Something New

4. Baz

I love being with Snow in the dark. Where I can see him but he can't see me. I watch him as he talks, letting myself drink in the sight of him. A crumpled rush of bronze hair, downcast blue eyes, lips that were made to smile, to talk, to be kissed. Quintessential lips. Simon Snow may be flawed in many ways, but those lips are perfect. I spent most of my time last year thinking about his hands, his chest— I should have been thinking about his mouth.

Snow's had a terrible go of things this term. He tells me about the Mage (the bastard), who's refused to look at him the summer holidays.

"He says he's too busy," Simon says, "but I think... I dunno, maybe I did something wrong." Something clenches in my chest— anger at the Mage, pain at the expression on Snow's face. He's biting his lip and averting his eyes like he's about to cry.

I don't know what to say to comfort him. Not without insulting the Mage, which will only serve to make him feel more like shit. So I move closer, my side within an inch of his.

He doesn't move.

Simon Snow tells me about the Mage. He tells me about his nightmare. He tells me about the test he failed in chemistry— which he only failed because he's been too busy running around on some half-arsed quest to study. Then he tells me about the letters, and about the Six White Hares he's supposed to be finding.

"Can't you ask Bunce for help?" I ask, without meaning to voice the question aloud. Snow shakes his head dejectedly, a puppy who's been kicked to the floor.

"No. The first letter said I couldn't."

"So why are you telling me?" He glances over at me, his expression surprisingly unreadable for someone who wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Because you asked."

The answer hits me off guard, and I can't think of a reply, snarky or otherwise. Instead, I rest my hand on his arm.

He doesn't flinch away.

"Tell me more," I whisper.

He does.