breathing in the sun

III. Baz

I always wake up when the sun does.

Even when the curtains are drawn together, the room turns a pale glowy gold, and I always look over at Snow, who's always still asleep. He's not there right now.

I blink when I look at his bed, furrowing my brows in confusion as I stretch my legs out under the blankets. It's odd, his empty bed and dishevelled blankets. (He never makes his bed.)

I almost gasp, pressing my hand flat on the mattress to push myself up, thinking I'm awfully late, but an arm around me stops me. An arm that's wrapped around my neck, a hand pressed against my shoulder. An arm that's spotted with freckles and moles, that's golden and warm and gentle.

Oh.

Right.

I relax into bed again, closing my eyes for a second before I roll onto my other side, looking up at him.

He's asleep, of course, facing the ceiling, his other arm draped across his stomach. His mouth is open. Of course.

I want to touch him.

I want to run my fingertips over the bridge of his nose, over his soft cheeks and the dip between his lip and chin. I want to press my lips to every spot on his skin, to slide my tongue over his collarbones and his jaw. I want to kiss his eyelids, to trace his brows and lips.

I get up instead.

Carefully, so I don't wake him up.

He lays there as I get dressed, as I gather my school books.

Simon Snow.

In my bed.

Sleeping, peacefully.

There's no trace of last night's tears.

Which are all I can think about as I walk to get breakfast, that last night I found Simon bloody Snow laying in my bed, that he let me hold him as he cried, that he fell asleep against my chest.

I really tried not to cry. It was heartbreaking. I was sad. And scared. And really fucking angry.

Fuck the Mage for doing this to Simon, for ruining and breaking this gentle, beautiful boy. Fuck the Mage for forcing him into this horrible existence. Fuck the whole universe for creating this boy so perfectly, so flawlessly, and tossing him away.

Merlin.

There were things I wanted to say to him last night, as I listened to him cry and ran my hand over his back, as I wrapped my arms around him and talked to him, as gently as I could with all this anger in my body.

Like I love you, but I want to say that to him all the time.

But also,

Simon Snow, I would walk into a wildfire for you.

That I would, I will, fight by his side until the light leaves my eyes, until the breath leaves my chest for a final time, until my unbeating heart can't whisper his name anymore.

That Bunce would fight alongside him. Us. That we'd need her.

Wellbelove too, probably.

Speaking of Wellbelove.

She smiles nicely when I pass her, and I smile back. We don't talk much. I suppose there is some sort of Unspoken Thing between us, but I suspect it's much more important to her than it is to me. I honestly feel badly for leading her on. (Which I think I have, by letting us make eye contact those times she's looked me over, even though I've always been looking at the boy holding her hand.)