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Winter adorns his curly hair with perfect snowflakes and I’m so in love it hurts.
“Baz,” he grins, apple-red cheeks and blue eyes gleaming. “Build a snowman with me.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Aren’t we too old for that?”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re 18, not 80. Come on.” He bumps his shoulder against mine and I resist the urge to press against him, to linger in this brief touch. “It’s our last year, yeah? Last Christmas at Watford… don’t you want to build a memory that lasts?”
My gaze flicks to his chapped lips then back to his eyes, lightning fast. He doesn’t notice; he never notices. His eyebrows furrow while he waits for my answer and I should make him wait longer. I should make him learn what it feels like to live inside the traction-pull of something you want to grasp more than anything but can never reach.
But I don’t; I can’t make Simon want for anything, even when I want his everything.
“Fine,” I sigh, turning my yearning into exasperation (I have five years practicing this particular brand of emotional alchemy). “Let’s go build a snowman.”
He squeals with joy and bounds away toward the Great Lawn.
It’s worth the sacrifice.
We head back to our room, one snowperson later (we eventually decide not to conform to a gender binary with our personified mound of winter insulation). Simon strips his sodden clothing and races to the bathroom. “Hah!’ He calls out in triumph when he gets there before me. “I call first shower.”
Like I wouldn’t have given it to him, I think, averting my eyes from his naked form. I both hate and love how comfortable he is with me, despite knowing since fifth year that I’m gay.
He blows me a raspberry. “Prude,” he jokes.
I laugh. “I’m preserving your modesty.” I still won’t look; I’m not that much of a masochist.
“What modesty?” He turns on the water and steps behind the opaque glass.
Steam fills up the room while he rinses and I hate that my brain makes the open door feel like an invitation instead of a kind gesture. Because even though he’s taken the first shower, he’s sharing its warmth in his own way.
I almost wish he were cold with me. I wish he’d reacted to my coming out with disgust, instead of an open-armed hug and a whispered, “Thanks for sharing that with me.” I wish he hadn’t caught me draining rats in the catacombs and reassured me, “You’re not a monster, Baz. You’re just a boy.”
I wish I’d never shaken his hand when the Crucible cast us together.
Except I don’t wish any of that at all.
Because loving Simon Snow is the best part about me and I can’t give that up. I won’t.
I look over at the bathroom, where I can almost make out the outline of Simon’s naked body through curls of heat and droplets of water on the glass door.
Being Simon’s best friend is worth the slow erosion of my heart.
Somehow, I allow Dev to rope Simon and me into playing Truth or Dare in his bedroom. They’ve snuck in Penelope, Agatha, and Pippa. I drink from the flask I’ve smuggled, sulking in the corner, pushing off Simon’s repeated attempts to bring me into the game.
“Come on.” He tugs at the sleeve of my floral pyjama top.
I shrug him off once more. “The room will be perfectly paired if I don’t play. I’m fine being the odd one out.”
He sighs. “That’s rather heternormative of you.”
Fuck. I hate when he’s right. “There’ll still be seven of us.”
“Come on,” he whines. “That doesn’t matter. Please.” He leans in, hot breath ghosting over my cheek. “It won’t be the same without you.”
Like always, when Simon wants something only I can give, I cave. “Fine,” I pout. “But you owe me at least two shots as penance.”
With a smirk, Simon grabs the flask from my hand and takes two long swallows. I watch his Adam's apple bob with the action, already regretting my decision.
I take the seat next to Dev, ignoring Simon’s hur texpression. There’s only so much I can take, and I’m already tipsy.
“Simon,” Niall starts. “Truth or Dare.”
Simon taps his chin, like it’s ever a debate for him. “Dare.”
“I dare you to…” Niall darts a curious look my way. My jaw tightens. “I dare you to take off your shirt.”
With an unimpressed eye roll, Simon complies. Dev wolf whistles and Pippa blushes. I send one quick prayer of thanks to the vampire who turned me that my own fair complexion no longer betrays my flushes.
“Ok,” Simon smirks. “Dev. Truth or Dare.”
“Truth.”
Leaning over his crossed legs, Simon asks, “Fuck, Marry, Kill. Anyone in this room.”
Dev’s jaw drops. “Simon Snow, you devious bastard.” He darts a look around. “Kill you,” he winks, “for asking the question. Fuck Baz, because he has ‘tries too hard in bed’ written all over him. And,” Dev swallows, “marry Pippa. Because she’s. Um. She’s really sweet.”
Pippa lets out a small squeak and grabs the bottle of wine from Agatha, nearly downing half the bottle in response.
“Um,” Dev looks at the ceiling. “Pippa.”
Pushing the bottle over to Penny, Pippa doesn’t wait to answer. Instead, she crawls the few feet separating them to straddle Dev’s lap and pulls him into a hungry kiss.
“Holy fuck,” Niall says, blinking at the rapidly escalating scene before him.
“Huh,” Simon adds. “Never saw it coming.”
I clear my throat. “If we keep watching, in a second none of us will be able to say that.”
“Well,” Penny takes a swig from the bottle. “I’ll go next. Baz.” My heart races. “Truth or Dare.”
Because it’s Penny, I feel safe answering, “Dare.”
But then, she gets an evil glint in her eyes. “I dare you to…” I sense Simon’s body stiffening beside me. “I dare you to kiss Simon.”
My eyes close as I breathe in an unsteady lungful. Circe. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
“You don’t have to,” Agatha whispers in my ear. “No one will mind if you bow out.”
When I dare to open my eyes once more, I see Simon staring at me, face uncharacteristically blank. I raise an eyebrow. He looks away. My soul drops through my stomach to the floor.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, and two seconds later I’m out the door.
My feet pound the stone steps as I race from Mummers, hoping that if I run fast enough I can leave my fears behind.
But my fears aren’t that fickle. Not when they’re wrapped up in Simon Snow.
“Baz,” he shouts, chasing me down.
“Leave me alone,” I growl.
My feet sink into drifts of snowfall as I run away. I’m wearing silk pyjamas and am in no condition for the cold; almost immediately my body starts shivering. Still, I stomp onward. Tears stream down my cheeks, freezing as they fall. Or at least that’s how it feels; I’m not sure it’s actually cold enough for liquid to crystalize on exposure.
“Slow down,” Simon huffs, not turning back as commanded.
With a stubborn set of my jaw Simon would normally approve of, I don’t listen. Though I can barely see in front of me, I lift my snow-laden sleep trousers and soggy house slippers and plunge forward in hopes I’ll freeze to death before he can tell me how much he values our friendship.
How much he doesn’t want it to change.
But we’re graduating in a few months. Everything’s going to change.
What’s one kiss before we drift apart?
“Baz,” he shouts again, his voice sounding close, too close.
On a good day, I can count on my vampire speed for an edge but I think my blood has turned to ice in my veins.
Simon grasps my shoulder to turn me around. Instead, I use the leverage to give him a powerful shove. He falls backward, landing with a crunch on the slightly frozen top layer of the snow.
Snow in the snow. I’m almost hysterical enough to laugh.
“What do you want?” I cry, hugging my arms close to my torso for warmth and comfort.
“Come back inside.” He blinks up at me. When I don’t answer, he points out, “You’re shivering.”
“No, I’m not.” My jaw clatters, betraying me.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, Baz. I know you don’t want to fulfill Penny’s dare, and that’s fine. Honest. But don’t freeze to death just to avoid kissing me.” He laughs, a bit hysterical himself. “That’d be, um. Well. A pretty big ego blow for me, I’d imagine.”
“I won’t kiss someone who doesn’t want to kiss me,” I argue.
Not when it’s my first, I don’t say.
I think he knows. He has to know.
Right?
Simon furrows his eyebrows. He’s still sitting in the snow, his own pyjamas have to be soaked through. But he stares at his knees as if transfixed. “What do you mean, someone who doesn’t want to kiss you?” Finally, he looks back at me. “Why would you think I don’t want to kiss you?”
“Because you’re straight,” I tell him.
Slowly, he shakes his head.
“Because…” My breath starts coming quicker and it’s not due to the cold. “Because you don’t have feelings for me.”
A smile starts to spread on his face. He’s still shaking his head.
I gulp. “Because you’re not in love with me.”
“Baz,” he beams and it’s almost enough to light me up inside.
I mean. Almost. He’s magic, but he’s not magickal enough to warm my body from three feet away with no wand, still sitting in the snow.
“Take me inside.” I reach out my hand; he takes it, allowing me to pull him against my body. I press one finger against his lips which pucker to find mine. “I refuse to have my first kiss while I’m standing in soggy pyjamas, freezing my arse off.”
“Fine,” he shrugs. “But I call first shower.”
“We call first shower,” I smirk.
“Oh,” he gasps. “Well then.” His words come out breathy and unsteady. Then, his jaw takes on that familiar stubborn jut I love. “Race ya.” He winks, and then he disappears into the night.
With a smile I don’t think will fall off my face anytime soon, I take off after him as we run out of the cold and into the warmth.