My Better Half (Sequel to My Cup of Tea)

Chapter Seventeen

Baz was spending his time before Christmas Eve dinner by lounging around in his room and doing everything he could to avoid his father, who was sure to be home soon, when his phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and pressed pause on the Sherlock episode he'd been watching on his laptop. When he saw it was Simon calling, he smiled and pressed "answer," holding the phone up to his ear.

"Hello, Snow. Happy Almost Christmas," he grinned.

There was a sniffle in the background and Baz's heart stopped. Simon, from what he'd told Baz, was supposed to be at his flat watching Christmas films and making an absurd amount of pastries and scones. And, unless Love, Actually was making Simon cry, or perhaps a batch of scones gone wrong, something bad had happened. They had still spoken after their kiss and conversation after Agatha asked for a break, but it had been different. More...tentative. It was like walking on eggshells these days because they were both pining for each other and there was nothing they could do about it until after Boxing Day. Being in the same room now....it felt a bit too hard. A bit like it was leading up to something. But they weren't sure what exactly that was.

Baz shot up, his body tensing as he waited for Simon to reply.

"Hey, Baz," he whispered.

Even though Baz hadn't actually been there for the tragic events of the night where Simon...he had visualized it enough in his nightmares to have a pretty vivid image of it in his mind. He wondered if Simon was calling because he needed Baz to call 999 for him or if this was some strange sort of good-bye phone call. Baz felt his mouth go dry and his heart thump erratically in his chest.

"What's going on? Where are you? Have you been crying?"

"I...I fucked up."

Baz started pacing around his room. "What does that mean, Snow? Explain. What's happened?"

Baz was loose nerves. His body cackled with anxious electricity as he paced the room in an attempt to release some of the tension and energy. If he didn't find a way to release it, he was afraid it would burn him up from the inside.

Simon took a shaky breath and let out another sob.

Baz's heart ached for him.

"I need a ride. I know you're in Hampshire and you're probably with your family but I don't have enough service to call an Uber and I've been waiting outside for an hour and there hasn't been a single cab––"

"Where are you?"

"In...I'm in Burley."

Burley.

Baz didn't need Simon to elaborate because he knew exactly what that meant. Simon had gone to find the writer of those letters. It was Simon's life and he was, of course, entitled to do whatever he pleased, but he had promised. He'd promised Baz that he would talk to him about this sort of this before it got bad, before he acted on his feelings. And now he was in the middle of nowhere and crying and––

"Text me the address," Baz hissed, shutting his laptop and going to his closet to find a jacket and shoes.

Simon sobbed again. "You're mad at me."

"Of course I'm mad, Snow! You promised me that you would talk to me about this."

He sprinted down the hall.

He took the stairs two at a time.

He bursted into the kitchen and gestured silently to Daphne to let her know that he was leaving and that he would call her later. She nodded, her eyes full of fear and concern.

"I know," Simon whispered. "I fucked up. Don't come. Stay with your family. I don't want to muck up your holiday."

"Fuck my holiday," Baz said, ripping the car door open. "Burley isn't too far. You'll see my car."

He hung up so he could focus on driving and so Simon could send him the address. It came through a moment later and then Baz was off, tearing down the streets like a mad man.

It really wasn't that far, no more than half an hour at a regular, lawful speed. Baz was going far beyond the lawful speed. He zipped down roads and accelerated through turns like he was driving to escape a tornado that loomed behind him. Or, maybe he was driving like he was searching for the tornado. If Simon was a tornado—which didn't seem like much of a stretch because he was an unstoppable force of energy—Baz would have gladly run straight for him. Simon could whisk him up or tear him to bloody pieces of it suited his fancy, but he was not allowed to just...go out.