Baz

It feels like home. When Simon holds me, I feel safe. So I let myself lean into his chest, and my eyes drift shut without a second thought. The steady beat of Simon's heart is enough to have me fall asleep right here with him.

I bury my head in the crook of his neck when Simon begins to run his fingers through my hair. It takes everything in me to keep my mouth shut, so I bite my tongue in attempt at keeping the words from spilling out.

I love you.

In this very moment, I allow the thought that if I were to say it, Simon wouldn't kill me. He might not even be entirely appalled by the thought of his enemy loving him.

The overwhelming need to say something is invading my mind, my body itching with the constant longing to touch Simon, my hands now wrapped around him, clinging to Simon's life as if I were drowning.

So I say something.

"I never hated you, Simon." I murmur. My tone is barely above a whisper, but the words are very much out for him to hear.

"What?" Simon breathes, the faint feel of his lips ghosting across my scalp my only comfort.

"I never hated you," I reply. "I guess it's the fact that we're enemies, that we were thrown into this life, this hate. It was never there for me, that burning hatred that I know I'm supposed to feel towards you, there's no reason for me to want  to kill you, Simon. That's what I mean."

A few breaths pass by in sheer quiet. I peel myself away from Simon just enough to meet his eyes, silence filling the hallway like the plague.

Both his hands find their way to the sides of my face, and for a split second, I think he's going to kiss me. I don't let myself linger on that thought, and my heart skips a beat when Simon audibly whimpers, burying his face to my chest.

So now I hold him. I let Simon shake, completely oblivious to what sort of emotions must be swirling around in that beautiful head of his.

My fingers are threaded through Simon's bronze curls as he begins shaking his head. "You don't mean that." It was a whisper, and I wait expectantly for Simon to look up at me, to give me any clues as to what he's thinking.

I should've known this would happen. That Simon wouldn't believe me. For all I know, Simon is shaking with rage right now, not fear or happiness or disbelief.

"I mean it, Simon." I steady my voice, doing my best to be stern. Because I know that no matter what Simon thinks, it will always be true.

Simon

I'm shocked into silence, Baz cradling my head to his chest. It's ironic how quickly the tables can turn with the two of us. Baz never hated me?

I can't describe the feeling that came over me hearing those words from my enemy. The first thing that came to my mind was, do I really hate Baz?

Then an eerie calm washed over me, like I'd known Baz would say something of the sort, like I knew that the answer to my previous internal questioning was no. No, I never really hated Baz.

It feels nice, nice to have a sense of peace between the two of us. The feeling of quiet calm, Baz and I holding each other. It's something so foreign to the both of us that I'm not so sure I like it.

Maybe I do. Maybe I don't have to think about if I really ever hated Baz right now, but I know I can allow myself one thing, something that has been lurking in the back of my mind for multiple years.

I don't want to hate Baz.

Peering up at the raven haired boy, a thought hits me harder than a ton of bricks. Just like that my sense of calm is gone, and my pulse jumps slightly. I don't make a move to leave though, I hardly move at all, letting the thought sink in slowly.

I have a crush on Baz. He's my sworn enemy and rival. But that's not what I'm dwelling on any longer. The fact that he's my enemy hardly matters to me in this moment. I'm feeling slightly panicky, my fingers itching with the need to hold onto something. I squeeze Baz tighter.

I've never liked boys before. Maybe I have, actually. With everything happening back at Watford, magic and the Mage and Baz, I guess that I didn't really take into account my true feelings or who I wanted to kiss.

Does that make me gay? It can't, because I was dating Agatha and I'm almost certain I liked her. I know for sure that whatever I'm feeling for Baz in this moment, it's a feeling that I've never felt for Agatha, or anyone at all for that matter.

I don't need a label for who I am. All I know is that I like Baz. He doesn't like me, and I probably shouldn't like him. Not in the way I do at least. But Baz is gay, I know that much, so I don't have to worry about him being disgusted if he were to ever find out about this little crush.

I'm scared. The feeling of wanting to touch someone, to do beautiful, awful things to them is something that I'm going to have to get used to. Especially since I'm going to be on this trip with Baz for another week.

My eyes roam over Baz's face once again, and I allow my gaze to linger. His eyes are shut and his breathing steady, so my staring won't be a problem.

Like these sudden feelings aren't enough, when giving myself a moment to accept that I do in fact like this boy that's holding me, I realize that he's truly beautiful.

Everything about Baz, too. The way his hair falls in dark waves over his brow, the way I know his grey eyes sparkle in the morning light.

Then I start to really panic. What if all of Baz's affection towards me during this trip was an act? Maybe it was all part of his plotting, getting me to trust him even a little bit more, getting me to let my guard down.

It damn worked. Now all I'm left with are alarming thoughts about Baz and a little blue book.

"Baz," I start. His eyes drift open and I can only hope that my tone doesn't give away how panicked I'm feeling. "Let's go talk in your room."