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SIMON
“Penny, I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t need money.”
“It’s Baz, of course I need money.”
“Simon, you can’t possibly think Baz cares about money, he doesn’t.”
“But he likes nice things.”
“You’re nice.”
“Cute, but not helpful.”
Penny rolls her eyes as I flop backwards onto her bed. I can tell I am starting to get on her nerves. “You’re being dramatic. Just make him something.”
I scrunch my face, “I don’t think Baz is the homemade gift type.”
“Simon, you plonker. He’s madly in love with you, you could hand him an old sock and he would love it.” I pause and look to the ceiling, thinking through my options for a homemade present. Penny shoves me and lays down beside me, twisting her leg around mine,“You’re disgusting. Don’t actually give him an old sock.”
I laugh, “Merlin, Pen. Give me some credit, I do have standards.”
She sighs. “Why don’t you just draw him something?”
“I can’t draw,” I snort.
She turns her body so she can look at my face. “I’ve seen your notebooks, Si. You can draw.”
“Those are doodles, they don’t count,” I shrug dismissively.
“Well, I bet you could still draw something nice for Baz.”
I shrug again and look back to the ceiling. I want everything to be perfect.
She softens her voice. “I know you’re worried, but don’t be. You’re thinking too much, add this to your list of things to not think about, okay?”
“Okay,” I mumble.
———
I do think about it. For the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day it is all I can focus on. I watch Baz even more intently than normal. Does he need another scarf? What’s that shampoo he likes? Does he need a new wallet? Every idea comes back as a definite ‘no’ when I start to think about it too much. Baz literally has everything.
I pull at my hair and sigh aggressively.
“Snow?” Baz looks up from his laptop in the seat across from me. We are supposed to be studying together, but I haven’t even opened my book. I also sort of forgot I was in a library, and that Baz was across from me. I do that sometimes, just get completely lost in my head.
Baz has an amused grin twitching across his lips. He probably already has his gift for me, likely something fancy from Switzerland that I didn’t even know I wanted. The bloody tosser is exceptional at gift giving. I glare at him and he lifts the corners of his mouth more.
“All right, love?”
“Fine,” I spit out and open my notebook. He shakes his head and goes back to his laptop.
Our first Valentine’s Day together was a bust. He was at Watford, and I barely knew what month it was, let alone what day of the week. We didn’t celebrate— we weren't even in the same place, but neither of us seemed bothered by it. So, this year I want it to mean something. It isn’t like I think Valentine’s Day is some day for grand gestures of love. Baz should already feel loved. Crowley, I hope he does. I sneak a careful glance at him and worry my bottom lip between my teeth.
The corner of his mouth twitches again. “Whatever it is, stop thinking about it.” He doesn’t even look up when he says it. Typical Baz, he always knows when I am thinking too much. I ignore his comment and pick up my pencil. I should actually study. I start absently copying Baz's notes from our English Literature class while running through a list of gift ideas. I just want him to know how important he is. Again, it isn’t like I need Valentine’s Day as an excuse, but I don’t want him going, “My boyfriend did nothing for Valentine’s Day because he's a selfish prat.”
I snap my pencil and Baz stops typing.
Oops.
“Simon,” he whispers. I look up to him, guilt all over my face and worry across his. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. I pick up another pencil and press lightly to the page this time.
Baz reaches his hand under the table and brushes his fingers gently against my knee. I look up and give him a small smile, he gives me one back.
“Sorry,” I mouth at him.
He squeezes my knee and mouths, “don’t be,” back at me, his dark grey eyes burn into my skin and I see him searching my face, trying to make sure I really am okay.
I melt.
I swoon.
My heart bursts.
My stomach flips and flutters.
I literally experience every cliché about love just from how he is looking at me. Because I’ve never felt like this before, like I mean something to someone. Like I am worth it. Like I am truly loved. I didn’t know it could be like this until Baz.
Hence the obsession with finding the perfect gift. He deserves it. Baz deserves everything.
———
SIMON
My hands are shaking. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I look down at the drawing in my hand. Why did I listen to Penny? I can’t draw.
Worst of all, I’ve drawn it on a post—it note. A fucking post—it note. Not even proper drawing paper. I thought it would be cute, but now the bright pink paper (I thought pink was a good choice for Valentine’s Day) looks pathetic in my trembling hands. I’ve almost managed to crumple the drawing completely from gripping it too tightly.
Fuck.
My heart is hammering in my chest and I can feel a light layer of sweat start on my back and under my arms. Oh, Merlin. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Baz is looking at me like I am mental from across the kitchen. When he went to make tea I slipped into the bedroom to grab the drawing. And now I am standing in front of him stupidly holding a tiny piece of paper in my hands. I've been standing here for at least 30 seconds and I still haven't managed to say anything.
Baz already gave me my present. I lightly touch the necklace around my neck. It’s breathtaking and simple. A soft black string with a tiny pewter dragon pendant that he charmed to act as a ward. It’s perfect, and makes my present seem even more insignificant.
“Simon, are you okay?” He asks carefully. He puts down his mug and stares at me. His sharp eyes take in every detail of my trembling hands, my awkward stance, and glistening skin. I know he is trying to work out whatever is going through my mind.
I nod my head and manage to exhale a shaky, “Yes.”
“Don't lie, I can hear your heart.”
Right, of course. Vampire senses. I try to inhale to steady my breathing but instead the air catches in my throat. How am I ever going to explain his crap present?
“Simon?”
I look to Baz, his entire face is filled with concern. “What’s wrong?” His eyes flick over the paper in my hands.
I shake my head. Crowley, I can’t give this to him. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks— adding to my humiliation. He abandons his tea and closes the space between us. He touches my face gently.
“Si, are you all right?”
I shake my head again as he brushes at my tears with his thumb.
“Talk to me,” he whispers softly.
He probably thinks it is something serious. Don’t worry, Baz. Your pathetic boyfriend is just crying over giving you a shitty fucking drawing on a tiny piece of paper as a present.
My hands begin to shake more and the post—it slips from my fingers to the floor. I mutter a quiet, "Fuck.” I am so embarrassing. I go to pick up the drawing, but Baz is quicker than me. He's already carefully lifting the post—it. I watch him turn it over. I want to look away, but I can't. His face remains the same— unreadable. He stares at the post—it. I inhale and exhale.
We are both silent (aside from my breathing, I feel like I can’t get enough air).
Seconds go by and he doesn’t react.
He hates it.
Finally, he takes a breath and meets my eyes. “Did you draw this...for me?” The question comes out delicately, like he isn’t sure how to proceed. I wouldn’t either. He’s probably buying time trying to figure out how to respond to such a shit present.
I nod.
“I didn’t know,” he states quietly.
Didn’t know how terrible I am at giving gifts? I want to ask. Instead, I apologize. “Baz, I’m so sorry. You got me this wonderful present and all I did was draw you some shitty picture of fucking otters. You don’t even like otters.”
“Simon,” he whispers fiercely.
BAZ
How could I not know? After all this time, how could I not know that Simon Snow can draw— as in, he's bloody phenomenal at it.
I am staring at a realistic sketch of two otters laying in the water, holding paws. The detail is amazing, I don’t understand how he managed to make something so meticulous on something as small as a post—it. The entire thing is done in beautiful black ink, and his messy handwriting is scrawled in the corner, “You are my otter half.” Simon loves puns. It is so perfectly Simon.
My entire chest starts to tighten, and I am grinning stupidly, even though Simon is clearly upset.
“Simon, love, this…it’s perfect. You’re perfect. Don't apologize.”
He looks up at me, his mess of bronze—gold curls falling into his eyes. “It’s awful, Baz. And so fucking lame.”
I laugh gently. “I’ll admit, I don’t have your affinity for puns, but you made me something, you did this,” I hold the post—it up to him, “and that means everything to me.” I smooth out the wrinkles on the drawing from where he was gripping it too tightly. I already know I am keeping this forever.
Simon shrugs and looks to the floor. He has no idea what this means to me. I step closer to him and push his curls out of his face.
“Si, this is beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
He chokes back a laugh and his face flushes. “No, I’m rubbish.”
I press my forehead to his.
“One day, Simon Snow, you’re going to see everything you are, you’re going to see everything that I do.”
SIMON
I can't help but smile as I press my lips to Baz’s mouth.
Merlin, he’s bloody perfect.
I am so fucking lucky.
I wrap my fingers in his hair and inhale his kisses.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips, barely enough room between us to breathe.
“I love you,” he whispers back.
———
BAZ
I open my laptop and grin. On the screen is a yellow post—it with the image of two boys sitting among the stars. Simon is constantly drawing now. He leaves me tiny post—it note drawings on almost everything— the bathroom mirror, my text books, folded into my jumpers.
He has an immaculate attention to detail for a drawing so small, he even included my widow’s peak. I roll my eyes and carefully tuck the note into my backpack for safe keeping until I get home.
I keep every single one.
———
BAZ
"I miss you already.” Simon's voice comes through the phone soft and sleepy. It's early morning in London, and I know he woke up just to talk to me. "I miss you, Si.” I open my suitcase and start pulling out my clothes. I called him as soon as I got to the hotel, as instructed. I've been gone 12 hours and I am already dying to feel his warmth, to taste his skin, to nuzzle into his neck.
He sighs happily, "I like when you call me that.” His voice is already drifting.
"Go back to sleep, love," I whisper.
"I like that too.”
"I love you.”
"Mmm.”
I grin and wait until I hear his breathing deepen before I hang up.
I head to the bathroom and unzip my bag of toiletries. I immediately see the bright green corner of a post—it note. As I unfold the creases two ink boys fighting a dragon reveal themselves to me. Simon only ever draws with pens. Normally he uses black ink, but he's added a few details with coloured ink to this one. Golden curls fall against the back of the other boy, hands carefully pressed to his shoulders. A red dragon floats above— confused, and dazed, listening to the raven haired boy cast a lullaby.
As always, the drawing is beautiful. All his drawings feel like they are coming to life on the page, each one is like re—living all the best parts of loving Simon, and looking at them is like feeling his magic again. The ink feels charmed, almost like drawing is Simon's own special version of magic. He comes to life when he's working, and so do his post—it note boys.
I grin at our post—it note selves.
We look infinite.
———
SIMON
“What are you working on?”
“Nothing,” I hiss and curl over my work. Baz laughs and gently kisses my temple as I lean further over my desk.
“Go away,” I grit between clenched teeth.
“You have ink everywhere,” he wipes at my face with his sleeve.
“Bazzzzz,” I whine.
“Let me see!” He reaches a hand around me and I swat it away.
“I swear, Basilton. If you don’t leave I’m going to bite your hand clean off.”
“Okay. I’m going.” He laughs again and leaves the room.
When I am sure he is gone I go back to my drawing— two boys, madly in love, one with golden curls kneeling in front of a boy with dark hair. The boy with golden curls is holding a small globe, patterned blue and green. He’s offering it to the other boy.
He’s giving him the world.
Because it is what he deserves.
———
BAZ
I slip on my tux jacket and adjust the collar of my shirt. I am nervous, and my hands are shaking. I slip them into my pocket, reaching for the cigarettes Simon always gives me shit about. Instead, my fingers curl around paper. I pull out a tiny blue post—it.
Simon. I grin.
I unfold the note and see two boys laughing in the waves. It is the time we went to Spain— when Simon asked me to marry him, when I didn’t think I could get any happier. Until today.
They look euphoric. Unstoppable. Untouchable.
And we were. We were invincible.
Until we weren’t.
Until Simon wasn’t.
We couldn’t know it at the time. As we held hands and kissed and shoved cake into each other’s faces. As we undressed and looked at each other like we had never done this before, like it was all new. As we were a tangle of never—ending limbs, two hearts beating fast, breathing heavily, dreaming deeply, falling in love all over again. As we made promises for our infinity. We couldn’t know that this was it for us, this was as good as it was going to get, because we weren't getting an infinity. We had limited kisses, limited 'I love yous", limited time. It had already started spreading. Simon was already too far gone when they found it.
Our post—it note boys were infinite.
We weren’t.
———
BAZ
He gave me the world.
I twist the silver band around my ring finger and glance over at Penny. She’s curled up uncomfortably on the plastic chairs of the waiting room.
“I’m going to get a coffee from the machine, want anything?” She shakes her head and I sigh heavily as I walk down the dim hallway. It is lined with fake photos of fake happy people. No one is happy in this place. No one compares to our post—it note boys.
I pull out my wallet and thumb through for the right change. I see the corner of an orange post—it peeking out between the folds.
Oh, Simon.
I carefully unfold the tiny square of paper.
Two boys, madly in love, holding each other tightly, desperately.
“There will never be enough.” Is written in Simon’s unmistakable tiny handwriting across the face of a clock behind the two figures.
I start to cry.
He’s right. There will never be enough. Simon gave me the world, and I can’t give him the one thing he needs, the one thing I need for him— time.
———
BAZ
The last drawing is the same as the first. Two otters, holding paws. The handwriting is the same, perhaps a little shakier, the words are the only difference.
“I’ll see you on the otter side.”
He always did love puns.
I found it tucked into my coat. I barely left his side at the end— I’m not sure how he managed to complete it without me knowing. I trace the outline of the otters and place the drawing beside the first one, the one I’ve always kept on my bedside table.
I find my box with all my other drawings and arrange them in order across the floor. I touch each one gently— our post—it note boys lived quite the life. They charmed dragons, they went to the stars, to the waves, they gave each other the world, they held onto each other with everything they had. They loved each other with everything they had.
I look around the room. Simon’s presence is missing, all his clothes are gone, his teddy bear, his worn red converse, his books. Penny took everything to her place to sort weeks ago. We all knew he wouldn’t be coming home again. We all knew I wouldn’t be able to stand coming home to a flat filled with him. All that is left is the bag of possessions the hospital gave me on the way out and our post—it note drawings. I sigh and sit down on his side of the bed. I carefully go through what is left of Simon. I take out the jumper Penny made for him and slip it over my head. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, I can still smell him. When I pull out his pendant a new wave of grief hits me. He had tried to give it to me before his last surgery. I wouldn’t let him. It was his. It would always be his.
“I won’t need it,” he had smiled at me. It was nothing to smile about. I wanted him to need it, because if he needed it, he was still alive.
I tie the black string around my neck and touch the small dragon. The metal feels cold and heavy against my skin. I inhale again and lay back on our bed. I already know what I need to do. I can’t do this without him. I turn to face the drawings.
Two otters, and our post—it note boys.
Invincible. Unstoppable. Madly in love.
They were infinite.
“I’ll see you soon, love,” I whisper.
I close my eyes and think of Simon.