“I’m fine. Are—Are you okay?”
He pets my cheek. His thumb ghosts over my bottom lip. “If you are.”
I squeeze his neck. “That’s not how it works, Snow.”
“Isn’t it?”
Is it?
He hasn’t moved his leg. I haven’t moved mine. We’re slotted together and sticky. I put my arm around his waist, carefully, and flatten my hand against his back. I’ve been biting my lip. “I’m okay.”
Simon kisses me. He’s still being so gentle. Maybe I’ll have to tell him that he can stop now. （Maybe I’ll never tell him.） “You’re being quiet,” he says.
“Only because you’re kissing me.”
“You’re being weird. ”
“You’re not…” I shake my head. Our lips brush. I shiver. He tightens his wing around me. “You’re not freaking out.”
“Did you want me to?” he asks. “It’s probably not too late.”
“No … I…”
Simon slides one hand down to the back of my neck, and wraps the other arm around me. He’s mirroring me. He’s gentling me. He whispers, “I don’t know what you’re thinking. I can’t tell whether I should be embarrassed or sorry or…”
“Or what?”
His mouth is close to mine. “Happy?”
I close my eyes and let out a breath. “Is that on the table?”
“Baz … we kinda sorta had sex. And I didn’t cry or break anything.”
I laugh. It sounds wet.
“Babe…” he says. That’s new. That’s extraordinarily stupid. “Are you freaking out?”
I hold him a little tighter everywhere that I can. He does the same.
“I’ve never done that before,” I say into his chin.
“I know.”
“I think I probably did it wrong.”
“There’s not really a wrong—”
“I know that’s not true, Snow.”
He’s nosing at my cheek. “Did something happen that you didn’t want to happen?”
“No.”
“Did you feel good?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“Me, too. Hey—” He tries to find my eyes in the dark. His pupils are wide as saucers. “Me, too.”
I swallow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah…” He kisses me. “So good, Baz.”
I hear him say it. And I feel him say it. And I feel something in my stomach clenching around it. “I’m a mess,” I say. “I should—”
“You should stay right here with me. It’s not like you’re gonna get a UTI…”
“A what?”
“Do you need to get up?”
I don’t need to. I just—“No.”
His arm goes snug around my middle. “Then stay…”
“All right.”
He kisses my mouth. And then my chin. And my nose. And there’s something easy about him that I’m not used to. That I didn’t expect.
“Snow…”
“I kinda want to tell you that you have to call me ‘Simon’ when we’re covered in spunk, but I don’t think I actually care anymore.”
I move my fingers up into the back of his hair until I find some long enough to tug. “Snow … why aren’t you freaking out?”
He sighs. “Honestly?”
I pull his hair again.
“Because you told me what you wanted, Baz. I liked feeling like I was doing something for you.”
“You weren’t doing it for you?”
“No, I was, sort of in the background. Up front, I was doing something for you. I had a mission.”
“A mission…”
“You’re making it sound bad. It wasn’t bad. It was good, the best it’s been so far.” He kisses me. “Don’t make it bad.”
Is that what I’m doing? Making it bad?
I’m lying in bed with Simon Snow. No—I’m lying in bed with Simon.
With Snow. He’s holding me. Kissing me. He said he loves me. He’s trying out pet names. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. How could I make this bad?
I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and let my arms move into a hug. “Simon…”
He hugs me back; he’s taking all of his cues from me.
“It was so good,” I whisper. It comes out as a concession, even though I meant it as a compliment.
He laughs a little, just enough to make his chest hitch. “Yeah,” he says, like he’s agreeing with me. “Next time will be even better.”