Work Text:
SIMON
“Pawn to A3,” I say, reading out Baz’s text.
She moves Baz’s piece—black, of course, he’s bloody dramatic and always plays black—then moves one on her side. I hold the text-to-speech icon on my phone and Penny says her move. I watch the words appear and the little chime when I hit send sings out a bright note.
It’s mid-summer, and Baz’s been called away. His parents are hosting this thing, some sort of family gathering, and they need him to watch the littluns while they handle everything.
I didn’t go, obviously. The wards around his parents’ house, the ones that keep the Normal staff happily in the dark, won’t let me in anymore without trying to convince me magic doesn’t exist. I can usually bear through it for a visit, but not for any longer than that.
So I didn’t go. I relay Baz’s next text to Penny and try not to think about it.
…
The flat is so quiet with Baz gone.
Penny left a couple hours ago, back home to wait for Shepard’s flight to get in. They’ve got a flat together too, just a couple streets away, and they’re engaged. Technically, Shep still has no documentation and really shouldn’t be living here, but it’s not like the Normals notice or the mages care. He and Penny have made a career untangling curses and the like for the Coven and Headmistress Bunce. I'm happy for them—they've got it all figured out. (I think we almost do.)(Baz and me. We're so much better, happier, now)
And that leaves me, alone in our flat. Baz will be back tomorrow, I can find something to do 'til then.
I turn on all the lights and start picking up the mess Penny and I had made. She’d been here the night before, too, and before that—she’s only leaving today because Shep will be back from visiting his mum. We’d ordered takeaway and watched movies late into the night, arguing over them just like we used to as kids before the Watford technology ban.
And we will again, tomorrow, with Shep too. They’re staying at their’s tonight but coming back in the morning. It doesn’t make me feel coddled or smothered, just warm inside. I can have this now, I know. It took a long time in therapy for me to realize I’m allowed to have support, and they’re allowed to give it.
But I still miss Baz. We’ve been apart for longer, and with less communication, but the bed feels too big with his half empty.
We’re better now, more secure in ourselves and each other. I know Baz won’t leave me, and he knows the same.
It still feels strange, though. Like the first days of summer when my hair was shaved too-short and the Normal homes too-loud, learning to breathe without the quiet hum of magic again.
I don’t buy cider anymore, either. I haven’t had alcohol in a full year. I don’t think I like it all that much—it just makes me sad, makes me tired.
The flat is strangely still without him, and not messy enough. Baz always leaves his stuff out, laying around the way posh brats with maids to clean up after them do.
His empty mugs, with dregs of coffee or blood in the bottom, aren’t stacked next to the sink. His shoes aren’t left in the hall, and I don’t have to move stacks of books to reach things. When I flare my wings out, they don’t knock into something left out of its proper place like they usually do.
I’ve never had all that much, so I’ve always been in the habit of taking care of it. When I can, anyway. The flat stays much cleaner, now.
I leave the lights on when I slip under the covers. It takes longer to fall asleep that way, but I don’t mind it.
He'll be home tomorrow.
…
I wake to the sound of the front door opening.
I’m up in an instant, adrenaline thrilling through my blood. I don’t have my magic anymore but I’ve always been good in a fight.
There's further movement into the flat, just a couple quick steps and the sound of something solid hitting the floor. I'm on alert again immediately, making my way to the bedroom door and flat behind it on silent steps.
All the lights in the flat are off. Everything's dark and blurred, only a sliver of moonlight through the cracked curtains showing the edges of the furniture.
There's a figure in the middle of the room. It's definitely human, and tall.
It moves, sudden and lurching, and I lunge.
BAZ
I couldn't stay any longer. Not even until morning, when I was supposed to drive back after breakfast with the family.
They'll have to excuse my absence. I'll call later.
I turn the car off but leave the key in the ignition. It's dark, late into the night. The clock in the dash says it's just past three in the morning.
I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I tried, and all I could do was think about Snow, about how much I missed him.
The bed was too empty without his wings draped over me, without his tail curled around my calf. Too silent, too, without the sound of his deep breathing and muffled snores.
I gave up on sleeping around midnight, and gave out on staying barely half an hour past that.
I pull the key from the ignition and grab my bag. Snow's waiting for me.
…
I don't turn on the lights. I don't need them to see in the dark, especially with the moon hanging low and full tonight. My vampire senses paint the room in grey and black, soft shadows and indistinct edges.
I drop my bag and start on my coat. Snow will be out of our room, soon, charging in ready to fight whatever imaginary invader he's picturing in my place.
He's still so much himself, that fierce protection and stubborn determination unchanging from the boy I fell in love with at fifteen.
I smile to myself when his shape appears in our bedroom door.
And then I trip over my own feet and lose my balance.
SIMON
I catch him-–Baz, it's Baz—and redirect to land on the couch. I look at him, face bright and smiling in the moonlight.
He's beautiful like this, open and happy. I could look at his face for days, I think, and it makes the space in my chest where my magic used to rest grow warm.
He's back.
Baz.
…
BAZ
We've moved to our bed, sitting tangled together against the headboard.
Snow left the curtains open—he always does. I have to close them if we don't want the sub waking us up.
The windows face east. I watch the sunrise draw over the room, painting rectangles of warm light across the floor, the wall, the bed.
Simon's hand in mine squeezes tight. I rest my head against his and it's all my teenage daydreams made real, all those years of fear and grief and fraught dissonance erased.
I'm home.