Blue

Baz

It was a hot summer day in June, and Simon was busy emptying our freezer of popsicles.

"You want one?" he said offering me one, in between licking his popsicle. His tongue was blue.

"Grape, please. Come here, sit down." I said as I patted the spot next to me on the sofa. Simon sits next to me, handing me the popsicle and turning to face me.

"What's wrong, Baz? Is something wrong?" he asks me, his eyes tinted with worry.

"Nothing's wrong," at this statement Simon let out an audible sigh, "I just noticed the calendar. Tomorrow is your birthday. I thought we could head into London and visit the aquarium. We'll eat your cake and you'll open your presents when we get back home."

"I've never been to an aquarium before," he said to me as his tail whipped back in forth in excitement (Sometimes I wonder if Simon is a mutated dog), "Will there be whales? I've only ever seen whales in books and on the telly. I wonder what they'll look like in real life."

I didn't bother telling him that the aquarium we were visiting wasn't nearly large enough to contain any sort of whale. I didn't want to dash his hopes. And the look on his face had just been too cute to spoil. I'm so hopeless.

On the morning of our trip, he had been standing in front of the wardrobe, unable to decide what to wear. (A rare occurrence, usually he just throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.) After Snow left Watford, he didn't have much else to wear and I wasn't going to idly stand by while he continued to forever wear his school uniform until he died. I had made it my mission to make him at least look presentable. I dragged him to all of my favorite shops and bought him several outfits that I had to admit made him look quite dashing. I finally had to intervene on his fretting and make him settle on a pair of snug fitting dark jeans with a light gray polo.

"Are you sure I look ok?" he asked me for what seemed like the 100th time.

"You look great, Snow," I say as I lean in and kiss my favorite mole of his, right on his neck, "Now come along, before we miss the train for London."

At this remark his skin paled almost as much as mine and he raced out the door. When I got outside the cozy flat we owned and had grabbed our wallets and coats, Simon was jogging in place. He looked so comical I burst out laughing. He shot me a glare as I handed him his wallet and coat, still laughing slightly.

"Come on, Baz. I don't want to miss the train, especially since I spent so much time on looking presentable." he said, gesturing to his casual-posh clothes, unable to stay cross in light of the situation. He flicked his tail impishly with a wide grin that lights up his face. As he does this, I spell his wings and tail so we don't scare any Normals.

"There's nothing to see here!" I say, pointing at his devilish appendages. Simon looks at where his wings should be and sighed.

"You know, sometimes I just want to leave them un-spelled. Just to scare the Normals out of their mundanity." he says looking down at his feet, as if he were a little boy who had upset his mother.

"Tsk tsk, Snow. You're being unreasonable. Now get a move on, you lazy oaf. There's no such things as being fashionably late for the train!"

After finally getting on the train, Simon just got more and more excited for the aquarium. He looked as if he were about to burst.

"Are you alright, Simon?" I asked, worried that he'd pass out from the lack of air.

"Of course I'm alright, you bloke. No, I'm actually better than alright. I feel really happy that we get to spend time together like this. We don't usually have so much free time."

After Penny moved to America, Simon and I got our own flat in Manchester. It was hard at first. Simon was still going to the university and he needed help paying his student loans. With money tight for a few months because my had parents cut me off after I introduced Snow as my boyfriend to them. I had to get a job as a cook at The Lime Tree to support ourselves so we wouldn't end up on the streets. The staff didn't look at me oddly after the first two weeks. It also turns out that I can cook relatively well.

Compared to Simon, however, I cook microwave chips next to his filet mignon. With him having to get used to his loss of his magic, he had plenty of time to practice Normal activities. The first time Snow cooked for us, I thought I would have to choke it down and then tell him gently later that he was no longer allowed to prepare our food. But when I took my first bite of his roast chicken, it was as if Merlin had magicked a galaxy of flavor into it. I took one look at Simon, and grabbed seconds. He just gave me the sweetest smile you could imagine.

I'm removed from my reverie by Simon poking my cheek.

"What? Why're you poking me?" I asked

"I asked you a question," he said to me, looking exasperated.

"Oh. Sorry," I say sheepishly, "I wasn't paying attention. What was it?"

"I was asking you if brought anything to eat with you, I'm starved."

"Of course you're hungry. You're always hungry," I say affectionately "Tell you what, I'll buy you a shaved ice at the aquarium."

Ever since our first year at Watford, Simon has been obsessed with food. He eats constantly and it's a wonder that he isn't fat yet. And he eats like a pig, though there's nothing to help that. But I don't really mind. It's just the way Simon is. But Penelope isn't helping, on our birthdays and holidays she magicks a box of sweets to us. I usually have to hide them to make sure that Snow doesn't eat them all without me.

"Hmm. Baz, what're you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about how it's a wonder you're not a circle from all the food you eat," I tell him jokingly, "Your turn. What are you thinking about?"

"I already told you, I don't think. And I thought you were the ones with all the brains." he says teasingly.

I playfully swat at him. I muss up his hair, the soft golden curls fall haphazardly onto Simon's forehead.

"Hey! It took me forever to get it just right. And now look what you've done, you've mussed it up." he says peevishly. He sits there and carefully rearranges his hair in the reflection in the window.

I lean my head against Simon's shoulder. Scooting closer to him to get warm. I stare at the back of the seat in front of us. Tracing the pattern of the fabric with my eyes. Simon idly plays with my long hair. With the movement of the train, I am gently lulled into sleep.