Breathless...

𝗜'𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝘆

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Simon's POV

I don't leave his hand, not for one second until we're finally in our room. I almost follow him into the bathroom in my trance; and he has a strange, soft look in his eyes that looks eerily similar to his plotting look, except the sneer is missing. . . Maybe that look doesn't mean he's plotting at all.

                  My eyebrows furrow as I realize how wrong I was about Baz and his cockiness. It's all a show. . . To hide how broken he is.

                  Stepping out of the bathroom gracefully in silk pyjamas, his smooth, shiny black hair damp and his face glowing, I can't help but stare. He looks sad again for a moment and then turns to his bed and attempts at drowning in the duck-feather mattress. Tears begin to pool in his eyes again, the soft light grey turning stormy, the flecks of color invisible.

                  I don't consider the fact that Baz might be uncomfortable with me wearing boxers in his bed; so I climb out of mine, and he stares at me, pain flashing in his expression. I slip under his sheets right next to him, the same way I would back in second year. . .

                 That was three years ago, back then we would both have horrific nightmares that we couldn't face alone. I remember so many sleepless nights. I remember how he'd wake up in cold sweat, and I'd almost light the room on fire. I remember watching him thrash around under his blankets, fear and pain contorting his perfect features. It almost hurt to look. And it made Penny question how evil he was, "Afraid a vampire with night terrors will kill you? Simon you're crazy."

                 (But we both knew, or thought we knew, that he would try at least—to end my life. For his family's sake. And maybe his own, since he put up a believable facade.)

                 One day I asked him if I could sleep with him when he had also woken from a nightmare. He was too tired to refuse and I knew it, so he grudgingly let me sleep beside him, pressed into his side. Sometimes he'd even wrap an arm around me, and other nights I'd let him lay his head on my chest. But no matter how distanced we were in the night, I always woke to a tangle of limbs. Holding each other and listening to the other breathe always calmed us down. The nightmares got better.

                 After a few months like this, we got into a particularly nasty fight; the arguments were still normal since the only time we were civil was when we were alone in the dark, in each other's arms, desperate for sleep. But then I went ahead and punched him during class for no good reason.

                 That night Baz wouldn't let me in his bed. . . I even cried. . . but it made no difference to him, he threatened to "Cat got your tongue,"  me! (I had to shut up cuz I didn't wanna lose my voice) Hissing that I could never again crawl into his bed, and he would never hold me until I fell asleep after that. And I had the worst nightmares that night, and he couldn't sleep at all. Since I punched him for no reason, I couldn't blame him for being furious. . .

I hear Baz sniffle beside me, and am dragged back to the present. Turning to face him, I wrap my arms around his defined waist. Baz nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his long hair tickling my face. Resting my chin on his head quietens his sobbing, but his grip on me gets painfully tight.

                  I scoot up a little and press my lips to his forehead, "Baz," he looks up at me, like a little lost doe. "Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask gently.