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“Um, I don’t want to disappoint, shit, but it’s the middle of summer so it’s not snowing, and this house is way closer to a normal road so I didn’t have to walk through any mud, and…”
Simon Snow is standing in the doorway, one fist full of curls as he mumbles something about the weather to the knees of my jeans, and suddenly it’s Christmas break of seventh year again and I’m hopelessly in love with him and I didn’t actually expect he’d come.
“You’re here.” I used to give him a hard time when he would state the obvious aloud, but I think I’m not yet convinced he’s obviously standing in front of me. I’m relieved he doesn’t acknowledge my voice shaking in any way.
“Yeah, I am… Shit, did you not want me to actually come? I saw your text… you said I could just show up?” He says it like a question, like maybe he had made up me wanting him here. Of course I wanted him to come. I always want him to be here with me. “I thought the whole time about what to say when I finally got here… I know I owe you a big apology for not responding to any of your texts, but then I reckoned something whittier would do better, sorta break some tension before I dived into the big sorry speech I owe you, and you had said something about the snow-”
“Simon Snow,” I cut him off. I try not to do that, but he’s got this sort of panicky look in his eyes as if he’s begging for me to fill in some of the noise so he doesn't have to do it alone. “You’re all the snow I need, winter be damned.”
His eyes finally still on mine as I watch as his shoulders drop several inches in relief. It takes immense focus to not grab him by the collar and drag him inside, but he just got here and he doesn’t always like it when I touch him and I don’t want to mess things up or freak him out before he’s even stepped inside.
“Baz,” he begins. “I’m so sorry about not texting you back, I just-”
“Do you want to come inside?” I open the door wider and step aside, giving him room to enter.
“Oh um, yeah. Sure.” He doesn’t sound sure.
A small part of me wants to slam the door in his face. I’m mad, so mad. How could he not answer any of my texts for nearly a week? After everything in America? I thought he was doing better, I thought we were doing better. But then he sounded so wrong when he tried to speak to me at the beach-
And to not text me for a week while I’ve been home, dealing with my mess of a father and a missing step-mother, when I needed him the most. I think Snow feels guilty a lot, like he needs me a lot more than I need him. But that’s not true at all, I need him more than he realizes. And this week, when I needed him the most… he wasn’t there. Not a call. Not a text. I had to reach out to Bunce just to make sure he was still breathing. He’s back on the couch, she had said.
I want to be mad at him. I’m hurt. But he’s gotten off of the bloody couch, and he’s here now… and I don’t have it in me to risk having an argument. I want, just for a few hours, to pretend everything is normal. I’m just a bloke who invited his boyfriend over, and now he’s here, and he doesn’t care if I’m a vampire or gay and frankly I think my father is so preoccupied with Swithin and the twins he isn’t minding much about that either right now as long as I continue to change diapers.
I invited my boyfriend over. And now he’s here. And maybe for the next few hours, we can pretend that everything is normal.
I wonder… is this what people do?
“I’ll just,” I start. “Uhm. I’ll let my father know we have company.”
Simon’s eyes go wide. “He won’t mind, will he? I should have told you I was coming, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I told you to come. Frankly, he’s so over his head without Daphne, I think he’d hardly notice you sitting at the dinner table if you were flapping your wings and breathing fire.” He must have gotten Bunch to spell away his wings and tail. “Wait here.”
I don’t want to leave him here by himself, not after not hearing from him for a week last time I left to do something, but I am still a little scared my father might have my head for inviting my boyfriend over, unannounced, even if he he refers to him as my “former roommate” on the best of days.
The house is unusually quiet as I turn to climb the stairs to my father’s room. I can feel Snow’s eyes on my back. I ignore it as I round the corner, down the hall and to my father’s room.
Knock knock. “Father?”
Slowly, the door opens. He is bouncing a sleeping Swithin in his arms in his dimly lit room.
“Your brother has just gone down for a nap, Basilton,” he whispers. “Can you talk later?”
“I just wanted to let you know we have… company.” I swallow.
“Company?” His eyes narrow.
“Yes.” I stand my ground.
“And who might this company be? I wasn’t aware we were expecting anyone.”
“Mr Snow has decided to pay a visit. I invited him. I figured… the twins will find him entertaining. Maybe he could help out with them.” A terrible excuse, and my father knows. Helpful is the last thing my father thinks about Snow, after he created a massive dead spot around our previous home and had to move to this new house he won’t stop complaining about. I invited Snow over because he’s my boyfriend. Because I missed him. Because he’d be helpful to me. I look my father in the eyes. I don’t falter. He knows why I’ve really invited Simon over, but we won’t acknowledge it. I can’t make out his expression.
“Very well.” His eyes stop squinting. “As long as you’re quiet enough to not wake baby Swithin… do as you please.” His face is long, droopy, exhausted. Like he’s lost the fight in him. Like the eternal flame behind his eyes has gone out.
He closes the door.
SIMON
I’m not quite sure what to do with myself once I see Baz round the corner down the hall upstairs. If I’m honest, I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here. I didn’t think I’d really come. But Baz’s texts sounded more and more desperate, and when he told me to just show up, it sort of felt like he was letting me off the hook. Not that he deserves that. He doesn’t deserve any of the shit I put him through. At the very least, Baz deserves a boyfriend that is capable of texting him back. He deserves better, I had thought, laying on Penny and I’s couch. So that’s what I’m doing here. Maybe texting felt like too much to me, but Baz deserves a boyfriend that will be there for him the way he’s been there for me for the past year.
I’m also here to apologize. Big time. If his father doesn’t burn me on site after finding out I’ve turned up at his new house.
Baz isn’t gone for very long. I’ve just made up my mind to toe off my shoes when he comes back down the stairs. I can’t make out his expression.
“You’re father’s okay with me being here?” I have to ask anyway. I’ve only got one shoe off. If I’m being thrown out, at least I’ll only have to re-tie one of them.
He stops at the bottom of the stairs and just… looks at me. “Yeah. He said it’s fine. Just not to wake Swithin.” Right, the baby.
I don’t have much experience around babies. The homes I grew up in divided us up by age, and the babies often stayed in different rooms than the older kids. I’ve certainly never held a baby before. I would have no clue how to care for one.
I finish toe-ing off my second shoe, and when I look up, Baz’s face looks like a mix of expressions. His mouth is smiling, slightly, wobbling. His eyes are glossy. His cheeks are the color where, if he could blush, his face would be slightly pink I’m sure. His brows are furrowed.
“Hey,” I step towards him. “Everything okay?” I’m trying to be soft-spoken. He’s breathing heavily. His eyes race around my face, as if he’ll find a response somewhere hidden in my pores. I take another step closer to him. The entryway of this house really isn’t that big, much smaller than his old house, so I’m within arms reach of him now.
“Thanks for coming,” he finally manages, a whisper. He hasn’t moved his body since he stepped off the stairs. A tear begins to form on the bottom of his eye.
I might not know how to care for babies, or twins I can’t tell apart, or gosh, what’s the older one’s name? Mordelina? I didn’t grow up with a family to take care of. But I did grow up around Baz. He and Penny are all the family I have, even if I’ve been a shitty boyfriend this past week (and much longer than that, really).
I know how to take care of Baz.
I close the gap between us, locking my arms around his neck and drawing him into me. I feel him exhale against my shoulder. I hug him tighter, until he wraps his arms around my waist as well.
BAZ
Relief washes over me.
He’s here. Simon is here. I invited my boyfriend over, and he came, and now he’s embracing me, and everything might be alright and normal for the first time in a long time.
This must be what people do, I think to myself, but I’m not entirely sure what I mean.
------
“Good night, Sophie. Good night, Petra.”
Their little feet tramp up the stairs, growing quieter and quieter until Snow and I can hear their bedroom door close, and it’s just the two of us now, standing in silence in the living room.
“Uhm-” Snow begins. “If you’ve got an extra blanket, or something, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
I should have known he wouldn’t take me up on the offer to squeeze in next to me on the couch. But I hadn’t thought that he’d take up my offer to come.
Not long after he embraced me in the foyer earlier did Sophie, Petra, and Modelia show up, tugging on our shirts and asking me to make them sandwiches. “Your friend is back?” Sophie had asked. I’m not sure if they realize he’s my boyfriend. I’m not sure if they know I’m gay. I’m not sure if Daphne told them I’m a vampire, or if they picked up on it after never sharing a meal with me since I was eleven. I’m certain they at least know that much about me.
A lot in this family goes unsaid, especially about me. A lot of things go unsaid with Simon, too. But with my family, it’s all a silent, unspoken agreement that we all know what and who I am, it’s just not to be mentioned. With Simon, I’m not sure either of us know what’s going on half the time.
“Nonsense. You’re the guest, you can take the couch,” I insist.
“I showed up, unannounced, and I still owe you a big apology. I’m not making you sleep on the floor for me,” he argues. My stomach starts to sink - I don’t want to go back to the bickering and arguing we seem so inclined to do - but, Crowly, I will not have my apologetic boyfriend sleeping on the floor after a morning of traveling just to see me because I missed him and invited him to come over.
“I’ll let you apologize to me if you take the couch.” He seems to give in to that agreement, as his face unscrunches.
“I didn’t really… I jumped in the Uber before I thought to pack anything so I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“Wait here, I’ll grab something for you,” I respond, but instead, step towards him. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to have, to take, just to touch.
His curls are for once sat neatly on his head, but I still reach up with my hand to tuck them behind his ear. Is this allowed? I wonder, my hand stilling. Am I allowed to have this?
He seems to answer, grabbing my hand with his wrist firm enough to surprise me a little bit. He takes my hand away from his head, but holds it tightly between us.
He looks me in the eyes. “Thanks,” is all he says.
My muscles don’t want to leave. “Right,” I manage. Eventually, the thought of him wearing my pajamas wins out, and I give his hand a final squeeze before making my way to the linen closet where some of my old clothes are kept.
I don’t have many clothes here - most of them have made their way to Fiona’s - but I manage to find a pair of soft PJ bottoms and a shirt left here in the bottom of the closet.
“Here,” I say, handing them to Simon. “There’s extra toothbrushes and towels and everything in the bathroom cabinet. Feel free to take whatever you need.” I should have grabbed them for him as well, but I also don’t want to leave him alone for too long. Half of me still can’t believe he’s really here, in my father’s house, and the other half is worried I might find the front door open and a missing Simon if I leave him for longer than is necessary.
“Right. Thank you. I’m just going to go shower then, if that’s alright.”
----
SIMON
Baz and I have seen each other after the shower hundreds of times. We lived together for seven years. But this time seems different.
He never showers at Penny and I’s apartment. He’s got all these fancy soaps and a twelve step hair routine all set up at his aunt’s, and part of me is normally relieved that it’s a good enough excuse for him to go back to his aunt’s every night so he doesn’t have to awkwardly spend the night with me. But when I came out of the shower, wearing his pajamas, having a sleepover with my boyfriend (with his father upstairs!), I think I saw little stars swim around his eyes when he looked at me. I thought he was being corny, at first, but when I saw him emerge from his shower half an hour later, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him up against the wall.
Now we’re here, with me on my stomach on the couch, facing him as he lays on his back on the floor next to me.
It’s time he gets his well deserved apology.
“I’m so sorry for not calling or texting you back, Baz.”
“I know.” He seems satisfied, like if that was the extent of my apology, it would be forgiven. Maybe he doesn’t expect me to continue with it. But, no, he deserves a better apology than that.
“When you told me not to come with you here, back at the airport-”
“I’m sorry I told you not to come,” he interupts. “I should have accepted your offer. It was kind. You were putting in an effort, and I should have let you. Honestly, I just thought this would be a quick trip, and you had such a hard time in America, I thought letting you go home and rest was best for you.”
“You were probably right. I needed to rest, and when things with your father sounded worse than you thought, I didn’t want to involve myself and just give you another thing to take care of.”
“You’re not just another thing to take care of, Simon. You’re my boyfriend.” He frees his arm and reaches out to me, waiting for me to take it.
“You’re my boyfriend, too, Baz, and I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.” I take his hand and bring it to my chest. “Baz, you’re always there when I need you. In school, after graduation, in America. I had an opportunity to be there for you, and I wasn’t, and I’m so so sorry I wasn’t.” Suddenly, I don’t feel like my words are enough. I free my other hand and use it to fully wrap my hands around his.
“You were going through a lot, especially after America-”
“No, stop making excuses for me. You said you’d let me apologize.” I’m shaking my head.
“And you did, and now I forgive you. You’re here now. That’s all I really care about. You don’t have to apologize anymore.”
I pause for a moment to think. He lets me.
“If you’re only going to let me get half of my apology out,” I begin slowly. He watches me, eager to hear my compromise. “Then I think I should only have to fulfil half of my agreement as well, which was you letting me take the couch.” His fingers that had been fidgeting in my fist freeze, asking silently.
I prompt him. “Come here.”
I tug on his arm gently, just enough to unfreeze him, as he shifts and stands over the couch. I pull on his arm again, down this time, and he starts trying to awkwardly slot himself somewhere between me and the couch. He was right. This thing is barely big enough for one of us, much less two. If I had my wings out, you could forget about the whole thing. But somehow, he settles himself on his side, his body halfway on top of mine, our legs bent and intertwined and his head resting on my shoulder.
“Your text, you said I could come squeeze in on the couch with you. Is this as comfortable as you had in mind?” I tease. Normally, when we lay this close, it feels like my insides are screaming, but not now. I don’t know why I’m having an easier time than I have for several months. Maybe it’s because I missed him this past week way more than I thought I would and I’m making up for the week we spent apart. Or maybe because I finally get to take care of him instead of how it normally is.
“Not at all. But don’t move.” He wraps an arm across my chest.
“Let me take care of you, now,” I whisper into his hair. I take my hand and start to rub his arm wrapped around me. He doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “I’m glad I came. Thank you for inviting me.”
I soon realize his silence is due to him holding back tears, so I squeeze him tighter. “I’m scared, Simon,” he finally lets out quickly. “It’s not like my step-mother to leave the vicinity of the house without the children, much less disappear for weeks with no word? We don’t even know if she’s alright.” It stings a bit, even though I know he’s not talking about me. I disappeared for a week with no word. But I’m not here right now to make this about me. He’s forgiven me. And I want to be there for him now.
“It’ll be alright, Baz,” I try. What does he normally say to me in these situations? When I’m crying against his chest, convinced that the world is falling apart? “You don’t have to deal with it all yourself, anymore. I’m here now, and I’m going to help you. We’ll rest up tonight, and tomorrow, we’ll try and figure out where your step-mother has gone off to, and we’ll make it all right. Besides, we make a pretty good sleuthing team, wouldn’t you say? It sure worked on you. Last time we tried to solve a mystery about your family, I got a pretty fine boyfriend out of it all, so I’m more than happy to help out again.”
He lets out a watery chuckle at that.
BAZ
I’m sure this is what people do.
They hold each other. They help each other. They love each other, even if Simon’s never said it allowed, I certainly do. Sometimes I think he feels the same. Perhaps that’s our next mystery to sort out together.
People struggle, they shift, but then they come back together. I’ve more than forgiven him for not replying to my texts. I forgave him the moment I opened my door again to a head of golden curls. He kissed me against the wall earlier, he’s lying on the couch with me, and now he’s telling me it’s all going to be alright.
Crowly, I’m living a charmed life.