BITE - a snowbaz fanfiction

9

Simon's telling me to breathe, but I think I'm breathing so much that I'm going to pass out or hyperventilate.

I'm numb.

Well, I wish I were numb. I can feel plenty of the pain that wasn't healed from Simon's spell, but I'm numb, as in, I can barely move.

He slips his arms around me and hoists me up to my feet, and I fall over in his arms the moment I put weight on my feet.

By the time he's fully carrying me, I've calmed down a little, resolving to only trembling.

But it hurts, all of this.

All I can do is shut my eyes and pretend the world doesn't really exist, that I haven't just been clinging onto the edge of living, that I haven't just been revived, that I'm not being carried back to the flat where a magically exhausted Snow can do nothing to heal my burns.

He's climbing the stairs two at a time, and at some point I know he stops, but I can't even think right. My vision is going dark again, and I can feel the weight on my eyelids threatening to close, but I don't dare it.

I don't remember when we get to his flat, or even if I've been conscious this entire time, but I find myself being set on the vanity in Simon's washroom.

He hasn't said a word.

Simon lifts my chin and scans the burns on my neck—that's where it's the worst—then he hesitantly pulls at the waist of my trousers.

I don't question what he's doing, only because I can feel myself slipping away, I can feel my head getting so heavy that I can't lift it anymore . . . .

I feel Simon's hands cupping my jaw, but I can't see—

Anything, I can't see anything.

And I'd fight back for my consciousness if I had the strength to, but I don't.

I feel Simon pick me up again, but that's all I can remember happening before my head shoots up to a lukewarm stream of water pouring over me.

I'm still being held by Snow, but my feet are on the ground—I feel like I should do something to support myself, but when I put more weight on my feet again, it's all I can do to not vomit right here.

He pushes my head down on his shoulder, and I don't fight it. I let the water stream over my face, because as long as I'm being held in Simon's arms, it doesn't matter.

When the dizziness returns again, I cling tightly onto his shoulders.

"Breathe," he whispers.

Then he rubs slow circles into my back, and the tension in my shoulders eases.

I can feel Simon's hands radiate a new warmth, a magical warmth, and the strength in me begins to return.

There's a pang of sorrow in me when he turns the water off, as well as a harsh cold air returning, making me shake with cold.

Simon slips away from me, and I find myself able to stand, leaning against the wall. He pushes the shower curtain shut, and, a few seconds later he returns holding out a towel and another wrapped around his waist. (Pity.)

I take the towel from his hands and bring it up to my chest, but I audibly grimace and pull it away from me when the rough fabric touches my skin.

I suppose Simon's touch, however, doesn't bother me, because when he puts his hand on my back to support me out of the washroom, it doesn't hurt.

I swallow deeply and painfully pull the comforters over me—I'm embarrassed as hell that I'm not wearing anything, I wasn't wearing anything.

Simon's said nothing, neither have I, he's just done what he needs to do and hold me in his arms when he needs to.

Which is now.

"Simon," I whimper into the sheets, pitifully.

He turns around (he's put a pair of jeans on, such a shame), and his eyes soften.

Snow makes his way to where I am on his bed and slips under the covers behind me, wrapping warm hands around my waist and letting out a slow breath of air on my neck that makes my heart flutter.

Even now, my heart will flutter. I don't think that'll stop.

I smile and close my eyes with a sigh, matching my breathing to the slowness of Simon's.