlorine smelled, but Baz had gotten used to it. At least once a week- or even more- Simon would show up at school smelling strongly of chlorine and determination, so over the years Baz grew immune to the scent.

He could sort of see Simon now, leaning over- poised to dive in. Even from here- he could see the muscles in Simon’s back shifting- and his memory was enough to know where some of his moles were. Baz didn’t know much about swimming aside from the recreational standpoint- but he knew the butterfly was a hard stroke, and that was what Simon was best at.

When the whistle blew- Baz hadn’t been expecting it, and the swimmers were too fast for him to really watch Simon’s dive. All he saw was the white water being kicked up around them- and Simon’s bronze skin somehow cutting through it all. He was so fast, sliding through the water at a rate that Baz’s eyes couldn’t quite follow. Simon had reached the far end of the pool and performed some sort of fancy twist to double back before Baz could even react.

Simon was a shark in the water and a part of Baz thought he wouldn't mind getting bitten. And then a louder part of Baz told that part of himself to kindly fuck off , because he and Simon were just friends, thank you very much.

Every part of Baz could agree that Simon was beautiful, though, and certainly when he was swimming. He really was in his element, and when Simon slammed his hand into the wall and clambered out of the pool- a group of eleven and twelve year olds went running over to him.

Simon grinned at the kids around him- who were all animatedly talking, waving their hands around. He payed attention to each of them, before responding with something that made them all dissolve into laughter. Baz could see why he’d make a good coach. Once the little ones let Simon go, his team got to him instead- pulling him into a group hug. Baz couldn’t see him anymore from where he stood- he was too surrounded by his teammates and the extended family for Baz to see past them.

He used to spend endless hours talking about it, whenever Baz would listen- which honestly wasn’t often. He didn’t really understand Simon’s love for his swim team, but seeing him around his teammates made Baz see how happy he was. Simon deserved to be happy- even after all he’d done to Baz.

He wasn’t going to be able to forgive Simon- not completely, not ever. But he was over it now- over the kiss and the quiet summer and the autumn they couldn’t look each other in the eyes. Baz was ready to give Simon a chance to keep all the promises he’d made over the years. Baz was ready to let Simon in again- if the other boy made an effort. And if he didn’t, that was Simon’s own fault.

Baz waited fifteen minutes after the meet ended to go looking for Simon- he said he’d give the other boy a ride home. There was a crowd of parents and friends congregated around the swimmers that had made it out of the locker room- and Simon was nowhere to be found. Baz grabbed the defined arm of one of Simon’s teammates- stopping the boy in his tracks.

“Do you know where Simon is?” Baz asked, and the boy looked at him blankly for a moment. “The blonde one that wants to fight everything?” Baz prompted, and the boy looked like he finally remembered.

“Oh,” The swimmer said. “I think he’s in the locker room- you can go and check though, the rest of the team is out.”

“Thanks.” Baz said, before going to sit on one of the benches on the fringes of the pool area. He wasn’t going to go in there if Simon was changing, he’d just wait with the rest of the crowd. He tapped his foot impatiently, and counted the checkered tiles on the pool floor. He played apps on his phone and tried to avoid making polite conversation with the other people milling around the pool. It turned out that Baz did a lot of waiting, actually. By the time Simon came out of the locker room, almost everyone had left.

“What took you so long?” Baz asked. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

Simon had wet hair when he re-appeared, wearing a pair of worn sweatpants and a tee-shirt with a hole in the collar of it. He obviously hadn’t dried off completely- his shirt was sticking to him in a few places- and the fabric had turned darker from the pool water. A bead of it rolled off Simon’s hair and soaked into the fabric. He looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“What? Penelope and Agatha told me that you needed a ride home from the meet,” Baz said. “They said you knew I was picking you up.”

Simon shook his head- sending a few scattered drops of water running down his neck in rivulets. Baz tried not to notice them. “They didn’t tell me- and the lock on my locker was broken.” Simon said. “That’s why I took so long, I had to pry it open to get my clothes.”

“Oh,” Baz said. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed. “I’m never buying a lock from that brand again.”

A silence fell between them- strange and uncomfortable. There were years of easy conversation between the two of them- years of inside jokes and horrible typos sent back and forth over text. And now everything was different- and they had to tiptoe around each other. Baz didn’t want to get hurt- And Simon didn’t want to scare him off.

“So do you still need a ride home or is your dad picking you up?” Baz asked. Simon didn’t have a car- but he could drive, just not as well as Baz could. “I’d be happy to take you.”

“Yeah,” Simon said- rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I still need a ride.”

“Okay,” Baz said. “Let’s go.”

…....................

The inside of Baz’s car smelled like chlorine and determination, and Simon kept switching between the radio stations to find a song he liked. Baz kept making wrong turns to make the car ride last longer- because he didn’t want this moment to end. He felt like something had shifted almost imperceptibly between them- like they were seeing each other the way they used to for the first time in almost two years.

Simon didn’t look guilty when he looked at Baz anymore- and he didn’t look sad either. He just looked like Simon , with his moles and blue eyes and golden curls. He looked familiar, like coming home after a long trip. Even with the awkward pauses and stilted conversation, he still felt safe after all this time.

Baz felt safe with Simon again.

He’d spent the past two years too scared to feel completely safe with anyone- least of all Simon. He didn’t let anyone in, he didn’t let anyone see past the charming smiles that made up his public facade. Baz had kept his heart carefully guarded, and somehow Simon had come back, creeping up his walls like poison ivy.

At least Baz didn’t feel like he was falling again, but maybe he’d just been sprawled on the pavement ever since.

Baz finally stopped taking detours that Simon pretended not to notice- and dropped the other boy off in front of his house. When Simon was climbing out of the car, Baz pulled him back for a moment- a hand over Simon’s wrist. He swallowed.

“You can call me, if you want.” Baz said. Simon had to turn away so the dark haired boy wouldn’t see his grin.

“Okay.” Simon said. “I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Baz replied- softly, like he was too afraid to hope that Simon would even try.

“I’ll keep this one.” Simon said- and he would. Because Simon wanted to, he wanted to talk to Baz again. He wanted to be more with Baz again. He wanted to come home.

….................

“Are you going to do your homework or are you just going to sit there humming?” Simon asked, and Baz switched tabs so Simon took up the whole screen.

“I was doing homework and humming.” Baz shot back, and lifted up his packet as proof. They had a long worksheet to fill out for their english class- and Simon and Baz were procrastinating doing it by talking to each other over Skype. They did that a lot, because sleepovers felt out of the question. Skype or FaceTime was the next best thing, and it felt like a relic from their old friendship. They used to talk almost every night- if they could.

Simon grimaced at Baz’s half finished packet. “I still haven’t started it yet.” He said. Baz’s eyes were turned down on the page, and he raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Simon. “Baz?” Simon asked, but Baz was still looking at the packet- and not his friend. “Baz, please.” Simon huffed, and the other boy finally looked up again.

“What?” Baz asked. “I’m trying to study.”

“Will you help me?” Simon asked.

“I can’t fill out your english packet over Skype, Simon.” Was Baz’s flat response, and Simon pouted at Baz as the other boy leaned over his assignment- silky hair slipping forwards into his face. Simon wanted to brush the dark strands out of his eyes through the computer screen.

“Can I come over?” Simon asked, and Baz looked up- startled.

“It’s nine o’clock.” Baz said. “And you don’t have a car.”

“I can borrow my Dad’s car tonight- he’s out of town.” Simon said. David wasn’t around much- so that news didn’t surprise Baz very much. Simon’s suggestion did, though. Unless Simon planned on driving home at two in the morning- he was suggesting a sleepover, which was another one of their uncrossed lines from before.

Baz would not let Simon sleep in his bed again.

Okay, Baz probably wouldn’t let Simon sleep in his bed again.

….................

“Are you done yet.” Baz asked impatiently as Simon examined his friends english packet, copying the answers onto his own. It was a fair trade though- because Simon filled out their advanced chemistry lab. Baz detested chemistry.

When they were in seventh grade, they took latin and the same math class together. Baz always did the latin homework, and Simon did the math. Then they’d meet up at lunch in the computer lab and trade answers when no one was watching. It was an ingenious form of cheating, and it was yet another memory that strengthened their bond over time. They worked well together, from years of standing side by side.

“Mhhm.” Simon made a noise of consent as Baz reached for the chemistry lab. Simon’s handwriting was  messy, with the letters cramped tightly together- but Baz could read it like his own. They’d learned to write together. They’d learned to do most things together actually- like riding their bikes when they were eight, writing their first essay when they were twelve, kissing when they were fifteen.

Baz ignored his last thought, and filled out the chemistry lab with Simon’s answers- changing the wording slightly so they wouldn’t get caught. If there was one thing all students learned in school, it was how to cheat their way through classes by working together.

Simon and Baz worked in silence, sitting on Baz’s bedroom floor with their school work spread out in a messy arc around them. It was like they were fourteen all over again- except the work was harder and this time both of them were thinking about anything but homework. Baz kept sneaking glances at Simon, and Simon kept telling himself, Baz doesn’t like me, Baz doesn’t like me, Baz doesn't like me.

It went on like that for fifteen minutes, and both boys were sitting there wondering if they were imagining the tension in the air. Baz stood up. “I’m going to go get a soda.” He announced, and left the room. He didn’t go get a soda, he went to the end of the hallway and thumped his head against a wall- lightly, so Simon wouldn’t hear. Then he really did go get his soda.

Simon sat with his legs crossed on the floor of Baz’s room, tapping a pencil against one of his converse-clad feet. He was nervous, why was he nervous? Baz hadn’t done anything, Baz hadn’t said anything. Baz just sat there, leaning over Simon’s chemistry lab- biting his lip. Baz just sat there, driving Simon crazy.

He couldn’t decide if he’d rather push Baz over and kiss him again- ruining all the progress he’d made over the past year, or find himself something to drink- because there was no way Simon could stay like this. Baz didn’t notice, but Simon was falling madly.

When Baz came back he had a can of coke, and Simon stopped tapping his pencil immediately. He didn’t want to look fidgety, or annoying. Even though he and Baz had been back to almost-normal for months now, Simon was scared of doing anything wrong- he was irrationally worried that Baz would decide he had been happier without Simon after all.

“Do you want a sip?” Baz offered, sitting down beside Simon. They didn’t have any more work to do, and Simon willingly accepted the drink from Baz- just to distract himself. The soda was room temperature- which meant it must’ve come from the pantry. Simon knew the Pitch’s kitchen pretty well still, considering he hadn’t been to Baz’s house in a few years. The coke was sugary sweet, and when he handed it back to Baz he realized just how much he needed to hold onto something. He needed to have something in his hands so he could keep them off Baz.

Simon picked up the pencil again, and twirled it between his fingers. Baz watched Simon carefully- he didn’t want to miss a thing. The golden-haired boy captured his attention- and he felt the old tugging sensation again- the magnetic pull towards Simon. He wanted to ignore it. He didn’t want to ignore it.

“What are you thinking about?” Baz blurted out, and the pencil abruptly stopped twirling between Simon’s fingers.

“What do you want me to be thinking about?” Simon asked carefully, because he didn’t want to mess up. He didn’t want to ruin it all over again by saying: You, nothing but you all the time. Over and over again.

Baz swallowed. He suddenly noticed how close together they were sitting, leaning against Baz’s bed as they sat on the floor. He wanted to reach for Simon’s wrist- he wanted to see what the other boy’s heartbeat gave away this time. “Me,” Baz said seriously- and then tried to turn it into a joke in case he’d been reading Simon wrong. “I want you to be thinking of me, because I’m a narcissist.”

Simon took a sharp breath. Baz watched, Simon’s lips weren’t chapped- and his mouth was open as he tried to breathe. “You’re in luck,” Simon said. “Because I am completely willing to feed your ego.”

“And you’re not going to change your mind immediately after?” Baz said, because Simon was inching closer to him and he knew that they were going to kiss if Simon made him one more promise.

“I’m not changing my mind about you,” Simon said. “I can promise you that.”

“You did last time.” Baz said, pressing himself back against the bed- creating space. He wasn’t going to let this be easy for Simon. He wasn’t going to let the other boy make this decision in the heat of the moment. Baz was going to argue with Simon until one of them cracked- or Simon realized, again- that Baz wasn’t what he wanted.

“I’m really oblivious, Baz.” Simon said. “Incase you hadn’t noticed.”

Simon was right on that one. Baz spent three months after the kiss dropping hints that Simon was being a shitty friend, and he didn’t notice until Baz told him directly. The dark haired boy nodded as Simon attempted to come closer to Baz. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit,” He managed to get out- because Simon was practically on top of him and maybe cornering himself against the bed hadn’t been good idea. “I’m not going to lie.”

“You always were a terrible liar.” Simon said. Baz wondered why they were still talking instead of finally kissing- and then he remembered that he was the one trying to make a conversation.

“No I’m not.” Baz said, and Simon raised an eyebrow. Their knees brushed together, and Baz felt like he was following lightning with every almost-touch.

“Tell me a lie.” Simon said.

“I really don’t want you to kiss me right this instant.” Baz said- trying to keep a straight face. His ears were red- and he wondered if he had been too forward.

“You’re a fucking awful liar, Baz.” And then Simon kissed him.

It was the same as last time. It was infinitely different. It was the same, because it was Simon and Baz and nothing mattered besides the two of them- but it was different because it was so much better .

Simon’s lips were softer, his kiss was sweeter- and they both tasted like the forgotten soda. They had both kissed other people since their first kiss- so now they knew what they were doing. Their mouths weren’t clumsy- their tongues weren’t shy. Baz didn’t hesitate to run a hand through Simon’s golden hair, and Simon didn’t hesitate to bite Baz’s lip- gently though, because he never wanted to hurt Baz again.

Everything was so new under Simon’s fingertips- but at the same time it wasn’t. He’d known Baz forever- and it was like being a kid again and being told that you were finally old enough to read that book you’d stared at on the shelf for years. Baz felt right. Baz felt like wonder . Baz felt like every piece of Simon’s broken puzzle fitting together.

Simon pulled away- he needed to catch his breath. Baz didn’t seem to be willing to let go though, scattering kisses across Simon’s jaw and neck. “Baz, you’re still a terrible liar,” Simon said, taking the other boy by the back of his neck. “But you’re an amazing kisser.” Simon kissed Baz’s neck, murmuring against his skin. “And I think that makes up for it.”