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

Found Father

Baz

Talking to father might have been the best thing to have happened to me all year. There's no feeling like love in the world, and getting all of his love during our talk was overwhelming.

He taught me to accept the love that I keep for Simon as well. It's a fragile thing, the feelings I hold for him.

As I walk out the back door planning on feeding, my mind wanders over to thoughts of Simon. Like it always does. I'm beginning to suspect that Simon may hold a bit of affection for me. A bit of the kind I have for him.

The cool air blows past my face as I make my way farther into the backyard, heading for the woods. Just thinking about the little kisses Simon and I have exchanged during this trip, though not on the mouth, make me wonder at his feelings for me.

I don't feel crazy for thinking it. I feel a warmth accompany me, even out in the chilly air.

Because playing everything back in my head, I realize that Simon and I might just be dancing around feelings for each other. There's a great chance that the love of my life could start to love me back.

Simon

I've lost track of time, and a quick peek at the clock tells me that I've been reading The Great Gatsby for nearly two hours. I'm not a very fast reader.

A knock at the door doesn't deter me though, and I continue on with my reading. Baz should know that knocking really isn't necessary. This is his own house after all.

"Simon? Can I come in?" At the sound of the voice at the door I throw Baz's book across the bed and make a failed attempt at straightening out my t-shirt.

A strangles "Yes," makes its way out of my lips while I quickly scan the room for anything that might taint my image.

Malcolm Grimm walks into his son's bedroom looking sharp as ever, even in a plain white button up shirt.

He must have noticed the slight tremor in my response before, because he walks over to where I stand and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

That shuts me up. Not like I was going to talk much anyways. "I've just spoken to Baz and cleared things up with him, but rather than letting him recite my words, I figured that I should apologize to you as well."

"Oo-okay." Words really aren't my friend at the moment, and all I can do is look into Malcolm's eyes, feeling slightly intimidated despite his warm tone.

He turns his head away from me and winces, muttering, "Jesus, boy," before turning back to my face. "It pains me to know I've caused that look of fear in your eyes."

"Sorry," I mutter, not really sure what I'm apologizing for. Malcolm chuckles lightly.

"Here son, I just wanted to say that I didn't mean to make you feel out of place or unwelcome in this house for any reason. Baz has really opened up my mind, and I feel like a damn idiot for ever thinking that wanting to love someone of your own sex wasn't proper. I'm sorry, Simon. Even though it'll never be enough. I hope you feel at home here."

I fight back the urge to tell Malcolm that I don't like my own sex. That I don't like Baz. Then I remember that I'm in love with him, and everything comes crashing down.

"Hey, Simon." Malcolm's hand returns to my shoulder and squeezed firmly, reminding me that he's here.

"Baz told me. It's okay, he let me know about the situation. He told me you two aren't together. You don't have to feel embarrassed about pretending or anything. Just know that you're welcome to stay here as long as you want as just friends. I have a feeling my son would quite enjoy that."

I look up at Malcolm, finding it difficult to make out his face through the haze of tears blurring my vision. I love Baz! I love him and I don't know what to do or who to tell and it's just great that he decided to let you know that this is all fake when I've accepted my feelings for him.

Blinking back the tears blurring my vision, I feel a few small ones slip out and stick to my lashes, clinging there. Suddenly I'm falling into Malcolm, the father I've never had. The person that has made me feel safe within five minutes of talking.

His arms find their way around me immediately after I curl into him, breathing hard and fast.
"I'm in love with your son." The words come out rushed and quiet, a poor attempt at trying to keep it together.

Saying it out loud brings all of the heaviness off my shoulders, so I say it again. "I'm so in love with him, and I've only just realized it during this trip. I'm in love with him and I'm scared of it."

Malcolm

Simon falls into me just like my own Baz does. Knowing that he's this comfortable with me lifts a lot of the guilt off my shoulders from before. Hopefully this means he's forgiven me.

"I'm in love with your son." The words barely register with me, and once they do, the only reaction I show to it is my grip tightening on the boy. Baz let me know that Simon doesn't have any parents, and I know he needs one right now.

"I'm so in love with him, and I've only just realized it during this trip. I'm in love with him and I'm scared of it."

I allow myself a small smile, knowing that Simon can't see it. The fact that Simon has resisted the urge to cry right now is strangely impressive. The boy seems on the verge of a breakdown.

It's a challenge not to tell Simon what I know. That Baz has loved him for years on end. That he's dealt with the pain Simon is feeling right now for such a long time. It's an effort for me to stay silent about everything I know and they don't.

One of the greatest things about love is the discovery. These two love each other with an intensity I've never known. The soft smile playing on my lips doesn't fade as I feel Simon's hands bunch up in the back of my shirt.

I pat his head twice, hoping to get across a silent It'll be alright.

My son has found the love of his life, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes it. Just so I can tell Simon without giving it away, I say one thing.

"I think you should stay, Simon."