breathing in the sun

I. Baz

I leave the window open.

It's chilly, and I'm shivering periodically, but every once in a while a breeze blows through the room, and it sends Snow's scent to me. It's like smelling a wildfire from miles away, smoky and dangerous, but it's just him. Just his bed and blankets and clothes that he left scattered across the floor this morning.

It's only somewhat distracting.

I still manage to do my homework, though it is boring. I already know most of everything, and every problem and question and prompt feels repetitive, reiterations of lessons from when I was a child.

I'm half tempted to give it up when my eyes start drifting shut and my pen falls from my hand, but I'm startled awake before I can by the door swinging open noisily.

I jump and snatch my pen back up, glancing at the door to see Snow come in, turning around to shut the door behind himself, his back swinging and hitting him.

I roll my eyes like he can see me and look back to my essay, but whatever was in my head about the magical benefits of knowledge of Greek and Latin is gone. I try to reread what I have written, but I just read the same first sentence three times before I realise Snow hasn't moved.

I look up at him, still standing at the door, but he doesn't see because his eyes are closed. He's leaning against the door, clutching the strap of his bag with both hands, and his knuckles are pale with how tight he's gripping it. I can hear his breathing, and it's heavy and sharp.

"What's your problem?" I say, trying to sound dismissive even though my fingers are twisting my pen worriedly.

He jumps, yelping "Oh, Jesus," and his eyes fly open, catching on me.

"I didn't know you were here," he says breathily, leaning against the door and shutting his eyes again. He doesn't relax against it, thought, his shoulders and face tense as he drops his hands from his bag. They're shaking.

"What's your problem?" I say again, and I turn in my seat to face him even though I don't tell my body to move.

"I don't..." He trails off, taking a deep breath, but it's choppy and strained. He lifts his hands and presses them to his face, covering his mouth and eyes before running them up through his hair, and I realise it's not just his hands shaking.

It's him.

He's fucking trembling, like a wet puppy, like he's just crawled out of a frozen river.

"Snow?" My voice sounds softer than I'd like it to, but it still seems to startle him.

He pushes himself off the door, panting, "I don't know what's... I don't..." His breathing is speeding up, until it's choked and strangled, and my stomach and pen both drop. His hands drop to his sides, shaking and flapping until they blur, like he's swatting at some invisible bugs.

"Snow—"

"I can't breathe," he chokes out, looking at me and then around the room frantically like he's looking for an escape route.

I freeze, stuck between my family in my head telling me to leave him, and the sharp, intense pains in my heart as I watch him panic.

"Yes, you can," my mouth says without my brain telling it to, and I stand slowly. "You can, there's nothing stopping you but your brain. Take a deep breath."

He's not my enemy right now.

He's just a boy.

A scared boy.

"I— I can't," he stammers out.

"Yes, you can," I repeat, nodding reassuringly as he looks at me with wide eyes. "You're okay, take a deep breath."