Breathless...

𝗚𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘂𝗽, 𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲

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Baz's POV

My head is throbbing. 

          I keep my eyes shut. Mostly because I think I'm finally, properly dead and I'll awaken on the other side of the Veil. Warmth tickles my numb body. I feel Death's loving, heated embrace.

          But Death feels soft. 

          Comfortable and strangely familiar. Like my Watford feather mattress. Then Death's rough curls graze my forehead. . . .

          It finally occurs to me that I have no substantial evidence to support my belief. My eyes flutter open. And it sure as hell isn't Death's arms around me. Lovely—just lovely.

          Simon bloody Snow's piercing blue gaze is on me, close enough that his bronze curls fall on my forehead. It snatches my breath and I hate its affect so much, I'm tempted to push the traitor off me—So I do.

He's still on my bed. Shirtless. Looking down at our entangled feet. Dejected—like a lost puppy. Because he knows it's a temporary touch. He knows I'm weak. But also stubborn. The setting sun's rays peek through our window, catching in his eyes, making them look lighter. Like a cloudless morning sky. . . . 

           I'm still lying where I was all night, I'm still staring at him. Wordlessly. He knows that's temporary too—the staring, that is. I sigh, gathering my courage.

           "Fuck off, Snow." He only looks at me, his usually fiery blue eyes clear, but hurt. I untangle our legs and kick at him, half-heartedly. "Come on, Chosen. Get off. Cry to Wellbelove or Bunce or something, but get the fuck away from me." I even sound half-arsed. . . No malice. No anger. Just hollowness.

           "I don't want to. I want you," Simon says, with more conviction than I have the heart to fake. More sincerity than I can ever trust—ever even believe in.

           "Well, that should've crossed your mind last night."

           "Who do you think brought you up to Mummers, spelled the wound on your head, and cleaned you up."

            "I would've rather woken on the other side of the Veil," I look down at myself. I'm not dusty or grimy. He bathed me. Fuck him.

           "I am appalled that you would even touch me, especially without my consent, Snow." I sneer, not meaning a word I said. I know he did it out of love. But I don't trust his love—not anymore.      

            "Baz, come on."

            "Come on what, Simon—" Fuck, I slipped. "The world doesn't revolve around you. Why do you think I'd listen? Just because you're Simon Snow and you get anything if you growl loud enough?"

            "Baz, don't, Bazzy please," Blue eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes.

             "Don't you dare call me that." It comes out as a hiss. "Don't talk to me, I need a break,"

             "I can explain, Baz!" he tears a hand through his tight curls.

              "I don't want it; if you even try to explain, I swear to Merlin I'll spell you." I threaten. I can't risk falling for him even harder. Can't risk my heart again. I know Simon could just say that he would like to spell pigs so that they could fly as an explanation, and I would pounce on him anyway, kissing him like my life depended on it. "Get out, Snow." I deadpan.

              "You're my boyfriend, why can't we talk about this?!" Simon's trying so hard to reason with me, but I have no more rationality. None to spare after watching the love of my life kiss someone else.

              "You fucker, Snow!" I'm losing my temper now. The hollow emptiness is turning to rage. "I am not your goddamn boyfriend! I planned out a date for you, with more fucking scones than you could count! I would play for you on my violin! I'd ask you to be my boyfriend!" The anger turns to bitter hurt.

              "But no! You went and kissed Wellbelove. We are not boyfriends. We're nothing." I spit out. I'm cold again. . . . I'm always fucking cold without his sun-kissed, deliciously warm body tangled in mine. I'm exhausted.

               "I didn't know, baby, I didn't know. Let me make it up to you, let me explain, let me make love to you." Simon Snow is persuading. He's begging. His blue eyes stay locked on mine, as if he can compel me, entrance me, hypnotize me. 

               He already has, he has no fucking clue. Those ridiculous untamed curls and flaming blue eyes own me. They rule my heart. 

               And did Simon really just say make love? I can't believe it. I can't even fathom it. My hopeless love. . . he just. . . I gulp away the sudden arousal and longing, turning back to rage. 

              After he kissed Wellbelove. He's asking to fuck me.

              And yet, I melt all over again—to make love to me. My traitorous stomach flutters at the thought.

             But this time I don't care about my love for him. I'm too hurt to care. Simon Snow is my heart. And right now my heart has been ripped from my chest. . . 

             My stone-cold mind gets to make the decisions. Good luck now, Simon.

             "Stay the fuck away from me, Snow." I'm torn. Torn. Between melting in Simon's arms, and killing him right here. Clearly my mouth has decided though.

             And now Simon looks torn.

            "I am not giving up, Baz. I'll give you space, but I'm not giving up. Not on us. Not on you." With that and a determined look on his beautiful, soft features, he walks out of our room. I can hear him sniffle though. I can hear the sound, the small splash of a tear on the floor.

            Bronze curls bouncing every step of the way.

            Curls that I just chose not to run my fingers through. 

            Curls I just gave up on.

           But if I'm being honest, giving up Simon Snow. . . . it's like giving up my own heart—I don't know who I broke.