If You Must

All That We Are Is Broken

Baz

I'm not sure what my emotions are doing right now.

I'm angry. At that barmy tosser, for being such a homophobic jerk-off; at Simon, for reacting to him; at myself, for feeling just as the man described me-- for feeling like an abomination. For letting his stupid, drunken yelling to crawl into my head and make itself at home. For letting it ruin my evening with the love of my life.

Simon drives us home-- I don't trust myself to. We sit in silence the entire time, but I think his silence is more confused and offended than my emotion-riddled, painful silence.

We wait until we're standing in the entryway of the flat, staring at each other, to say anything. Simon speaks first.

"Are you okay?" His voice is so sincere it breaks my heart. I don't think Simon knows how to be anything but earnest.

And then anger wins the little emotional pissing-contest going on in my brain, and I take a step backwards, away from Simon. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shake my head. Again. Again Again. The world becomes a blur, Simon nothing more than a long, golden streak, but I can't stop shaking my head in a vehement 'no'.

"No, Simon, I'm not." I don't mean to snap, but the words come out sharper than a horsewhip. Simon locks his jaw, looking hurt. Taking a step towards me, he reaches for me again.

"Baz, I'm sorry-- I don't know... didn't realise..." He's stammering again, just like he used to when I got him all worked up. I take another step back and realise there's tears in my eyes.

"Why did you react to him, Simon? Why couldn't you just let well enough alone?" I think I might be shaking, but I don't care. My fiancé looks at me pleadingly, but I ignore that, too.

"Baz, I'm sorry," he repeats. Like he's run out of words. I shake my head again, wiping furiously at my eyes.

"Enough, Snow," the 'Snow' slips out out of habit, and Simon looks like I've punched him in the gut. "Just... enough. I'm going to bed."

"Wha--" He tries to get out. I push past him, going in the direction of our room.

"I'm going to bed," I cut him off. The bite is back in my voice, and I wish it would stop. I hate being angry at him. I hate that I keep saying the things that will hurt him most. But I spent seven years practicing how to do that, and, as they say, old habits die hard.

---

I don't sleep. I've been lying here on my stomach, fully clothed, trying to stop thinking for one goddamned minute, for a quarter of an hour. I'm not really sure if I'm still crying-- every sensation has mixed together at this point. I'm completely numb.

To my left, the door creaks slowly open, and then shut again. I don't look up. Even when I feel Simon lay down next to me. Even when I feel his hand tentatively tuck my hair behind my ear. I don't look up. Don't react in the slightest.

"Baz?" Simon whispers, "Please talk to me... I really am sorry." Finally, I turn my head to look at him, ignoring the hair that falls into my face. Those blue eyes shine at me through the dark, and there's a crease between his eyebrows. He's lying down, and somehow... that makes things a little better. Because' he's not looking down on me. Because it's an even playing field.

"That man could've hurt us, Simon." My voice is quiet enough that he wouldn't be able to hear me if he was any farther away.

"I wouldn't have let him."

Shaking my head once, I roll onto my side so it's easier to look at him.

"You're not invincible. You think you are, but you aren't." Slowly, cautiously, Simon reaches for me, his warm hands framing my cold face. I let him, but don't meet his eyes.

"I know. Crowley, Baz, I know. But it's like..." I can tell he's dying to shove his fingers frustratedly through his hair, but he doesn't let go of my face, "It's like, whenever someone or something threatens you, I just lose all sense of... myself. Of what I can do and what I should do. I was trying, but I couldn't just let him say those things to you and get away with it. Because I love you, Baz, " he peers into my face and I avoid those blue-diamond eyes, "you know that, right?"

I nod once.

"I know. But I need you to promise me not to rise to the bait like that-- it never leads to any good," I plead.

"I... can't make any promises. But I will try. And... Baz?" He's biting his lip, and it makes me nervous.

"Yes?"

"You, um... you told me not to let it go to my head. But... Aleister Crowley, Baz, you did. I watched you just wilt under his words. So... are you okay?"

I meet his eyes at long last, and they bore into my soul, imploring, caring, worried.

"Simon... when you've been referred to as an abomination for nearly your entire life, it's really hard not to let it go to your head. I mean, look at me. I'm a gay vampire. That kind of screams 'please see me as a freak'."

Simon's hand brushes gently down my cheek, surprising me. I expected at least a few seconds of shocked silence.

"I am looking at you," he murmurs, "and you know what I see? I see the selfless, courageous, powerful mage that helped fight off the Humdrum. I see stolen kisses at Christmas. I see a talented musician. I see a badass. I see your snark. I see your sweet, fluffy side. I see the boy I fell in love with. I see the man I'm going to marry. I see you, Baz. And nothing about you screams 'freak'."

I'm staring at him, tears falling silently sideways down my face (I don't recommend crying while lying on your side), completely taken aback.

Simon presses a kiss against my forehead, pulling me close, curling around me. One hand strokes my hair while the other stays wrapped around my waist.

"I love you, Basilton," he whispers. I close my eyes.

"I love you, too, Simon."

—

BOOM. From no chapters in the span of a week to TWO 1,000+ WORDS CHAPTERS in the span of an hour. Consistency is obviously key here.

-Lefty