Chapter Text
BAZ
It’s been five years since Simon Snow saved the magickal world (again). Five years since we found out he really was the Mage’s heir all along, five years since he found out he’s the long-lost son of Lucy Salisbury, Lady Salisbury’s daughter. Five years since Bunce summoned a demon in her flat and started shagging the now un-cursed American, Shepard, Fiona married that sleazy gangster vampire, and I found out I’m not as immortal as I thought.
A lot has happened since then. I brought Snow home for Christmas and ate in front of my family for the first time since my fangs came in. They wept, thinking it must have something to do with Simon, and for the first time in my life, I started thinking there was a scenario where they might accept me being with a man. Bunce and Shepard are now researching magickal creatures in America. Agatha and Niamh are the new goatherds. I graduated from university and became a professor at Watford (of course). The Salisbury’s have a family home near Watford that Simon and I have moved into. Simon’s an AG pilot for nearby farms.
Bunce and I finally convinced Simon to go back to therapy. He’ll never admit it, but it’s done wonders. It convinced me to try it out too, something called EMDR. We rarely have nightmares anymore. We talk about the future, and it’s not dreadful. I let myself have hope, and I think he does too.
Our house is lovely. A stone cottage with a thatched roof. We have a small garden, and Snow has a few chickens. He cooks me breakfast in the morning with fresh eggs. It backs up to a forest with deer that I hunt occasionally, but we also keep the fridge stocked with pig’s blood (I don’t know why I never thought of that before). No more rats for me, they’re handled by our cat, Eleanor. We have a guest room that Bunce and Shepard use when they come into town, and we have Agatha and Niamh over for dinner once a week. It’s all so lovely.
If you told me this would be my life five years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you told me ten years ago, I would have laughed in your face. Simon Snow and I were enemies. He was the most powerful mage that’s ever lived. Even after he lost his powers and the Mage died, Simon was so dysfunctional and broken and we were both so traumatised that I never thought there was a future where we were happy. Where we settled down. Where we built a life together and were content. But thank magic, against all odds, it happened.
In two days, I’m gonna propose to Simon.
We’ve talked about getting married a few times, but since Agatha and Niamh got married last summer, it’s never left my mind. The ceremony was lovely. It was held in the Wavering Wood, and orbs of light floated in the canopy of the trees, illuminating the ceremony. Agatha was in a stunning white gown, and she looked as ethereal as ever, while Niamh was dressed in a simple black suit. The entire time, Simon and I held hands. We kept stealing glances at each other, and we both were beaming. At one point, I whispered in his ear “one day,” and he squeezed my hand. Later that night, we were sozzled and he told me that at our wedding, there had to be sandwiches.
“Cook Prichard’s sandwiches, or Lady Salisbury’s?” I had asked.
“Both.” He’d answered, grinning. “And lots of cake.”
“Of course,” I said, grinning back. I held his face in my hands, brushing his cheeks with my thumbs, before kissing him senseless.
Today was the last day of term. In two days, after all the students are gone and everything’s settled, that’s when I’ll do it.
SIMON
I think there’s something wrong with Baz.
I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s up and he won’t tell me what it is. He’s been weird and fidgety for weeks—every time I come into the room and he’s on his laptop he slams it shut, and I keep finding him pacing around the sitting room lost in thought. He’s stepped on Eleanor twice and the other day he tripped over the coffee table.
There was a large crack followed by a thud and “fuck! ” from Baz.
“Babe?” I called from the kitchen when I heard the crash. I walk in to find him flat on his arse, lap covered in water from a spilled vase of flowers.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, picking up smushed roses. “I tripped.”
“Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”
“I just said I’m fine.” He sighed indignantly. “I’m just stressed. It’s the end of term.”
“What have you got to be stressed for? You’re the teacher.”
“I’m stressed for them. My students,” he protested.
“You’re so stressed for your students you’re walking into tables?” I laughed. “Fat chance. I’ve never seen you that stressed about your own coursework.”
“I never had anything to worry about. Some of them, on the other hand, are imbeciles. They’ll never pass their exams.” He added defensively, “Plus, grades have to be in by the end of the week. I’m up to my neck in essays.”
I knew he was lying. He wouldn’t insult his students like that. He claims he likes to teach for the pursuit and spread of knowledge, but I know he secretly cares for his students. He keeps everything his students have ever given him (thank you notes, trinkets) in a drawer in his desk, and sometimes when he’s feeling particularly discouraged, he takes them out and looks at them. Once I caught him tearing up a bit. It was adorable.
I decided to drop it that day, but every time I’ve asked him about it since, he quickly cuts me off, telling me it’s nothing. It’s very out of character for him. Nowadays we tell each other everything. Christ, we know each other’s bathroom habits.
When I get home from work today, Baz is in the bedroom on his phone. Today was the last day of term, so he got off early. I don’t know who he’s talking to, but he mustn’t have heard me come in because when he sees me in the doorway, he jumps and throws his phone across the room.
“Simon!” he yelps, swallowing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Who was that? Why did you throw your phone?” I ask, going to pick it up for him. He dashes for it but I beat him to it. I look at the caller ID, it’s Headmistress Bunce. Baz rips it out of my hand.
“Thank you so much, Mitali! Gotta go!” he says into the microphone, his voice an octave higher than normal, before smashing the “end call” button.
What is going on?
“What the fuck was that?” I ask. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“What? No!” Baz laughs, genuinely.
“What’s wrong then? Is it something with Penny?” Penny and Shepard are flying in to visit today.
“Oh, uh—yes!” Baz laughs, a little less genuine. He seems nervous. “Mitali was actually calling to tell me that Penny and Shepard are going to stay with them instead of coming here.”
“What? Why?”
“Oh, umm…” Baz looks away, scratching the back of his neck. Why is he so nervous? “It’s just that—she thought we might want some time… alone… To celebrate the end of term.”
I blush furiously. What? Why would Professor Bunce be thinking about that?
“That’s… strange,” is all that manages to come out, because I can’t stop thinking what the actual fuck?
“Yeah,” Baz responds, “I thought so too.” He looks shyly at the ground. If he had enough blood in him, I think he’d be blushing. But then he takes a step forward into my space and looks me up and down, biting his lower lip. “But I guess… we might as well take advantage of it, you know?” He starts unbuttoning my shirt, and I can’t help it, I lean in, mouth open and ready for him, and he kisses me deeply.
BAZ
I lied to Simon. Mitali and I weren’t talking about Bunce and the American’s sleeping arrangements (I paid for their hotel a while ago). Mitali and I were talking about my plan to propose to Simon. I needed her help arranging something at Watford.
I thought about where I’d propose. On a beach at sunset. At the Castles of Kent. On the London Eye. Edinburgh Castle. In Paris on the Eiffel Tower or at the Palais de Chaillot. Or even in our kitchen after making him all his favourites for dinner (Roast Beef. Sour Cherry Scones with lots of butter. Yorkshire pudding. Chocolate cake. Curry chicken sandwiches. Petit fours). But none made sense compared to Watford.
Watford is ours. It’s where we met. Where we shared a room together for eight years. My mum died there. His father died there. I was turned. Simon saved the magickal world (twice). Both the best and worst things to ever happen to us happened there. It’s where 15 years ago, the crucible cast us together and bonded us for life. It only makes sense that it’s also where I propose. And I have a plan.
But of course, Simon can’t know this. It’s going to be a surprise. I’ve been planning this for weeks, and I’ve been an absolute wreck. Simon’s noticed, but I’ve been trying to play it off. The excuse about Mitali giving us alone time is complete and utter bullshit. It’s a terrible lie—in what world would Mitali house Bunce and her American so Simon and I could have sex? It’s ridiculous, but I’m out of practice. I can’t believe he actually seems to believe me. It’s killing me to lie to him; we never lie to each other anymore, but I have to lie about this. Just for a few more days.
Simon gets out of the shower, and I grab him by the back of the neck and push him up against the wall. I’m kissing him roughly now, nibbling on his lower lip, one hand pulling in his hair, the other fiercely grappling at his hip (am I doing everything he likes so he’ll forget my blatantly obvious lie? Maybe. The jury’s still out). He gently holds my face with one hand while his other slips underneath my shirt and starts rubbing my stomach and I let out a small groan. Yes, I think, I needed this.
It feels like ages since we’ve had sex. The past few weeks I’ve been so caught up in finishing the term and planning this proposal, every night I’ve been up past midnight on my computer. Snow gets up early to fly, so there’s been no time for us. I’ve missed his warm, tawny skin, the way his hair feels in my hands, his tail (which he still has, and the wings). My hand finds its way to the base of his tail and I anchor my hand firmly around it. He grunts and his tail snakes around my calf as I shove him against the wall.
I rub my cock into his hip and I feel him half-hard against me, which just won’t do. I pin his wrists to the wall, fucking his mouth with my tongue as I rub against him slowly.
“Babe,” he whines into my mouth, bucking his hips into mine.
I dive for his throat and start kissing on each of the glorious moles on his neck. There’s one in particular right in the middle I love, and I target it, biting and sucking (after five years of doing this, I can control my fangs well enough that they’re not an issue if I’m fed. Thank magic, because it drives Simon crazy).
“Can I leave a mark?” I growl into his neck.
“Yes,” he gasps, “Please.” I suck harder, a red bruise blossoming, and I almost moan at the sight. Yes, I think, you’re mine. I push one knee up between his legs and he groans louder at the friction before I come back up to his mouth and we’re undoing each other’s shirt buttons.
“Babe, please, fuck me,” he moans into my mouth, and I don’t waste a second.
I whip him around and shove him onto the bed, unbuckling my belt and kicking off my trousers and pants while he does the same. Then he’s spread out on the mattress, naked and wanting, and he’s so beautiful.
I’m pushing my tongue down his throat as I fumble with the lube before working my fingers into Simon, stretching him out. I suck once more on his lips a little before moving down, pressing gently kisses onto his chin, neck, chest, stomach…
“Ready?” I ask, looking up at him, and he nods.
“Please,” Simon whines.
The face he makes when I fill him up should be illegal.
He holds onto me steadily as I sink into him slow and deep. His bronze curls surround his head like a halo as he gasps for air with every thrust. It’s so beautiful, I want this moment framed on the wall. It belongs in a museum.
“Oh fuck,” I choke. “Fuck, babe, you’re so beautiful.”
“Babe, please, more,” he begs, and I oblige. I take his arms, which are clinging to me gently, and pin him down by his wrists, and he moans.
“Please love.”
“Baz—”
“Simon.”
“Fuck, Baz—”
He feels so good (so good). I card my hand through his curly hair and tug, and he groans. It’s hard, fast, and deep, and every time I leave him, he whimpers a little, and it makes my cock twitch.
“B-Baz, babe, oh my god—” Simon moans loudly (thank magic we don’t have neighbours). His back arches against the mattress, he looks breathtaking, and I know I’m not gonna last much longer.
“Simon please—”
“Fuck, Baz I’m so close, please, I love you—”
His words send me over the edge, and I moan loudly as I come undone, filling him up, and he’s coming with me, white hot ribbons painting both of our chests.
SIMON
Our stomachs are sticky (from me), as well as the bedsheets (from Baz), but we’re too blissed out and boneless to care. He flips us over and I collapse on top of him. He rubs the patch of skin between my wings.
“I love you too. That was great.” He whispers. I nod, and he softly kisses my curls. He inspects the mark he made on my neck, smiling gently to himself as he rubs it with his thumb. “I missed this.”
“We need to have afternoon sex more often,” I grunt.
“Mmm,” he mmms in agreement. “We can now that I'm on break.”
“Fuck yes,” I sigh. “Let’s not put on clothes, it’s too hot anyway.”
“I agree.”
“Now that I think about it, let’s not wear clothes for the whole sum—” I’m interrupted by a knock at the door.
Baz and I exchange a look of confusion before both of our eyes widen as it dawns on us.
“We forgot dinner!” I gasp as he hisses “Agatha and Niamh.”
We both leap out of bed, and we look at each other in horror as we realise not only are we naked but we’re both covered in—
“You. Shower. Fast.” Baz orders. “I’ll handle dinner.” He casts clean as a whistle! on himself and scrambles for his pants. Unfortunately, he can’t cast that on me, hence the shower.
There’s more knocking, and Baz is pulling on his trousers as he yells “Coming!” before hissing “Now!” at me.
I run to the shower.
BAZ
Circe, I can’t believe we were so caught up in—that—that we forgot about dinner with Wellbelove and Niamh. Which has happened every Friday for the past year. I scramble to get trousers and my shirt on, not bothering with shoes, and rush to open the door.
“Hello!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. “Come on in!”
“Hello to you too Baz,” Wellbelove says, smirking. I see my reflection in the window and realise my hair is wrecked. I grimace and run my hands through it as I lead them to the sitting room, silently hoping they think I just woke up from an afternoon nap.
“Tea will be ready in a moment!” I say, rushing off to the kitchen.
I do my best to magic up some food—Lady Salisbury’s sandwiches—and quickly curse as I realise we have no clean dishes. I wash my plate and clean as a whistle! the others (what they don’t know won’t kill them), and quickly set the table, trying to be less obvious about the fact that we forgot about dinner because we were having sex.
“Dinner is ready!” I announce, strolling into the sitting room as casually as possible when Snow barges in, very unsubtly, though thankfully dressed.
Wellbelove covers her mouth and giggles, and Niamh has a very uncomfortable look on her face. I look back at Snow and my blood runs cold (colder ) when I see the giant mark I left on his neck earlier.
So much for subtlety.
“Had some fun?” Wellbelove asks, smirking again. I’d be blushing if I could, but Snow just looks confused, until he realises and his eyes go wide.
“Fuck,” he groans, covering his face with his hands.
“Was this why dinner wasn’t ready?” Agatha giggles. Snow’s face turns bright red. “You know it’s improper to eat before dinner, you’ll spoil your appetite.”
“I think my appetite’s been spoiled,” Niamh murmurs to herself.
“Very funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now, do you want dinner or not?”
⚭⚭⚭
The next morning, Bunce and Shepard are keeping Simon occupied while I pick up the ring from the jewelers and finish some last-minute preparations. Naturally, they’re taking him to look for dragons.
Tomorrow is the day.
I pick up the ring—golden, like him, a sun engraved into the band with a ruby in the center. Inside it reads “centre of my universe.” Because Simon is.
Is it too much? Is all this too much? I don’t know anymore. I suddenly feel 20 again, questioning everything about our relationship—what’s allowed and what isn’t, what’s enough and what’s too much.
I take a few deep breaths. I’m definitely overthinking this. Snow loves me. He tells me every day. He moaned it yesterday while we were having sex. We’re not 20 anymore. We communicate. We talk about the future together. We’ve talked about getting married. But I can’t help but be nervous, I love him so much. I want this so badly.
Tomorrow is the day.
SIMON
Baz has me blindfolded, and he won’t tell me where we’re going.
“Whyyyyy,” I whine.
“Because it’s a surprise, Snow.”
“But I want to know!”
“That’s not how surprises work.”
“Pleeeeeeease.”
“Calm down, we’re almost there.”
I hear gravel under the tyres now, and the sound of goats bleating in the distance.
“Wait a minute, are we at Watford?”
“...Maybe.”
“Is that supposed to be the surprise? Because I’ve been to Watford.”
“I know.”
“That’s a pretty terrible surprise then.”
Baz sighs indignantly, and I feel the car turning and rolling to a stop.
“Can I take my blindfold off now?” I ask.
“No.”
Baz gets out and comes to my side, taking me by the hand and leading me to the gates. I know for sure we’re at Watford when I hear the rusty gates creak open. I feel him leading me to the Great Lawn (I’ve become good at visualizing where I am since becoming a pilot), and we stop and Baz takes off my blindfold.
I don’t know what I’m expecting when he takes it off, but when I open my eyes, I just see Baz standing in front of me on the Great Lawn.
“That’s it? Why did I need to be blindfolded for this?” I ask. I expect Baz to look annoyed (I am being annoying), but instead, he looks at the ground, playing with his hands behind his back. Is he nervous? Why is he nervous? What is he planning?
“Do you know where we are?” he asks, looking up at me sheepishly.
“Watford.”
“Yes, and…”
“The Great Lawn?”
“Obviously.” Baz rolls his eyes now, but I see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Then what?” I ask. I know I’m being idiotic, but I truly have no clue what he’s getting at. Baz takes a step into my space and his demeanor softens as he grabs my hands.
“This is where we first met.” He says quietly. “Where the crucible cast us together.”
I picture it. Us, eleven years old, fifteen years ago. The magnetic feeling in my gut, similar to the one I feel right now, pulling me toward him. Pulling him toward me. Holding out my hand toward him, wanting him to take it, and him, holding back, looking cool as ever. Snow, he said to me for the first time, the mage’s heir. Like he hated me. I look back into his eyes and my stomach flips at how soft and kind they are in comparison.
He kisses me softly.
“It’s crazy how much things have changed,” I whisper, pressing his forehead into mine.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “it’s also crazy how much things have stayed the same.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Well for starters, I’m still taller than you,” he teases, smirking.
“Oh fuck off.” I try to shove him away, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he places my hands on his waist, drapes his arms on my shoulders, and kisses me again. “You’re still a vampire.”
“I am.”
“With sexy fangs and super strength.” Now it’s his turn to swat at me, but gently. I kiss him.
“You’re still an absolute fucking nightmare.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he’s smiling.
“And you’re still a pretentious twat.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re a sexy, brilliant, blood-sucking monster.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Me neither.” I lie. He knows. “I’m still a terrible liar.” He laughs, pulling me in for another kiss. This one lingers, longing, wanting, and when I break away from Baz, he sighs.
“I’m still obsessed with you," he whispers, smiling.
“I still can’t get enough of you,” I smirk, and I pull him again. Kissing him like he’s water and I haven’t drunk in days. Longing. Wanting. Needing. Needing but that need is satisfied as soon as it occurs, and then it returns and is satisfied again in a wonderful, blissful cycle. I never want it to end.
Baz pulls away and before I can think I let out a small whine.
BAZ
Simon and I are kissing, and my heart is so full and it’s so good, but we’re only at the first stage of my plan and we really need to keep going. But when I pull away, he fucking whimpers, and I can’t stop myself. And he knows it.
I grab a fistful of curls and almost slam his face back into mine. His bottom lip is in between my teeth, one hand pulling his hair and the other one grabbing at him through his shirt.
“Motherfucker,” I growl. “You’re distracting me on purpose.”
He’s holding me gently, one hand on the small of my back and the other cupping my cheek like I’m fine china, and I groan a little bit into his mouth. We’re exposed in the middle of the lawn, anyone could see us, but I can’t care because Snow’s licking inside my mouth and it’s all I can think about. And then, in a Herculean act of self-restraint, I pull myself away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, panting a bit. “But we’re not done.”
“What?” he huffs (not in an angry way—he’s equally out of breath).
“We’re not done. I have more to show you.”
“Like what?”
“It’s a surprise,” I reply. “I won’t make you wear the blindfold if you promise to close your eyes.”
“You can’t make me do anything,” Simon smirks. I want to kiss it off his face. Instead, I do my best to glare at him. He rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he relents, closing his eyes.
⚭⚭⚭
I drag Simon to the Wavering Wood. I told him to close his eyes, and he is, but only because I think he can feel where we’re going.
“You can open your eyes,” I say. He does, looking around before staring at me blankly. He doesn’t say anything.
“What? No contemptuous remarks about why we’re here?” I ask him. He shrugs.
“I figure you’d tell me,” he says, shrugging again. I feel myself pout, stubbornly not telling him. I want him to ask. Luckily, Snow’s impatient. “Fine,” he groans. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I ask, smirking. He frowns at me.
“You know what.” We’re both stubborn.
“I don’t know to what you’re referring.”
“This.”
“Use your words, Simon,” I egg him on, stepping closer to him so I’m inches away from his face. I don’t know why I’m fighting him, we rarely act like this with each other anymore. Maybe it’s being at Watford with him, it feels unnatural not to. He huffs and juts his chin out, yes, I think, fight back. But my hands are moving slowly toward his waist, and I can’t help myself. I’m in a sentimental mood. My fingertips touch his stomach and slide down to his hips. His expression softens and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to kiss me, and my mouth is open and ready for him when he does.
We’re more secluded in the wood than we were on the lawn, which is maybe why I kiss down his jaw, behind his ear, down his neck. I kiss every one of his moles, the bruise I left on him a few days ago. I want to keep going…
“Baz,” Simon moans, and it's the permission I need to trail down to his collar and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. I’m sucking a bit now, and my hands slide up underneath his shirt. “Baz.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s not that—” he gasps when I start biting him. “It’s not that I don’t want this to happen right now, but—oh Merlin.” I’m biting him harder. “Why—why are we here?”
“This,” I hum into the crook of his neck. I’m probably gonna leave another mark, which maybe should be my signal to stop, but it just makes me want to keep going.
“This?” Simon hisses as I bite and suck each of his moles. “Shagging in the Wavering Wood?”
“Mmm,” I mmm. I switch to the other side, and Simon moans.
“I’m—not—complaining—” he begins, breath hitching, “but why?”
I stop kissing his neck and press my nose into his ear.
“Do you remember when we came back to Watford, and you suggested we do this at every place we ever fought?” I whisper. He nods. “This is where we fought the chimera.”
“What?” Simon says, pulling away from me, gaping. “Is that why we’re here?” I shrug like he does. He still looks confused, but also a bit giddy. I pull his mouth to mine, fucking his mouth with my tongue, and he starts giggling. I can’t help but laugh too, because it’s ridiculous. Shagging in the wavering wood. Like horny teenagers.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Simon says. I immediately pull away. He looks embarrassed. “Are you sure about this though? We're sort of in public.”
“Nobody’s around, the term’s over. Everyone’s gone home.”
“Yeah but… not everyone. There could be staff. Agatha and Niamh live here. We are at your place of work. Not to mention the nymphs.”
“Ugh,” I groan. He makes a point.
“You have more planned though, right? We can just go to the next one? Hopefully more private?” He bites his lower lip and smiles coyly. It’s incredibly sexy, and it’s unfair.
“Fine, Snow. Off to the next one.”
⚭⚭⚭
We snog at the football pitch. In many classroom hallways. In the Ramparts. In the Catacombs. We still haven’t shagged, much to our chagrin, because I was too paranoid about running into colleagues, and doing that in the Catacombs just feels wrong.
We’re finally coming to the end of my plan. I have to blindfold Simon again—I saved the best for last, and I’m not risking ruining the surprise. We’re walking up the steps now, and I’m scared he’s gonna figure it out before we get there.
“Why did you have to blindfold me for this one? So many stairs…” Simon complains.
“You’ll see,” I respond, smirking.
“Stop smirking. I can hear it in your voice.”
“How can you hear it in my voice? That doesn’t make any sense, Snow.”
“I just can. You sound different.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know, you just do.”
We finally reach the top of the steps. I nick my thumb and press it into the stone so Simon doesn’t hear me saying the spell, and lead him inside.
“Wait, are we where I think we are?” Simon asks.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” I say as I untie the blindfold. “Open your eyes.”
Simon’s jaw drops.
“Oh my god. Our room!” Simon exclaims. He turns to me, eyes wide and excited. “How is this possible? I thought it was someone else’s now.”
“They graduated this term,” I respond, smiling. Snow is walking around the room in awe, taking it all in. “I cleared it with Mitali first, of course. But yeah.”
All of a sudden, what I’m about to do hits me with a wave of anxiety. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, I know that Simon’s going to say yes. But we’re back in our room and suddenly I’m seventeen again, pining over a boy I can’t have. A boy who is so good, so wonderful, so full of life, and would never look at me that way. But Simon—the real Simon—turns back to me, his eyes watering, and he looks at me like I’m the extraordinary one. He runs up to me and pulls me into another warm, lovely kiss. Something we never got to do in this room.
When we break, I take his hands in mine and start singing.
“Twinkle twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are.”
I don’t have Simon’s magic this time, but little specks of light, like stars, start appearing one by one, floating about the room.
“Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.”
The ceiling is fading.
“Twinkle twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are.”
The ceiling is gone now, in its place the night sky. Simon’s staring up at it, jaw dropped.
"I love you to the moon and back,” I say with magic, and the moon appears above us. “The stars aligned.” The stars on the ceiling move, spelling out “I love you Simon Snow.”
Simon turns to me. His eyes are watering, reflecting the starlight.
“All those years,” I start, still holding his hands. I wrote it all out and practised it a dozen times.
SIMON
“All those years fighting, hating each other. I loved you the whole time. I loved you so much. I would punch you just to touch your face. I would watch you from across the room, longing to just go up to you and kiss you. I would watch you from my bed as you slept, your tawny skin in the moonlight, your bronze curls getting ruined by your pillow. I never thought you’d love me back, but I couldn’t love anyone else but you. I thought it was gonna kill me. I never thought we’d both live through it, and I couldn’t imagine living without you. I can’t imagine living without you. I love you so much, I always have and I always will.” Baz says. He gets down on one knee.
“You are the love of my life. The love of all my lives. Always and forever.” I haven’t stopped looking into his beautiful, grey eyes, which are now starting to water. My eyes do the same. My heart has never felt so full, I feel it coming up my throat and warming my cheeks. I think he’s proposing. The tears spill over. “Simon Snow, will you marry me?”
I stare at him for a second, engraving in my mind the image of how beautiful he looks right now. Him, in our old room, surrounded by the stars and the night sky. His long, black hair, his eyes the colour of deep ocean. Down on one knee, holding a ring. Looking at me. I could stare at him forever.
His eyes grow concerned, and I realise I never answered his question.
“Yes!” I say, voice breaking. “Yes, of course, yes!”
Tears are streaming down Baz’s cheeks. He slides the ring onto my finger and stands up, pulling me into an embrace. I feel him sobbing into my shoulder.
“Babe?” I ask, pulling back to see his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just so happy," he sobs, smiling in disbelief. “I’m so happy you said yes.” He grabs my face and kisses me fiercely, salty tears on our lips.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I laugh in between kisses.
“I don’t know, I was so nervous. I really wanted you to say yes," he laughs wetly. I kiss him again.
“Yes,” I whisper into his mouth. “Of course I’ll marry you. I love you.”
“I love you too," he says. “So much.”