BAZ
Black boots. Leather pants. Denim shirt—sleeves rolled up. Blue eyes—black eyeliner. Bronze curls. Simon bloody Snow.
One.
I silently watch his reflection on the mirror, trying not to be too obvious but failing miserably. I am mesmerized.
Two.
I have this rule with Snow that I can watch him so long as I turn my head away within three seconds. That way I’m not caught staring.
Three.
The thing is, I’m always too weak when it comes to him. His eyes flicker and meet mine through the mirror, right when I’m about to look away. But I’m too slow. Too weak. Four. Fuck. I always break the rule with Snow—yes, the one I made the rule for.
So, what’s the point of having a rule you don’t comply? It’s like having the answer to your problem but being reluctant to apply it. What’s the word? Ah, yeah, I’m a masochist.
Snow turns around and looks at me, dubious. I lower my stare, adjusting my crop top—soft pink today.
“Baz,” he says. “Would you–” He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple travelling up and down again. He looks nervous. He looks like he’s going to ask me, “Baz, would you die for me?” You know, a kind of question I can’t answer. (I would. Die for him.) (But I’d never tell him.) “–help me paint my nails?” he mutters, his voice almost inaudible.
“Huh?”
“Uhm. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“Yes,” I say, before he backs off. Because I’m weak, weak, weak.
I stand up and go to the cupboard where I keep all my makeup stuff and reach for the black nail polish, yes, that’s the perfect one for Snow.
“No,” he says. “I want to try the pink one.”
“Uhm. Okay.”
We settle on my bed, because it’s the closest one. I take his right hand and focus on his nails, ignoring the sudden increase in my heart rate. And the unsteadiness in my breath.
It’s a good thing I’ve done this so many times before—not to Snow, obviously, but to myself—that he doesn’t notice the slight shaking of my fingers.
“Here. Done,” I say as I finish with his left hand, and make to store the polish.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my wrist. “Do you– do you want me to paint yours?”
Oh. I didn’t see that coming. I’m paralyzed for a moment, before I answer, “Yes.” Because he’s right there and I’m so weak.
I watch him taking my hand into his. One. He starts painting my nails. Two. He bites his lips while he’s focused and, oh fuck, I can’t tear my eyes off him. Three. Four. Five.
To hell with the three-seconds rule.
“Baz,” Snow says, without taking his eyes off my nails. “Are you staring at me?” Ten. Fuck. Eleven.
“Fuck no,” I say. But I don’t look away.
“Oh.” Oh? He sounds… disappointed? Twenty. Twenty-one.
I try to stay calm but my hand betrays me, shaking. “Why did you want me to paint your nails, Snow?” I manage to say. Thirty-four. Thirty-five.
“I– uhm.” His voice is shaking, his eyes still fixed on my nails. “I– I like how it looks on you.”
He swallows again and all I want to do is bite his Adam’s apple. I take a deep breath. “It looks good on you too.” He finally looks back at me and I don’t even bother staring away. I couldn’t even if I wanted. Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty.Snow has this way of looking back that makes me feel like I am being kissed. “You know what else would look good on you?” I ask him.
“What?”
“Me,” I whisper. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.
He stays there, looking at me, processing what I’ve just said. He takes a breath that seems to last three fucking lifetimes and grabs the hem of my crop top. And pulls. Sixty. Sixty-one.
Our mouths clash and I hear the sound of my heart exploding. Or maybe that’s the nail polish falling on the floor. I don’t care. All I care about is Simon devouring me, tasting my tongue, and making sure he doesn’t let me breathe. There is nothing else in the world but my hands on Simon’s hair, kisses, his hand on my belly, and all my body on fire.
Another eternity goes by before we are able to recover our breaths. Or maybe it’s just a second. I don’t know, I lost count ten thousand kisses ago.
-FIN-