BITE - a snowbaz fanfiction

5

I'm lying on the carpet.

Snow is beside me, facing away from me.

It's still dark outside. Midnight, maybe later.

Snow's heartbeat is fast, faster than normal.

"Snow? Snow, you're all right. Everything's all right."

He tries to stifle a quiet whine. "No—no, I'm . . . immortal, I can't be immortal, it can't be true, Baz," he says, his voice muffled and stuffy.

He's been crying.

I crawl over to him and lay my hand on his back, tracing circles where I know his freckles reside. He sighs quietly.

"I can't leave Penny."

I'm silent.

I push myself up on one elbow, my other hand still on his back.

"It's not fair, love, I know," I say gently while rubbing circles on the small of his back.

Everything in his body seems to stop operating when I say 'love'. He turns his head and looks up to me with wide eyes. "Love?" he says. "Say that— say that again."

"It's not fair, love," I whisper.

Snow lets out a staggering breath of air. "Basil, I wish you could see how you look right now," he mutters.

(I'm melting.)

He shifts into a sitting position, then he stands up and walks to my bed.

(I watch his every move, I can't help it.)

(Everything about Simon Snow is lanky, yet broad. He's skinny, he's always been skinny, his long torso giving him most of his height, but his shoulders and hips and jaw are broad like that of some muscular man. It's an unlikely pair, but Crowley, it works.)

(Simon is very hot, that's what I'm trying to get at.)

He's leaning on the bedpost, folding his wings in and out.

"Your mum," he says quietly. "She said— she said the Veil is crumbling . . . . 'Must be cast out,' what's that supposed to mean?"

It means she wants me dead.

It means that if she makes it through the Veil, she will have me cast out. Like I was supposed to be when I was Turned.

I shake my head. "Nothing good."

Simon tears his hands through his hair a few times. "Baz?"

"Yeah?"

"I— I'm cold," he says so softly.

(But I'm not warm.)

I pick myself up and shuffle over to him, nuzzling my chin on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

I still don't know if what I'm doing is okay. But he's not complaining, at least.

Simon turns his head and closes his eyes, and I think I see a faint smile from the corner of his lips. He lifts his arms from behind and puts his hands on my neck, then he pulls me around to face the front of him.

I sit on the bed.

He stands in front of me.

"I'm sorry," he says. "For . . . for everything."

I'm quiet.

He sighs.

I stand up and wrap my arms around his neck. "When was the last time we danced, Simon?" I whisper, shifting my feet back and forth.