My Better Half (Sequel to My Cup of Tea)

Chapter Five

What was I expecting? For Simon to see me standing there, a huge smile spread across his face, and call me "darling?" 

Simon Snow is never going to call me darling.

What Baz certainly wasn't expecting was for Simon to have a full-on panic attack. Then for Simon to offer him a seat on the sofa. And, most of all, he really didn't expect to almost tell Simon that he was still terribly, helplessly, hopelessly in love with him.

Then, of course, Penny had charged into the conversation. It was probably better that way, especially since Baz was fairly positive that Simon had zero interest in starting up any sort of relationship again. He'd taken that as his signal to go and find Agatha, or maybe just to find a quiet corner to brood in. He needed a moment to himself––a moment to clear his mind. Maybe not clear it, but at least focus it. The toilet was free, so he locked himself in there. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. 

He stared at himself in the mirror like he could somehow try and see straight through his own bullshit. 

Snap out of it, he told himself, glaring at his pale reflection.

He tried to remind himself of how important his fake relationship with Agatha was to his father––to his future. If he didn't remind himself of that, it would all come apart. He would go back to Simon, get down on his knees and beg Simon to take him back. Instead, he splashed cold water on his face and glared at himself in the small, shitty mirror. 

"Get your shit toge--"

There was a knock on the door. 

"Just a second," he replied, flushing the toilet to make it sound like he had been in here for obvious reasons and not just to give himself a mental break from Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove. 

When he opened the door, he found himself face-to-face with Simon for the second (or third, possibly. If the kitchen counted) time that evening. Baz wondered if Simon saw him go in there and decided to wait outside. Maybe Simon would punch him. He certainly deserved it. 

"I thought you went to find Agatha," Simon said. He looked nervous, but Baz didn't know why. 

He also had no idea what to say to that. 

"I'm sorry Penny interrupted us earlier," he said.

Baz raised an eyebrow. 

Why is he sorry? Did he have something to say? Something important?

"It's fine. Probably for the best, at any rate. I wouldn't want you to punch me square in the jaw."

Simon furrowed his brow. "I wouldn't. Why--how are--"

"Use your words, Snow."

Simon growled, his anger reverberating through the small hallway and sending a shiver down Baz's spine. Baz felt incredibly stupid for realizing that he missed Simon's growls. 

"I've missed you, alright?"

No. That can't be possible. Not after everything I said to him. Not after I ignored his texts for that first week when he sent them. Not when I refused to acknowledge that he existed. 

"I--" Baz was at a loss for words. 

Simon shoved his hands into his pockets. "I think...I'd like to be friends."

Baz huffed and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe. "You think," he said, glaring at him, "that you'd like to be friends?"

"Don't be a prick. I...I do. Want to be friends, I mean."

"You do realize that we've never been friends."

Simon shrugged. "Dunno. Don't care much, either. I just...I miss seeing you. Talking to you. Things are different now. I know that. But I'd like to try, if you're in." 

The possibility of becoming friends with Simon after everything hadn't even crossed Baz's mind. There was no logical leap from "I'm passionately and helplessly in love with you" to "meet anyone cute today?" Friends. Baz didn't think that he could manage it. 

He'd be alright with friends as long as that meant that they could still see each other. Alone, without Penny or Agatha or anyone else there to come between them.

He'd be alright with friends as long as that meant that they could sit next to each other on the sofa, practically invading the other one's space.

He'd be alright with friends as long as that meant that Simon wouldn't date anyone else––as long as he wouldn't talk about anyone else in the way he used to talk about Baz. 

He'd be alright with friends as long as that meant that Baz could kiss him whenever he wanted. As long as he'd be able to run his teeth across Simon's neck––

Friends, he huffed to himself. As if there will be a single moment where I don't want to kiss the life out of him.

"I don't really have friends."

Simon grinned. "Me neither."

"You've got Bunce." He would have said "and you had Wellbelove, too," but that seemed like a low blow. 

"She's like my sister. Doesn't count."

Baz rolled his eyes. "Fine," he conceded, extended his hand. "Friends."

Simon, still smiling, shook it. 

Baz had to refrain himself from cocking an eyebrow when he saw that white, jagged scar on Simon's forearm. He hadn't had it before. 

Simon Snow, he thought as they shook on it, What have I done to you?