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I'm going to die kissing Simon Snow.
He'll be my first kiss and my last. He'll be the beginning, middle, and end. If I should die—for I knew that I would—I wanted to be kissing him. I felt guilty for imagining it, but never guilty enough to stop entertaining the idea—leaning towards him as his sword plunged into my chest, finding his lips with mine.
I always knew he'd be merciful and quick about it, so I would only have a few seconds. But those seconds would be priceless. I'd stroke his cheek and tell him I loved him. I still loved him.
It was a terrible thing to live in spite of your mother's legacy. It was a terrible thing that Fiona wouldn't kill me, even though she was a seasoned vampire hunter. It was a terrible thing that Simon Snow would have to watch me die.
But I knew it had to happen. And maybe this hypothetical kiss was a parting, sour-sweet goodbye for the both of us.
"Baby? What's wrong?"
I blink my eyes open. I'm at Watford with Simon. He brushes his fingers over my palm gently, the way he knows I like.
"Nothing," I say. Seventh Year is coming to a close. I'm distantly aware of the fact that our deadline isn't far off now.
Simon and I have been dating for six months. And a year from now, it'll be time for the Final Battle.
I'm scared to death.
"Kiss?" He leans forward, ever the king of monosyllables, and waits for me to consent. My undead heart melts into a puddle.
"Kiss," I say back, humoring him. He presses his warm lips to mine and skates his fingers feather-light over my frigid skin. I shudder, leaning into him.
I want to hook my claws into his shirt and tug. I want this moment to be the biggest thing in our world. I want him to forget all about the World of Mages, and it's selfish, so unforgivably selfish. I must make a sad sound as he's kissing me, because he pulls away, trailing gentle kisses down my chin before burying his face in my neck.
"You smell so good, Baz," he murmurs, the words sticking to my skin. "You feel so nice. Like ice cream."
I laugh softly, then gasp as he finds a spot and begins to gently scrape his teeth over my skin. My hands shake, so I dig them into his scalp firmly, the way he likes.
We've been dating for six months, and everything has been terribly lovely, punishingly wonderful. I feel guilty even letting him kiss me like this, because we haven't talked about me being a vampire. He stopped accusing me the moment he kissed me, and his cross 'disappeared' not too long after. I haven't questioned him on it, but I know I can't continue like this forever. Once he finds out, he'll end things between us for sure.
He continues to suck at my skin, then surges up again to kiss me, making a contented sound in the back of his throat. I sigh, kissing him back after a moment's hesitation. He tastes so good, and he's so warm, and he smells—
We've done this a hundred times before. So it blindsides me when my gums prickle. I pull away only just before my fangs pop. If I'd been a second slower, I'd have cut him, and the Anathema would've expelled me.
My hand flies to my mouth. I'm scared, irrationally scared, even though I know he can't do anything to me here.
"Baz." Simon lifts his hands in a calming motion. "Hey, Baz, what—it's fine."
I haven't drank blood in a few days, and it's getting late—maybe that's why. If I had enough blood in me, I'd blush. As it stands, I can feel what meager coloring I had before draining completely.
"Baz. Honey."
I make a pained sound. I can't believe he'd call me that, after what I almost did. Maybe he didn't see.
"I… have something in my teeth," I say coolly from behind my hand. "Would you excuse me a moment?"
"Wait—love, wait." Simon's hand falls onto my arm, gentle and undemanding. "I want to talk. Can we?"
Simon never wants to talk. I cringe a little, knowing that this was all too good to be true. It still hurts to know that it will be gone.
Simon Snow couldn't kill me if he were in love with me. Then again, I never thought he was.
But this has guaranteed it. And I suppose I had started to hope that we'd… I don't know. That he would think well of me. Even if I know I don't deserve it, I have always wanted him to love me. And I always knew he wouldn't.
"Baz, can I touch your hands? I won't if you don't say yes, I promise."
"Don't be mad," I whisper before I can think better of it. I hate the words as soon as they're out.
"I won't be. I'm not. I just need to confirm something."
He waits. I hear his foot clicking against the thin carpet.
Finally, I nod.
He reaches up one sun-tanned hand, tentatively brushing it against my fingers. As I sit there, breathless, he slowly uncurls them, one by one.
"Baz," he says softly, somehow injecting the name with a thousand drops of sweetness. "Please. It's okay, I promise. Just—I suck at words. Let me show you."
"I could hurt you," I whisper.
"No." His voice is firm, stubborn. "It's okay. We'll be safe; I'll keep you safe."
"That's not…" I cut off, shivering, as his soft hand curls around mine and lifts it away.
He goes slowly as he removes my other hand, running his thumb comfortingly over the back. He traces the fine interlacing of my veins, the thin ridges of bone beneath. He hums reassuringly.
My hand falls, and I'm bared to his judgment.
But he doesn't say anything. He just leans forward and kisses the seam of my closed lips.
"So gorgeous," he whispers. "You're so pretty, Baz." He leans back, only just, and wraps a lock of my hair around his finger. I barely feel the pull. "Please, let me see. I don't want you to be scared of me."
I shake my head, unable to speak for fear of showing my fangs. He touches my shoulder. "Would it help if I did it? Would that make things less difficult?"
I gaze at him, and his eyes are soft and wide and blue. I wonder when I started to be worthy of his kindness.
I nod again, more softly. More willingly. I want him to get it over with, to see my fangs and be repulsed. Then we can go back to being enemies.
The rough pad of his thumb sinks into my bottom lip, tenderly enough that I can't feel the scrape of his calluses. He carefully begins to pull my lip down, away from my teeth. After a moment of shuddering paralysis, I let my mouth go slack. He cups my cheeks, holding me steady—then one of his hands detaches from my skin, moving up and toward my mouth. I gasp.
"It's okay. You're not dangerous, Baz. You don't scare me."
And to anyone else—From anyone else—it would be an insult. But when he says it, all I can do is shake and shake.
"I thought you knew I was okay with it," he says as he lifts my top lip to get a better look. It feels terribly intimate. "I thought you knew I liked that you were a vampire. I always thought it was cool—you were."
I shake my head. He hums, finger moving gently down my lip until it brushes my teeth. It skates across them, the sensation at a bit of a remove from me, until he touches my fang. I can feel the soft give of his skin, the jackrabbit pulse beneath. My gums tingle, and I suck in a breath, beginning to panic anew.
But he doesn't stop. He traces my fang with tender attentiveness, then leans in and presses a kiss to the back of it. He starts to do the same thing to the other, but I pull away, my eyes moist with emotion.
"You don't understand," I say softly. "This isn't supposed to happen. I could—I want to—"
"What, love?"
I can barely speak the words. "I want to drink from you, sometimes," I admit in a whisper.
"That's okay!" Are his eyes actually gleaming? "You can. I want to take care of you. I want you to feel like you're allowed to ask for anything. Even if you can't actually do it, you can know that it's something I'd be okay with. Something we both want."
I exhale. My eyes dart to my feet. "Simon."
"I'm not angry. I'm never mad at you. Not anymore; you know that, right? I've changed. You have, too."
And even if the consequences might be steep—even if part of me knows I don't deserve it… Even if this is going to end before it begins… I hold him anyway. I let my arms crush him to me, just a little, just enough for him to know that I mean it. I've always meant it, my love for him.
"Let me keep showing you," he says softly. "Let me show you how I'm never going to hurt you."
"Okay," I whisper, clinging to him. He smoothes my hair from my eyes, his touch light with care. I lean into him.
Maybe there will be an end to us sooner than I'd hoped for.
But for now, Simon is in my arms. He's calling me gorgeous, and I'm loving him back, openly, and he isn't angry. Maybe I can live like this—a charmed life, kissing Simon Snow and never worrying about what will come after.
Yes. I like that much better. I like the idea of him being on my team, holding my hand, seeing me clearly. I like the thought that my true love might actually like me back.
He kisses me so soundly and with such certainty that for once, I forget everything else. Nothing lives inside my head except the knowledge that Simon Snow isn't scared of me, doesn't think I'm a monster.
I love him. I choose him. And he chooses me.
It feels so much bigger than an imaginary battle, one I hope we'll never have. One I'll try my best to get us through.
He swipes a finger beneath my eye. "Baz?"
"I just—I don't want to fight."
He pulls back again. Looks at me. "Darling. We're not going to. I'm not gonna fight you—I thought this was clear, too. I have to get better at communicating, huh?"
I shrug, and he laughs. "What?" I say.
"It's just—you never would have done that before we started dating."
"My boyfriend is corrupting me."
"Impossible. You're, like, angelic."
I want to correct him. Tell him he's the angel.
But I suddenly find that I don't want to. His words feel true. They sink beneath my skin and get comfortable in my ribcage.
I smile at him. Then, I lean in and kiss him.
And there's no end in sight.