The Key to My Heart (Or to Baz's Diary)

The Power of Trust

Baz

Simon suggests that we move to my room to talk- which I admit was probably a great idea, considering that I was hiding from my father before he came along and made everything just a little bit better.

Once Simon walks in to my room, I shut the door behind us and plop down on my king size bed. Just like that the past hour or so comes rushing back to me, what my father said that brought me to tears, that got me to come running for my room. Wanting to hide my emotions from Simon.

He must sense whatever the hell kind of emotions I'm radiating, because Simon nearly lunges for me. This time I'm ready with open arms when Simon wraps his around my back. Through all the hell I've been through today, I'd argue that the good outweighs it.

All thanks to this boy right here.

"Baz?" He says, and I snap back to reality. I still can't wrap my head around all of the free hugs I've received from Simon today. Why he feels the need to comfort me through my hard times.

When Simon lets go of me to study my face, I'm painfully aware of the emptiness I've always felt when he isn't holding me. A day like this with him has already fucked up my sense of loneliness.

"Baz?" Simon asks again, looking a little bit concerned. He brings one of his hands up to my face, his face all the question I need. "Hey, Baz, don't cry again."

My hand flies up to my cheek. The realization hits me that I wasn't really crying. Yet. I must've started tearing up at the thought of my father, along with Simon and his unnecessary kindness. I wipe at my eyes anyways, applying some pressure in order to keep the tears at bay.

I know I'll be fine now. Simon will be wondering about my spectacle in the hallway, why I happened to break down away from any prying eyes.

"Baz, if you want to talk about anything, I'm here. Anything that could make you break like that probably shouldn't be kept to yourself for you to dwell on. So if your willing to let it out, go ahead."

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the knots. Would Simon judge me if I told him about what father said? The events of this trip so far would lead me to the conclusion that no, he wouldn't.

Just the idea of telling anyone about my problems scares me. I know Simon is right though, it's no good for me to keep everything inside, and telling someone would probably help a whole lot. Right now I've got no one but him to talk to.

"Alright, if you're not feeling up to talking, I'll tell you this, hopefully it'll make you feel better." Simon says, and I can't help the curiosity that shows as I wait for him to continue.

"Before I start, you should know this is kinda embarrassing-"

Simon is cut off by the sound of my laughing. It isn't the mocking kind. I've let a few tears slip, so I'm laughing softly and quietly crying at once. Only because whatever Simon is about to tell me can't be more humiliating than what my father has said about me.

Simon gives me what I can only assume is a pitying look, but goes on to tell me whatever it is he thinks will outshine my grief.

"Remember that day I stormed into our room and locked myself in the bathroom sobbing?" I nod, and I can't stop the shy smile that spreads across my face. Not mocking, I'm just grateful, grateful that Simon has even considered sharing something like this with me.

He shares a withering smile with me, and the look makes me feel just a little better.

"Well, I broke down like that because Agatha ended it with me." Simon's voice trails off at the end, and we sit there in silence for a while. I feel like even more of a dick than that very day, where I mocked Simon for crying.