Archive of Our Own

Baz

There’s a crash from another room, the sound of a broken window, and I don’t even flinch. I’m used to it. (Even if it is annoying having to repair it.)

I listen for a moment, and when I’m almost certain that the crash didn’t come from the library, I go back to reading my book and wait. It isn’t long before my uninvited guest joins me where I sit in the living room.

He’s late tonight.

“Could you stop breaking in? Next time, just knock.” I turn a page in my book without looking up.

“Are you really inviting a villain into your home?”

The sound of his voice sends a rush of warmth through me. I’ll never admit it, but I’ve missed him.

“You’re not much of a villain, Snow,” I say, glancing up at him. Miraculously, he didn’t cut himself on any of the broken glass this time. Good. I’m tired of cleaning up the blood.

“Of course, I am,” Simon says defensively, flopping down into the armchair and slinging his legs over the arm of it.

He’s already taken off his shoes, and I’m not sure if it’s because it’s one of my rules when people come into my house or if Simon has instantly decided to make himself at home. I’m also not sure which one I would prefer it to be.

I turn back to my book before Simon can catch me staring and say, “You’re late tonight.” I just barely manage to stop myself from asking where he’s been. I don’t want it to appear like I care.

“Aw, were you worried?”

“Of course not. I was just wondering whether I would need to go to the store tomorrow and restock the fridge.”

“Are you worried I’ll go hungry?”

“No. I’m worried I’ll go hungry

“I could leave.”

I glance at him again, but I can’t tell whether or not he’s being serious. I don’t want him to go. I’m pretty sure he is joking; he usually is. This is just a part of our usual banter, and I love it.

“Or you could stay,” I murmur, quiet enough that Simon doesn’t hear me.

I’ve wanted to tell him that so many times. I never do.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” I tell him even though I know that Simon will help himself to whatever he wants whether I tell him to or not.

Simon stands and walks out of the room, and when I see that he has turned towards the kitchen rather than the front door, I relax and settle back into my seat, but I don’t continue reading.

Some would think me crazy for inviting a villain into my home (even a self-proclaimed one) but the thing is, Simon and I have known each other for years, since we were really young.

I still remember what Simon’s father was like before everything that happened. I remember how awful he was. Then, when it came out that he was wanted for murder, I remember how much it tore Simon up, inside and out when it came out what he had done.

That was when Simon changed. His world had been turned upside down, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He had nowhere to go and no one to protect him from what was going on in the media.

He still loved his father, despite what everyone thought he did - what he admitted to doing - and he began to hate himself for loving someone who had killed at least three people.

I have tried to be there for Simon as much as I can, but he rarely lets anyone in, and we weren’t exactly friends back then. And now, I am unsure what we are.

Most people look at Simon and only see his father. I look at him and see the boy I fell in love with so many years ago.

Even if I wanted to, I could never hate Simon in the way some people have chosen to.

Though, there are times when I find it hard to understand how Simon can still care for the person who killed his mother, when if the roles were reversed, I don’t think I could do it. It’s why I understand why Simon calls himself a villain — I don’t think I would be much better.

My mom died when I was little. She fell sick, and it was over all too quickly. If I had someone to blame, I am certain that I would have turned out just as bad as Simon. Worse even, because Simon is not a bad person. He’s far from it, which is what makes this whole “villain” thing so amusing. Simon couldn’t hurt a fly, not intentionally anyway, and it would absolutely destroy him if he hurt a human being.

Simon is everything good in the world, even after the world has thrown so much darkness at him. He does not deserve any of what he has been through, and I wish I could protect him from the world, from everything.

Simon is no villain, and I am no hero. But there still seems to be a rivalry of sorts between us. There always has been, even when we were in school together.

We didn’t hate each other, but we weren’t friends either. Despite this, we kept finding ourselves drawn to each other. Even after we left school and didn’t see each other for over a year, the moment that Simon walked back into my life, a few weeks after everything with his father had begun to die down, I knew I would do anything to make sure that Simon never left again.

His father was no longer in the news every day, but Simon was still being affected by what had happened. (How could he not be?)

It wasn’t easy, but Simon seemed to want to be a part of my life, too.

The first time that he broke into my house, I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into the library. I probably should have run the other direction or called the police or at the very least grabbed some kind of weapon to protect myself from the intruder. But in just the same way that I’ve always felt drawn to Simon, I knew that I would be alright if I walked into that room.

I quietly entered the dark room, and I was surprised to find Simon standing there, the dim moonlight outlining his familiar figure. I was too stunned to move for several minutes, and he didn’t say anything, presumably waiting to see what I would do.

When I finally managed to shake myself out of the shock of seeing a boy I hadn’t seen in over a year, I flicked on the light and moved over to him where he stood in front of the window. I pretended to be checking out the damage that he had caused, but I was more interested in the state that he was in.

His face was pale, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I wanted to ask if he was alright but didn’t know how.

His hair had fallen flat, weighed down by grease from not having been washed in a couple of weeks. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, looking like that was at least the third day in a row that they had been worn. The worst part, though, was the blood seeping through his clothes and running down from a small cut on his cheek.

I couldn’t tell whether all of the blood was from the broken window or if he had gotten into a fight before he arrived. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me. I directed him to the bathroom so that he could clean up, and I anxiously paced up and down the hallway, wondering how he knew where I lived. Maybe he just wanted to break in someplace and by some crazy fluke, he ended up in my house.

I felt ridiculous when I wondered if was judging me on it.

It’s a nice, cozy home. One story with two bedrooms, one of which I use for my library. It’s my quiet place, the room I go to when I just need to get away. I can open a book and get lost, forget all of my troubles.

The house actually belongs to my aunt, but when she moved into a different place, she decided to rent it out to me for a decent price, so long as I take care of it. (Let’s just hope she never finds out how many windows I’ve had to replace over the years.)

When Simon exited the bathroom, less bloody than before, he smiled at me sheepishly.

“I probably should have used the door.”

I actually laughed. I was full of nerves, and the sound kind of bubbled up out of me.

Here was this guy I hadn’t seen since our high school graduation, standing in my house that he just broke into, acting like we’re old friends.

Honestly, it felt like we really were friends. Maybe we didn’t used to talk too much, but he was a part of my life that I couldn’t deny.

“It’s fine,” I told him. “I just hope you didn’t ruin any of my books.”

This time, he was the one to laugh, and even though it didn’t sound as full as it once did, I found myself wishing that I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life.

“I will pay for all of the damages,” he promised.

Then, I offered him some food, and his face lit up. He ate most of what I had in my fridge, acting like he hadn’t eaten in days. His face filled with color, and he began to smile a little more. When he left later that night, he thanked me for everything, and I was so afraid that I would never see him again, so I had to try to make sure that I would.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” I told him, meaning it. I wanted him to come back, and a week later he did. And he never stopped coming.

Ever since then, he drops by my place announced, and I offer him food.

Over the years, we have become friends, telling each other everything.

I do a lot of the talking, which surprised me a bit at first, but every once in a while, Simon will seem full of life and tell me all sorts of things about himself.

He’s been doing some online schooling over the past year or so, but I know that he struggles with it. He would rather just work, but he hates being around people who know who his father is. He feels like they’re always judging him for it even though he didn’t do anything.

I wish that one day we could get out of this town, move somewhere far away where no one knows us and start over. It isn’t that simple, though. My family is here, and even though we have our issues, I could never just up and leave them. I don’t think Simon could ever leave either. Something is holding him back.

Recently, I have begun to leave my windows unlocked for him and ask him to use the front door, but he seems determined to break in. Something about keeping up his street cred or whatever.

He doesn’t always break a window. Usually, he just sneaks in through them and overturns whatever room he entered into to make it look like someone broke in. It makes me smile, and I’ve noticed that he’s never broken the window in the library since that first day. I think he does all of that to make himself seem more like a villain, but I’ve wondered before whether there was something more to it.

This whole villain thing is kind of our inside joke.

We both know that if either of us were to become a villain, it would be me. I’ve got this kind of darkness inside of me that tries to take over every once in a while.

I’ve begun to work through that, though. It isn’t always easy, but I’m working through everything, which wasn’t really my choice when I began.

When I was seventeen, my aunt became so worried about me that she made me go see someone about it. I hated her for it at first. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about my problems, but after a long while, when I began to see how much of a difference it was making, I didn’t mind it as much. It was nice to have someone to talk to about whatever was going on.

My therapist is the only person who knows how I really feel about Simon. I haven’t even told my two best friends about him. They think Simon is just some kid we all went to school with and who I never really got along with.

They don’t know that I am still in contact with him or that he shows up at my place in the middle of the night and I don’t kick him out.

They have noticed that I don’t let them crash at my place as often anymore, but I simply tell them that I like to be alone sometimes. Which is true. Sometimes it’s too much to be around other people.

I never feel like that with Simon, though.

With Simon, things are easier. I feel like I can relax around him and not be judged. He will tease me about things (like my reading glasses) but it’s all in good fun. 

We know everything about each other. Well, almost everything. There is that one simple truth that I will never tell him. I can’t. It would change things, and Simon would probably stop dropping by. I don’t want to lose him.

“So, what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?” Simon asks, finally returning from the kitchen with a giant sandwich and pulling me out of my thoughts.

The sandwich seems to have anything and everything that Simon could find in the fridge. At least two kinds of cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles hidden somewhere in the middle. There are three slices of bread and at least half of the meat that was in the package when I bought it.

It has everything except mayonnaise.

Simon refuses to even try it. The last time he ate it, he got sick and has refused to touch it since, which is why I don’t even keep any around anymore. (Not that Simon knows that.) (He probably hasn’t even noticed.)

I’m not sure how Simon plans to get his mouth around all of that, and I look away when he picks it up and lifts it to his mouth, but when he sets it back down, chewing quietly, I take a moment to look him over. He looks alright on the outside, but I sense something else underneath the surface. Something is bothering him.

I haven’t seen Simon since Thanksgiving, and Christmas is in two days. Even though I told him differently, I really was worried. He usually drops by two or three nights a week. I was beginning to worry that he might be dead in a ditch somewhere or that he ran away again without so much as a goodbye.

“Well, I graduated from college.” I say it slowly and quietly, like it’s no big deal.

“I thought graduation was in May.”

“I graduated a semester early,” I reply with a small smile.

I had to work hard to keep up my grades and take extra classes, but I feel like it was worth it. Now, I’m taking a semester off before I decide whether I want to look for a job or go to graduate school.

“You should have told me, and I would have come.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal. It was a lot of sitting and really boring.”

I don’t mention the fact that I don’t have any way to contact Simon. I know the place he stays at with his friend, but I don’t know his number (or whether he has a phone), and I’m not about to just show up uninvited at someone’s house.

“It wouldn’t have been boring,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

We sit in silence while he eats. I try to think of something else to say, and finally, I ask what I’ve been dying to ever since Simon entered my house. On the outside I have been acting calm and uninterested, but on the inside, I’m an anxious ball of nerves.

“So, where have you been?”

“In hiding,” he replies with a shrug.

I frown at him. “Why?”

“It’s what villains do, right? They hide until someone catches them.” He tries to joke, but it sounds flat.

“Come on, Simon. Be serious. What’s going on?”

He looks down and frowns as he tugs at the edge of his shirtsleeve. He’s quiet so long that I’m worried he isn’t going to say anything. When he does speak, he’s so quiet that I have to strain to hear him.

“My father wanted me to visit him.”

“And?” I ask, trying not to let on how worrying that is. As far as I know, Simon hasn’t been to see his father since he was convicted a few years ago.

“And I didn’t go.”

“Okay. But why have you been hiding?”

“Because I wanted to go visit him. And I know how awful that makes me. My father killed three people, and I still want to go check on him.”

“It doesn’t make you awful. It makes you human. Yes, he did terrible things, but for seventeen years, he raised you. He loved you, and you loved him. It makes sense that you would still care about him.”

Simon is quiet for a while, his food gone now, plate abandoned on the coffee table. He rubs his eyes, and I realize that he has bags under his eyes. All of this must have been keeping him up at night.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Simon says quietly.

“I know.”

“No, I mean, you’re supposed to spend Christmas with your family, and I haven’t got any family left.”

I hurt for him when he says this. I might not get along with my family, but at least I’ve got them. Simon has no one. He feels totally alone in the world, but he isn’t.

“You’ve got me,” I tell him.

I should probably take it back, but I don’t want to. I mean it. Simon means the world to me.

It makes me sad to wonder how he has spent Christmas these past few years. Has he been hiding out every year around the holidays and I just didn’t notice it? Or has he been with his friend?

I hate that I don’t know enough about him to know the answer to this. And that I never even thought to ask what he was doing for the holidays.

He looks up at me with wide eyes rimmed in red, and the pain I see so clearly etched there tugs at my heart.

“Come with me to visit my family,” I tell him.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“They won’t mind, trust me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come by tomorrow night, and you can stay here. Then we’ll drive over to my parent’s house on Christmas morning.”

I manage to say all of this casually and not like I’m dying to ask Simon to stay over tonight, too. That might be too much.

“Okay.” He nods once, the look in his eyes distant. “I should probably get going.”

“Alright, I’ll walk you out.”

He stands and grabs his plate, carrying it to the kitchen and rinsing it off before I can tell him that I’ll get it. Then, we walk slowly to the door.

We both stop there, facing each other like we’re both waiting for something to happen. I want to reach out to him and pull him into my arms, hold him until all of his pain goes away. I tuck my hands into my pockets instead.

I try to think of something to say but come up with nothing except, “Perhaps you can buy me a new window for Christmas.”

Simon laughs, relaxing for the first time since he arrived. My heart does a flip at the sound of it.

“See you tomorrow, Baz.” He opens the door and steps out into the cold air.

“Please use the front door tomorrow.”

“No promises,” he calls over his shoulder, zipping his coat up as he walks down to his car, parked by the curb.

I watch him go, still feeling worried about him but glad that I’ll be seeing him again tomorrow.

***

We pull up in front of my family’s house on Christmas day, and we sit in my car for several long minutes. I’m not sure I want to go in. Something always goes wrong when my family gets together, and maybe bringing Simon along wasn’t such a good idea. But it’s too late to turn back now.

I was almost certain that Simon had bailed on me. I was up until one in the morning waiting for him last night, and I was convinced that he wasn’t going to come over and that he wasn’t going to my parents’ home today.

It would have been fine if I hadn’t already panic texted Dev to tell him Simon was joining us for our big family gathering. By now, he’s probably blabbed it to our entire family, and if I had shown up all alone today, my family would have looked at me with a mix of confused and pitying glances.

Then, Simon finally showed up looking as handsome as ever, and I had to hide my relief. I made him food, not bothering to ask whether he was even hungry (he usually is) and then we went to bed without really talking to each other.

Now, we’re climbing out of my car and walking up to the front door, and I’m wondering if I’ve just made a huge mistake. Not just because of my family not getting along but because when I invited Simon over, I forgot that I would have to introduce him to people, and I have no idea how they’ll react when they figure out who his father is.

I’ll have to try to stick to just his first name, and hopefully no one will recognize him. And if I’m lucky, they’ll all try to be polite and nice to each other because we have a guest.

With a small smile in Simon’s direction, I let us into the house and lead him on a quick tour, hoping to avoid talking to my family for just a bit longer. His eyes go wide as he takes everything in, and I feel a bit self-conscious. I don’t live here anymore, but I grew up here, and I feel like whatever judgments he makes about the house are the same judgements he’ll make about me.

He stays silent the whole way through, and when we get to my old bedroom (now another guest room), I consider suggesting that we hide out here all day. But then a voice calls up from down the stairs, and I reluctantly lead him back down to let him meet my family.

Introducing Simon to my parents feels a lot like I’m introducing a boyfriend to them. Only without the benefits of having a boyfriend.

My stepmom, Daphne, is polite and seems genuinely delighted to meet him. My father, on the other hand, is politely detached, offering a grim smile and nothing else except an unreadable expression as he looks at me. He disappears shortly after and introducing Simon to the rest of my family is surprisingly pleasant as they welcome him with open arms.

Slowly, Simon’s expression starts to open, and he ends up playing with Mordelia and a couple of my younger cousins, running around the house, chasing them in a wild game of tag.

It isn’t until a couple of hours later, after we’ve all exchanged presents and eaten, that I find out just what that look that my father gave me meant.

He pulls me away from Simon and into his study, just off of the formal dining room. When he turns his glare on me, I know that trouble is coming. We stand there in a tense silence, staring each other down until he finally utters two words.

“Davy Magia.” Simon’s father.

I freeze, not even daring to breathe. I was foolish to believe that no one would recognize Simon. I should have known that my father would know who Simon and his father are.

I haven’t heard Simon’s father’s name spoken aloud in a long time. I quit watching the news after everything came out. I only know that he’s gone to jail to serve for the rest of his life. The media started calling him something different anyway.

The Mage. It’s a play on his last name, but I think it also fits what he did to his victims. I don’t like to think about that. It was awful, and it’s just one more reason that Simon has been affected so heavily by all of it.

I have refused to call him anything except Davy Dickhead. It makes Simon smile most of the time, and really, it suits him better than anything else does. He was an awful person, and he doesn’t deserve a nice nickname.

“Why would you bring that boy here?” My father hisses, not even trying to keep his voice down. “You know how I feel about his father. How we all feel.”

“Simon is not responsible for what his father did.” It’s not a great idea to try to stand up to my father when he’s this angry, but I have to defend Simon.

“You have no idea how he may have been influenced by that man. You don’t who he is.”

“He’s my friends. He’s—” the love of my life. I don’t say that. My father already ignores the fact that I’m gay. I don’t want to know what he would do if he knew I was in love with the guy he’s already angry about me bringing here.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“He’s already fooled you, just like his father fooled so many people.”

My hands clench into fists, and I’m about to spit out something biting, something I’ll most likely regret when I hear a noise out in the hall. My father hasn’t seemed to notice, but I’m almost certain that it was Simon because that’s just my luck.

My choices are to stay and continue to argue or run after him. It’s not really a choice at all.

With one last look at my father, wishing I could change his mind about this, I turn and run out of the room. Simon is already at the front door, pulling on his coat and scarf.

“Are you leaving?” I ask, even though the answer is obvious. What I’m really asking is whether he plans on leaving without me.

“It’s time for me to go.” He won’t look at me. He’s staring hard at the floor.

“Let me grab my stuff, and I’ll drive you back to my place.

“No.” He shakes his head. “You should stay here.”

“How are you going to get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” He opens the door and starts to leave.

“Simon, please,” I say, reaching out for him.

Simon yanks his arm away and keeps walking, not even sparing a glance back. I don’t try to go after him this time, but I don’t want to go back inside either.

I quickly send a text to Dev, telling him that I’m leaving, but I don’t go to my car. Instead, I turn to the woods that line the property. It’s cold and my jacket is inside, but I feel hot with anger. I just need some space.

I haven’t felt this angry for a long time, but suddenly it feels like I’m angry at everything. My father. Simon’s father. Even Simon.

It isn’t fair of me to be angry at Simon. He was right to be upset. I just wish he hadn’t left because now I’m worried about him getting home and worried that he’s going to disappear again without telling me where he’s going.

It’s awful loving someone when you never know how long they’ll stick around for. I’m constantly worried that this time is the last time that I’ll see him.

I walk until long after the sun has set and until I can no longer feel my fingers. Then I head back towards my car. Dev is waiting there for me. I wonder where Niall is.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, fumbling for my keys with numb fingers.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought you left.”

“I decided to go for a walk.”

“Without your friend?”

“He left,” I say shortly, wishing that I didn’t have to talk about him.

“He isn’t just a friend. Is he?” Dev has always been able to see right through me. It was stupid of me to think that he wouldn’t take one look at me with Simon and not know that something was up.

“He is just a friend.” I can hear the sadness in my voice, the longing for something more.

“But you want more.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“What makes you say that?”

“All he can think about is what happened with his father, and I can’t blame him for that.”

“And you.”

“What?”

“He thinks about his father and you. Why else would he have come here today?”

“What a mistake that was, right?” I say bitterly. “I mean, he would rather walk home than sit in a car with me.”

“He didn’t leave, you know. Not at first anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came back about ten minutes after I thought you left, said he wanted to apologize for running off like that.”

“You mean he’s still here.”

He shakes his head. “No. He waited, but whenever everyone else started to leave, I had Niall drive him home, and I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Only a little. But this isn’t your fault. I’m sure it will all work out.”

“I don’t know about that. I keep hoping that things will change between us. We’ve grown closer, but sometimes it still feels like there’s some kind of divide between us.”

“So talk to him about it.”

“I’ve tried. We talk about a lot of things, and even though I don’t know what it is exactly, I know that it has something to do with his father.”

“Maybe he just needs time. What happened was awful, and he just needs time. The best you can do is to be there for him when he’s ready to talk.”

I sigh. I know he’s right, and I tell him so. I wish that I could help Simon with whatever it is he’s struggling through, but the important thing is for me to be there when he needs me.

Dev and I stand there for a little while longer, talking. He brought me my stuff out, so I don’t have to go back in, and I smile gratefully at him.

“Do you need a ride?” I ask, pulling on my jacket.

He shakes his head. “Nah. Niall will be back soon.”

“Okay.”

“Merry Christmas, Baz.”

I smile bitterly. Yes, it’s Christmas. But there’s nothing merry about it. My father is angry, and Simon is upset. And I’m at a loss as to how to fix either of these problems.

“Merry Christmas, Dev,” I say quietly.

***

Simon’s car is gone when I finally get home, and while I’m glad he managed to make it back alright, I find myself wishing that he had stuck around and waited for me.

I trudge inside my house and start a hot bath, needing some way to relax. I let my eyes fall shut as I slip into the water, wishing that it could wash away all of my problems.

I’m glad that the night is over. And I’m even more relieved that there won’t be any more holidays where I’m expected to make an appearance in front of my family until at least February. I doubt I’ll be going back there for my birthday, though. Things are too difficult with my father. We get along better from afar, when we don’t have to talk face-to-face. Maybe it would actually be best if I were to move away.

I’d only have to come back for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I could start a new life somewhere different. The only problem is that I would want to take Simon with me, and I’m not sure that he’d be up for leaving with me.

I think he feels tied here, to this town, which is why he always returns. Maybe it’s his father, maybe it’s something else, but I couldn’t possibly ask him to leave everything here and start a future with me when I don’t even know if he has feelings for me.

I’ve suspected it before. There have been gentle touches and lingering looks that feel like something more, but neither of us say anything about it, so I’m always left wondering whether I’ve just imagined it. Simon is just so difficult to read sometimes. I can’t figure him out or what he’s thinking.

I always think he’s upset with me when he’s not, and that turns out to be true again with everything that happened tonight.

He shows up at my house the next night, and I’m surprised to see him again so soon.

There’s a crash from another room, the same as so many nights before, but this time, I am worried about what will come next.

I’m standing in my kitchen making a midnight snack, and at the sound, I begin making something for Simon, too.

He walks in and sits at the table, and neither of us say anything until I’ve placed the plates on the table in front of us. I stare at my plate quietly, not touching the food, aware of the fact that Simon is staring at me.

I spent all day trying to imagine what I would say if he ever returned, but I couldn’t think of anything that sounded right.

“I’m sorry” isn’t good enough. I want to tell him how I feel about him and that I don’t care about who his father is. I want him to know that I’d stand by him no matter what. But I don’t know how to phrase it in a way that won’t make him think that I’m only saying it out of guilt for what happened last night.

“Baz,” he says so quietly that it almost breaks me.

I look up with a smile that I know is fooling no one and say, “Simon.”

“I’m sorry for leaving last night.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to apologize. I wanted to leave, too, after what my father said.”

He nods and takes a small bite of the food I set in front of him.

“I want you to know that I don’t agree with him,” I say carefully. “I don’t care who your father is. I only care who you are.”

It isn’t anything that I haven’t told him before, but right now, it feels important to remind him of that. I need him to know that even if it means going against my father, I will stand by him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He looks like he wants to bolt, and I’m relieved when he stays where he is.

We finish eating in silence before moving to the living room. It’s getting late, but I don’t want him to leave so I turn on the tv.

He falls asleep after less than an hour. I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around him. That’s when I notice the blood on his arm. He must have gotten hurt when he broke the window and climbed through it. I feel bad because he never said anything, and I didn’t check.

Careful not to wake him, I wipe away the blood and put a couple bandages over the cuts.

I head to my room, wondering whether he’ll still be here in the morning.

***

He is. And he’s making breakfast.

I walk into the kitchen, yawning, wondering if I’m still dreaming. Simon rarely cooks when he’s here, and he looks way too attractive for this early in the morning.

There’s coffee and bacon and toast with loads of butter. I don’t usually eat breakfast, and Simon remembers that, handing me a cup of coffee before he starts making himself a plate of food.

I smile at him gratefully, leaning against the counter while I watch him eat.

The coffee is just the way I like it. Just enough cream to make the coffee lighter but not white and more sugar than is healthy. Simon always gives me grief about how much sugar I put in it, but then I point out how much butter he eats, and we’ve both silently agreed that we both have unhealthy habits that neither of us will ever change.

He cleans up everything when he’s finished, and the kitchen looks like he was never there. He never leaves a trace of himself at my house. Never forgets his jacket or anything, and sometimes I wonder if I’m just imagining him here late at night.

“Thanks for letting me stay over. And for the bandages.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it.

“I didn’t want you bleeding all over my couch,” I say, acting like it’s no big deal. It’s always best to play things off like they don’t mean anything.

“I should probably get going.”

“You don’t have to.” I say too quickly. I mean, if you don’t have anywhere you need to be, you’re welcome to spend the day here.”

He shakes his head. “I-I think I’m actually going to go visit my father.”

“Oh.”

“I want to tell him goodbye.”

I look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I want to move on with my life, but I can’t do that when I feel like I owe him something. So, I’m going to go tell that I won’t be seeing him ever again. That I’m done feeling guilty for the things that he did.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I say softly. I want to offer to go with him, but this feels like something he wants to do on his own.

“If it isn’t too late, would it be alright if I dropped by tonight?”

“It’s never too late. Just use the front door.”

***

When Simon returns that night, he rings the doorbell, and I have to force myself not to run to let him in. I half-expected him to bail, but he’s even earlier than usual.

I’m wearing a soft smile when I open the door, but that quickly falls away when I see the expression on his face.

He looks upset, but also, he’s drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon drunk before. I’m not much of a drinker myself, and neither is he. Something must have gone horribly when he was with his father.

“Did you drive here?” I ask, leading him inside and to the living room.

This is our safe place. This room, this couch. This is where we’ve spent so many nights working through things or just enjoying being in each other’s company.

He shakes his head. “Called a cab.”

“Sit,” I say, pushing him gently towards the couch. I leave him there and get him some water. “So, what happened?” I ask, handing him the glass and sitting down beside him.

“Went and saw my father.”

“And?” I prompt.

He shrugs, taking a sip of the water and staring blankly at the wall, but when he turns to look at me again, his eyes look clear.

“He tried to convince me that what he had done was a good thing. That he had good reasons for killing those people. He didn’t tell me what they were, and I’m glad. I got so mad at him. I didn’t understand how he could do all those terrible things and expect me to be okay with it.” He pauses and takes a breath, looking back down at the water. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “I began to wonder if it meant that I was an awful person because he believed that I would stand by him through all of this.”

“Simon, no,” I whisper, but he ignores me and keeps talking.

“But then I thought of you and how you’ve been my friend despite everything else. You invited me over for Christmas, invited me to be a part of your life, and I thought that I couldn’t be all bad if someone like you cared about me.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them away. I hurt for Simon.

“That’s what I told him. Not about you exactly. But I told him that I had found someone who I’d fallen in love with and who accepted me as I am. I told him that I didn’t need him and that I wouldn’t be back to visit him. Then I left. I was going to come straight here, but I fell apart as soon as I got in my car. I needed a drink, and that turned into three drinks, maybe four.”

He stops talking, and we’re both quiet for a long time as I try to soak all of this in.

I’m proud of Simon for standing up to his father. I know it must have been difficult for him to do that.

And then there’s the fact that he’s in love with someone. I know it was stupid of me to think that I was one of his closest friends, that maybe he had feelings for me, but I had no idea there was someone in his life who he spent enough time with to fall in love with. Maybe he’s with them when he’s not with me.

This realization hurts, but it’s nice to see that he has hope. He deserves that and so much more.

I know that Simon has been seeing a therapist. We don’t really talk about it, just like we don’t talk about mine. He was beginning to seem happier, and I can’t even begin to imagine the effects that this must have had on him.

I force myself to put on a pleasant expression and turn to him. I put my hand on his knee and squeeze it gently. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault.”

“I know, but you don’t deserve any of this. You deserve to be happy.” I’m just about to ask him to tell me more about this special person in an attempt to show interest when he lifts his hand and places it on my cheek.

The words get caught in my throat, and I’m frozen in place as he starts to lean towards me.

His lips are just about to brush mine when I push him away. I turn away from him and squeeze my eyes shut.

“No.” I shake my head and take a breath before looking back at him. “I’m sorry, but you’re upset. And drunk. And I can’t let you do this.”

He frowns but pulls away from me.

“Can I kiss you some other time then?” He asks, and my heart is threatening to beat right out of my chest.

“Yes, Just not tonight.” I know that in the morning he’ll regret trying to kiss me.

He’s in a dark place right now, and he’s just looking for a way to feel better. I wish I could do that for him, but my feelings are too real. I would never forgive myself if I let anything happen while he was like this.

We sit there in an awkward silence, and he sips on the water I handed him, probably just to have something to do. I don’t know what to say.

“It’s late. I should get home.”

I shake my head and give him a look like he’s crazy to think that I’d let him leave in this condition.

“You’re drunk. Stay here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here,” I tell him, and I mean it.

I make him a bed on the couch and head to my room. I’m not sure that I can handle being around him any more after he just tried to kiss me.

He must have found out how I felt about him. Or he just wanted to have some fun. I’m not sure which is worse.

The first one means that there’s a chance he feels the same way about me, which is very unlikely. The second one means that he doesn’t, and I would be just a fling, someone he tossed aside when he found something better.

And he’s already found someone better. The person he’s in love with.

***

Simon is gone in the morning. The blanket I gave him is folded up on the couch with a note folded neatly on top of it. It doesn’t say much. There’s only one line.

I had to go. Thanks for everything.

-S

I’m both surprised and not. He probably just needs some space to think. (And to go confess his love.) I was stupid to hope he would want to stick around.

I throw the blanket in the washing machine, resisting the urge to see if it smells like him, and the note gets placed in a drawer with so many others just like it.

I spend the day trying not to think about Simon, failing miserably, and I stay up far too late, waiting to see if he’ll show up again.

He doesn’t.

It isn’t that unusual. He rarely comes two nights in a row.

The next day, I go out to get food to restock my fridge. I get all of Simon’s favorite foods, including extra butter, and I wait for him again that night until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. He still doesn’t show up.

He doesn’t come again until the next night.

I’m surprised when he comes to the door, rather than breaking in, and I have no idea what to expect.

It’s always been so easy with him, but now, I have no idea what to say. I don’t know if he’s upset with me for not kissing him or if he’s glad that I didn’t.

The first thing that I notice about him is that he is completely sober. And he’s smiling. It’s the complete opposite of the way that he looked the last time that he showed up at my house.

I’m wary of it though, wondering if this happiness stems from finding happiness with the person he’s in love with. All I know for sure is that I didn’t cause this change, even though I wish I had.

I just stand there staring at him, neither offering him a greeting nor asking him to come in. Finally, I simply take a step back, leaving him just enough room to step inside.

I turn towards the living room, trying to find the words to ask him where he’s been but not sure I want to know the answer. I don’t sit down and neither does he. He’s still wearing a smile, but it isn’t as powerful as before.

“Where have you been?” I ask, wanting to break the silence with something. Also, this allows him to tell me whatever he wants to without me having to ask anything specific.

“At home mostly. I needed some time to think.”

“What about?” I can’t help but be curious.

“My past. My future. My father. You.”

“Oh.” He was probably thinking about how much he regretted trying to kiss me. “We can just forget what happened. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was the wrong time to try to do that, but I felt like this weight had been lifted from my shoulders after talking to my father. And I still feel that way. I feel free, and I haven’t felt this way in such a long time. I just wanted to share that with you, and I’m sorry for being drunk when I showed up here.”

I shake my head. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve dumped so much on you, and I want to thank you for everything.”

It’s beginning to sound like a goodbye, but I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay, but I can’t be the thing that’s holding him back.

“It’s no problem, Simon. I will always be here for you.”

A strange expression crosses his face, but it isn’t a bad one. He looks thoughtful but also something else that I can’t quite name.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes a step closer to me. And then another. He moves until he’s right in front of me, and I don't move away.

“Baz,” He whispers, and when his eyes meet mine, my knees go weak, and I have to reach for his arm to keep myself steady.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

I swear my heart nearly stops. With how close we are, there is no doubt about what he wanted to do, but I’m still confused.

“What about the girl you’re in love with?”

He frowns at me, brows crinkling adorably. Everything about him is adorable.

“What girl?”

“The other night, you said you told your father that you found love.”

“I never said it was a girl.”

“Oh.” Then, I want to say it again because oh.

I didn’t think it was possible for him to feel the same way about me. Even when I thought it was a possibility, I never truly believed it. I was always afraid that he was going to find someone else to spend his nights with, and I wouldn’t see him anymore. Now, he’s telling me what I’ve always wanted to hear, and I don’t know what to do.

I know what I want to do, but what if I do it wrong? What if I misunderstood him? Just because he wants to kiss me and it’s not a girl he was talking about, doesn’t mean that I’m the guy.

(I want to be the guy.)

I still haven’t said anything else, and neither has he. He looks like he wants to flee. I know that look well. I’ve seen it so many times before. But I don’t want him to go.

My hand is still on his arm, and I use my hold on him to pull him closer to me so that we’re standing chest-to-chest. My hand is shaking slightly, but I want this.

I lean towards him, and he meets me half-way, our lips pressing together softly.

I sigh and lean into him, letting him wrap his arm around me as he presses his lips more firmly against mine. This kiss is everything that I imagined it to be and so much more.

When we pull away, I can’t seem to stop smiling. I never thought I’d get this particular happiness, but here we are. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with him.

“It’s New Year’s Day,” He says quietly, his hand stroking down my back.

I hadn’t noticed. Honestly, I’d spent the last few days worrying about him, and it was like time was moving so slowly. I glance at the clock, and he’s right. It’s just after midnight.

They say that whatever you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s Eve is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.

I wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of the year. Kissing Simon. That sounds like a great year.

I smile at him. “So, it is.” Then I kiss him again.

If I’m going to kiss him for the rest of the year, I might as well start now.