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It took a lot for Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to lose his cool. Insults bounced off him, Punching just stung. Family was a dying concept to him, friends were strictly professional. He’s never had a pet and politics don’t bother him much anymore. Baz kept everyone he knew at arm's length. Everyone except a single tall, lanky, freckled young man, just about his age with reflective copper hair and crows feet around his eyes when he smiled. Baz wished he smiled more. He liked his smile more than anything else about the bloke. His smile was the sun to young Pitch. The warmth of that smile pulled him from under the covers every morning, being the late riser Baz naturally was. The smile had two warm calloused hands and two lanky arms attached as well, bringing more light into Basil’s existence. That smile also had a name; Simon Snow, the strongest mage he’s ever known, that the World of Mages has come to know.
“Baz?” He meets my eye. I can see the blue of his iris clearly as his pupils dilate. Panic rises in my own throat as I pull against the four men holding me down. He sounds so scared.
“Simon, you’ll be ok. I’ll get you out of this. I promise, Simon,” I yell over the orders The Mage gives to his men. My attention swings over to the men, “Please don’t hurt him. Please. I- I- can’t…” My voice trails off as I feel myself choking on my own adrenaline. I swing out, getting one of the men across the bridge of his nose, he yelps and it was just enough to allow me to wrench from the other men. Rushing over to Simon, the men scramble after me.
“I love you. I love you so so much. I won’t let them hurt you.” I promise, looking into his eyes, feeling my magic flicker behind my own irises. I grab his face with both hands as I feel one of the men wrap his arms around my waist. I pull him into a crushing kiss as I try to pull his body closer to mine. He’s crying… no- sobbing hysterically. The fear of his own death reflected back at me through his furrowed eyebrows and scrunched nose. I feel his body pull away from my own as I scramble to hold onto him, be damned if I leave welts on his back from my nails. At least I'd have him alive and in my arms.
My ears fill with the buzzing overstimulation of someone crying out. It takes me a second to realize it's me. The cry progresses into hysterical screaming and death threats. I thrash out and try to whip around to hit the man. My arm falls to grab at my throat as Simon’s cross is pressed into my windpipe. Like the misplaced chord of an organ, my scream abruptly ends, and I watch as they drag him to the other side of the room. I don’t want to watch this. I don’t want to watch these same monsters take away someone important from me ever again. Angry tears slip into the corners of my lip. I couldn’t move, my voice was gone, (most likely permanently. That wasn’t the issue, not right now at least.)
Desperation burns under my skin, I wrench myself free from the men. The Mage stood above Simon, wand pointed between his eyes executioner style. A flash of light and heat filled the small apartment bedroom and fills my lungs with a thick layer of burning lead. My fangs bare and I pull myself across the carpet in the direction of where he was.
I reach him on the charred carpet and scoop him into my lap, his chest rose and fell as his eyes meet mine. My shoulders fall as a humorless silent laugh, more like just hot air, escapes my throat. He was Ok . His hands land on both my cheeks as I run my hand through his hair, I search his face for the relief, the tears of joy, of surviving another impossibility. He has a soft smile, the crow's feet return and I bite my lip and feel a fresh wave of tears running down my face. He blinks and a shadow of odd color crosses the film of his eyes. His sclera starts to slowly fill with blood and I could feel my throat tighten and drop to my chest. My grip on his face grew more panicked as he lost his vision. He can't hear me… He can’t see me and I see the blood turning his stupid school blazer dark and soppy. No! No! I press my hands down on the spot, trying to quell the bleeding.
A few heartbeats later, Simon fucking Snow just places his hands over mine and finally speaks, “I can’t see you, Baz. I can’t see anything and it hurts... ‘M scared.” He pauses to grip my hand. “Please, just… hold me. I wanna feel you. Please, Baz.” He pleads as dark staining tears run across his ears into his dirty copper hair. The air is dragged out of me as I obey his request, pulling him close to my chest. He’s still so warm. Simon moves and hugs into my shoulder, his face pressed into the fabric of my favorite jersey. I wanted to scream, hold him, tell him I love him, pull out the ring in the stupid bedside table, tell him I Love Him .
I hear him stutter with terrified sobbing, and suddenly he’s so small, I wrap my arms around him and rock back and forth, protecting him from the world. My incisors cut into the inside of my lip and my face contours in unmistakable rage. Two Days. Two more days and he would’ve had his stupid large backyard, room for Lucy to run around and grow up and a stupid fucking shiny ring on his finger. The boxes around us are crushed and torn apart, one is smoldering.
“I love you too,” He speaks so quietly. The world around us has fallen silent, bodies scatter around us. I just nod into his smokey curls, still rocking. I wouldn’t do it, not without him, I couldn’t.
Still feeling his breath across my collarbone, I hold him and slide back up against the open patio glass, the light of another muggy August dawn drenches his face. I can immediately tell he feels it, the warmth in the world. The pain carved into his eyebrows unfurls and his eyelids slide shut, sending another gush of inky black over the ridges of his ears. He smiles and looks in my vague direction with that look, the one asking… pleading for my affection. I sob, my throat closing up as I pull him from my shoulder and press his lips to mine. Simon Snow tastes like blood and smoke when I feel his lips go slack against my own.
I push my forehead into his and push against the burning in my throat, trying to scream, call out to him to come back to me. A stuttering half cough breaks me from my position. The air doesn’t rush into my lungs like it's supposed to and nauseated, I smile. I wouldn’t have to after all, would I?
Feeling my chest contract, I set him to the carpet and drag myself over to the bed. Throwing open the drawer, I pull the stupid gaudy velvet box from the drawer. I slump against the side table, slamming the drawer shut with box in hand. I double over, water in your lungs wasn’t pleasant and blood was nary different in this situation. He was closer than I thought, I hadn’t even realized his eyes were still open. It takes a little adjusting but soon he’s leaning against me again and I open the box and pluck out the band. I have to lay down now, the room is spinning, I bring Simon down with me and interlace his fingers with my own.
I know he would’ve said yes.