Chapter 2

Baz

I always pause on the steps, as if Simon will open the door and ask me to come back in.

He never does.

I still do it. I still wait.

Hoping that tonight will be the night he opens the door and beckons me back in.

Back into his flat. Back into his arms. Into his bed.

Into his heart.

That he would let me back into his head.

I don't know what he's thinking.

I thought I knew Simon. I thought I knew how to read him. Every mannerism. Every break in his voice.

How he balances on one foot like a bloody flamingo when he puts his socks on. Buttons his shirt from the bottom up. Runs a hand through his curls when he's nervous. Grabs them when he's agitated. The way he juts his chin or narrows his eyes.

He still does those things but there are so many moments when he drifts away from me. When I don't recognize the expression on his face. Can't see through the bleakness in his eyes.

Some days I wish he would just shout at me. Like he used to. When he'd get so worked up he'd shimmer and the accusations and insults would pour out of him. I know how to fight with Simon. I know how to rile him up, escalate a situation to make him go off.

I'm used to saying things to aggravate him. I've spent a lifetime trying to get a rise out of Simon. I'm good at it.

I'm not good at this.

I don't know what to ask. I don't know how to ask. How to let him know I'm concerned about him but not make him feel weak, broken, less.

Because he's none of those things.

He's still Simon Snow. He's still the hero of this story.

What happens to heroes once they've saved the day? They ride off into the sunset and we never hear about them again.

Do they fade away? Do they go off and live a normal life? Do they pound the walls in frustration because all they know is how to save other people and they don't know how to save themselves?

I don't know.

I feel like I don't know anything and that's unnerving.

I wish he'd clench his fists and jut his jaw and tell me what I'm doing wrong.

Tell me how to reach you, Simon.