If You Must

All That We Are Is Épanouis

Simon

Baz and I are dancing so close together, I can feel his heartbeat. It pounds against his chest, the rhythm nearly matching that of my own. We're dancing cheek to cheek, my lips just barely brushing the crook of the long, graceful column of his neck. His lips are close to my ear when he whispers,

"Simon, you're dancing." I smile, not looking up.

"Consider it my first gift to you tonight," I murmur in reply. I'm floating away on the rhythm and the soft lilt of the music of our first dance as a married couple. Thanks to his spellwork, I feel as if I could cast fireworks across the entirety of Earth's atmosphere. "Penny taught me."

Baz laughs, the sound rumbling against my cheek.

"I thought Bunce said you were hopeless," he teases.

"I was-- until we spent three hours practising together." Baz nuzzles his lips into my hair, his breath tickling my scalp. I lean into him, wishing we can stay like this forever. I suppose we can-- I mean, it is our wedding night. We can do whatever the fuck we want.

Baz sighs contentedly, making me smile. Lifting my hand from his shoulder, I brush my fingers along the back of his neck, pushing them up into his silky raven waves.

"I love you, Simon," he murmurs, "So, so much." I lift my head to look into his eyes before pulling him down into a gentle kiss, still swaying to the music.

"I love you too, Baz. More... more than I could ever put into words." My husband smiles at me, kissing the tip of my nose in a way that makes my insides turn to mush.

"For once, Simon Oliver Grimm-Pitch," his voice is so low it's barely audible above the murmur of the crowd, "you don't have to use your words."

First Penny and now Baz; the pair of them are bound and determined to make me cry. In a valiant yet fruitless effort to keep myself from tearing up, I kiss him again before burying my face in his neck.

Too soon, the song is ending, and Baz is pressing his lips to my ear.

"I've got a gift for you, too, Simon. Stay right there." Before I can react, he pulls away, walking purposefully towards the small stage.

I make my way forward until I'm standing below him, watching him in surprised awe as he wraps his hands around a microphone.

"And now, introducing for the first time ever, your newlywed!" Exclaims the DJ. Baz smiles down at me, as cool and confident and utterly radiant as ever.

"Simon," he says into the mic, "You said that dance was your first gift to me tonight. Well, I suppose that makes this my first gift to you tonight."

I can only stare at him, nonplussed. He smirks lovingly at the look of surprise on my face.

Then the music starts, and Baz opens his mouth, and everything else becomes utterly insignificant.

I should've known that a lifetime of playing violin gave the bastard perfect pitch. I mean, I've heard him hum songs, and every so often, when we're being as soft with each other as we're physically capable of being, he'll sing to me. But not like this. Never full songs. Never with music accompanying him. If there is truly a heavenly choir, Baz's voice demolishes it. His voice is soft yet raspy, sweet and true and Aleister Crowley.

At first, he sings in French. And even though I don't understand most of it, I'm completely captivated, unable to look away or move a single muscle.

"On me dit que nos vies valent pas grand-chose, Qu'elles passent en un instant comme fânent les roses..." His voice mixes so perfectly with the background music, I can feel my heart doing acrobatic stunts in my chest. He sings and sings until he gets to what seems like the last line, "Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit..." And then he repeats the short song, in English this time. Those mesmerising starfire eyes never once leave mine. As his voice floods over me, I feel washed clean. Set aflame and reborn from the ashes. I could do anything; I could be anyone, as long as I'm still his. I don't realise there are goosebumps on my arms until the last bars of the song are drifting away.

Once the hand he's using to hold his microphone drops to his side, I leap up onto the stage, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing every inch of his face. Baz is beaming, his arms wrapping around my waist as he spins me once around.

"Thank you," I breathe, unable to stop smiling, "Thank you, thank you."

"De rien," Baz replies. He must see the uncomprehending look on my face because he leans in and kisses me slowly, whispering, "You're welcome."

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Author's note:

Guess who just passed her AP tests with top marks? THIS BITCH, RIGHT HERE!

Also, to the people who actually speak French, please feel free to correct anything written in here. Je parle juste un peu français. Aussi je parle très mal français. (I learnt French when I was in seventh grade, and I'm now a senior in high school, so it's been an exceedingly long time since I've actually spoken the language).

I'll be posting the wedding playlist in a later chapter :) I'll also announce the winner to the contest described on the bottom of the previous chapter in a later chapter.

Bonne soirée et au revoir,

Lefty