My Better Half (Sequel to My Cup of Tea)

Chapter Ten

Trigger warning a.k.a Simon finally talks to Baz about That Night.

Please don't hate me. I actually think that this is a very soft scene, when you think about it. The most intimate they've ever been.

-biblio

It had been a month of friendship with Baz. It was hard, but Simon was getting through it. He wasn't holding his hand whenever he wanted do (or at all). He wasn't kissing him even though he looked so fucking kissable. It was like an impossible dance. Simon wouldn't let himself get too close to him (physically) because he was afraid that the urge to just touch him (anywhere, it didn't matter where, exactly) would become too strong and he wouldn't be able to resist it anymore. Whenever they went out to eat, Simon made sure to sit on the other side of the table instead of by his side. Whenever they watched telly or a film, he would sit on the other end of the sofa. And, whenever they said goodbye, he would allow himself a curt hug before leaving.

It was hard, but Simon was getting through it. It all felt like it would be okay because at least he had Baz back in his life. At least he could still see him and talk to him and hear about his day. It felt like they were proper boyfriends again-–boyfriends who didn't kiss each other. But that was fine. (Sometimes. Other times, it made Simon feel like he was being set on fire).

Today, Simon didn't have class and he didn't have work. He had the whole day free, so he and Baz made plans. Baz was on his way over to pick him up at the moment, and Simon had been ready for about twenty minutes. He was fiddling with his hair nervously (he'd just gotten it cut the other day. It still felt itchy) because he knew that he wanted to open up to Baz about everything. He'd been so impossibly good at taking whatever snippets of information Simon gave him, but Simon wanted to give him all of it. He wanted to tell him about the letters and he wanted to tell Baz about that night in the bathroom. Maybe, if Baz hadn't seen the scars (if he didn't keep noticing them every time Simon wore short sleeves) he wouldn't have wanted to bring it up at all. But Baz had and now every fibre of Simon's being was telling him to just tell him the truth.

He was worried that Baz might spiral if he told him. He was worried that Baz might blame himself for what Simon had done, which wasn't the case, so Simon had tried to think of the exact wording he would use when he told him. Of course, his rehearsed lines would probably go right out the fucking window the moment he looked into Baz's grey eyes, but it didn't matter. At least had something to go off of, even if he had to go a bit off-script.

Baz was at the door, knocking. Even his knock was fucking posh (somehow). Simon was at the door in seconds, throwing it open with a huge, obnoxious smile on his face. Baz smiled back and handed him something.

"Your post was being delivered when I came in. Though I'd give you the royal, door-to-door service," he said, handing Simon the pile of mail.

"Can you toss it in the rubbish bin? I have to go take the scones out of the oven."

He shut the door and hurried over to the oven to check on his scones, leaving Baz by the door.

"You've got a letter in here, Snow. Do you want it?"

Simon peeked his head around the doorframe from the kitchen. "Who from?"

Baz set the rest of the mail down on the coffee table and went to meet Simon in the kitchen. "There's no name, but it says it's from Burley."

Simon tried not to show the horror in his face, so instead he busied himself with moving the scones from the cookie sheet to a platter. "Oh. You can toss it."

Baz moved towards him, leaning against the counter. He was turning the envelope over in his hands, running his fingers across the stamp. "Snow," he said, trying to get Simon to look at him.