Something New

3. Simon

There's this long hallway outside of our room leading to the stairs. Penny says that back when this was staff accommodation, the hall was probably used to display portrait collections. Or something. Sometimes when I'm out here alone at night, I swear I can still see flashes of light off of long-gone gilded frames.

I stand in the middle of the hall, halfway between our room and the stairs. Not sure what to do. If I left, where would I go? The Catacombs? There's no point to that— Baz is asleep in our room behind me, not plotting, for once. Good to know I can't sleep even when he's not being an evil git.

If I left, where would I go?

To the Mage? Sir, I've had a nightmare... I don't think he'd speak to me, even now. He hasn't all year, why should that change because of some stupid night terror?

No.

To Penny? Not that I can get into an all-girls building. I could throw stones at her window.

No.

If I left, where would I go?

Nowhere. I would go nowhere.

I slump down onto the slick wooden floor, my head in my hands.

The door to our room creaks, and I hear footsteps padding my direction. Then the quiet swish of clothing and movement as someone sits down beside me.

"What's wrong, Snow?" Baz. His voice, roughened by sleep, is surprisingly soft.

"Why do you care, Baz? Go back to sleep," I growl, not looking up. A derisive huff escapes him— a sound I've gotten used to over the years. Half of Baz's sentences are derisive huffs and sighs.

"I can't go back into the room, you great thumping idiot. It's filled with smoke. I'd suffocate." He's annoyingly calm. Like it isn't 2 in the fucking morning. Like I didn't Go Off. Like he isn't my sworn enemy.

"So?"

"So, unless I'm feeling particularly suicidal, which, unfortunately for you, I'm not, you might as well tell me what's wrong." I roll my eyes so hard it hurts, clutching my knees to my chest.

"That's not funny, Baz."

"It wasn't meant to be. Tell me what's wrong so we can both go back to sleep." I can practically hear him raising one dark eyebrow at me. He knows I'm dead jealous of that little trick.

I look over at him, but it's too dark to make out anything but his sharp profile. Swoop of dark hair, proud forehead leading right into that too-high nose, pouty lips. Fucking perfect, even in the dark. Bastard.

"You really want to know?" I ask, skeptical.

"I really want to sleep, Snow." I glare at his dark outline.

"Just fuck off, Baz. Seriously."

The tosser just shifts closer to me.

"No, I—" he sighs, and his voice gets so soft. And I don't know if it's the dark, or Going Off, or the nightmare... or the fact that he's sitting so close to me instead of anywhere else in the bare hallway, but for once, he's almost endearing. "I'm sorry, Snow. I really do want to know what's wrong. I promise."

I promise. The words ring in my head like a particularly strong spell. And maybe it's a bad decision, but I close my eyes and tell him everything.