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BAZ
Simon wakes in a frenzy of kicking limbs and panting breaths and rustling sheets.
He still has nightmares—we both do—but they’re usually not so frequent, not when I stay with him. Not when we’re together.
I sit myself up in bed beside him as he pulls at his hair. “Simon—” I start, and I reach for him and ready myself for the tears. The growls. The frustrated bursts of “I’m a Normal,” and “I killed the Mage, I killed him. Killed him.” I ready myself to keep my own scathing retorts in the back of my throat. The fact that the tyrant deserved what he got. The fact that I think it’s my fault, sometimes, that Simon ended up killing him, even if it was an accident. I was going to bite him and drain him dry. I was going to murder him, and Simon stopped me. Saved me.
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps hassling his curls and trying to catch his breath. (It doesn’t seem to be working very well.)
I reach for one of his wrists and pull it away from his head to lace my fingers in his. “Simon, love—”
“You left me,” he gasps. “You left me…”
“What?”
He makes a strange, sad gurgling noise in his throat that damn well breaks my heart. “You left me,” he says again, his shoulders heaving with his shaking breath. “You left me.”
“Hey,” I say, and the mattress dips and creaks gently as I turn to face him. “I’m right here.”
He looks at me then, and for a moment I think he’s drenched in sweat. He is—it’s shining on his forehead and dripping from his temples—but the dampness on his cheeks isn’t just sweat.
He’s crying.
“Hey,” I say again, taking his face in my hands and just hoping, hoping that he’ll look me in the eye. “It’s just a dream. I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes shut tight as he grasps one of my hands, slotting his fingers between his cheek and my palm. “Sorry,” he heaves. “Fuck. Sorry—”
“No,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. There’s a lump in my throat that’s blocking all of my words, and my heart just keeps breaking, seeing him like this. “I love you.” My voice shakes as I push the words out. “I choose you, remember?”
He’s not saying anything. He’s just nodding his head and squeezing my hand tight—so tight.
My palms are hot and damp against his cheeks. I use my thumbs to brush his tears away, but more come to replace them. He’s breathing easier now, at least.
I lean forward to rest my forehead against his and he sighs. “Feels good,” he says. “You’re cold.”
“I’m a vampire,” I say, trying to get a laugh out of him.
I do.
Then I tilt my chin forward to catch his lips with mine. They’re salty with his tears, but they still taste like Simon underneath.
I kiss him until his shoulders start to loosen, until I feel his tongue sliding along my lips, until he reaches for me and takes my face in his hands, too.
Then we sink back down to bed, and he curls his body into mine as I run my fingers through his hair and think on the absurdity of the idea that I would ever leave him alone.
His breath evens eventually, hot and humid against my collarbone. I think he’s fallen back asleep, and I don’t think I’ll be far behind.
I’m there on the cusp, the feel of Simon in my arms fading as I inch closer to sleep, when I hear him say it.
“I love you, too.”
I pull him closer.
And neither of us wake till morning.