If You Must

All That We Are Is Worried

Simon

Baz is gone when I wake up. The only sign that he was ever there are the rumpled, caved-in sheets on his side of the bed, and a little yellow note on his pillow that says 'back soon'.

I let out a sigh, rolling onto my back. One hand is crinkling and smoothing his note, while the other runs restlessly through my knotted hair. I'm not worried about where he's gone-- I know where he is. It's the same place he always goes; a small, bright little music shop where he first started lessons. It's only a few streets south of here, and there are always practice rooms open. It's where he goes when he's got something on his chest he's not ready to talk to me about. Baz'll spend a few hours playing violin, working off steam, and then he'll come back home, acting almost back to normal. Sometimes he's feeling good enough to talk to me about what's bothering him, sometimes he isn't. I can't help but wonder what this time will be.

So no, I'm not worried that he's off in some dark alleyway, being coerced into buying drugs, or being attacked by a mad Chimaera. But I am worried about him. Ever since the Enenra took him, his already-horrible night-terrors have gotten worse. Then again, so have mine.

This is a new game we're playing; a new little dance. Every night we go to bed wondering which one of us will wake up screaming and thrashing about. Some nights, it's both of us. On a very rare occasion, we'll both sleep soundly through the night. I don't know what we'll do if we ever adopt kids-- then we'd never sleep.

Sighing again, I grab my mobile and text him.

'Call me if you need anything.'

And then,

'I love you. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

I wait a few minutes, but Baz doesn't text back. He never does, when he's like this.

Closing my eyes and dropping my phone, I curl back into the blankets, hoping to get some more sleep (between Baz's nightmare and... well, other things, neither of us got more than four hours).

"Come home safe to me," I whisper, as if Baz could hear me. I try pushing magic into the words.

"Come home safe to me." The spell feels more like a blessing-- a promise-- than a command. I just hope it does whatever it is Baz needs it to do.

The magic pushes me over some sort of edge, and before I can form another thought, I am asleep.