“I don’t really get cold…”
“Like you can’t feel the cold?”
“No, I can. It just doesn’t usually bother me.” Baz looks troubled for a second. “Unless I’m sick.”
“When do you get sick?”
“Almost never. But … I was sick after the numpties. I was cold then.”
I kiss his wrist, harder. Then his palm. I hold his hand over my face, kissing it—it isn’t enough. I bring his hand up around my neck and lean over him, rubbing my face in his cheek. “I should have found you,” I say. “Your aunt should have told me you’d been kidnapped.”
“Snow, you hated me then.” He’s stroking the back of my hair. “You probably would have sent the numpties a thank-you note.”
I pull back. I find his grey eyes. “I would have slaughtered them. I was out of my head with worry.”
“You hated me,” he says again, more softly.
“Yeah … but I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you.”
“I’m hard to hurt,” he whispers. “You said so yourself.”
“No.” I move closer. Our noses bump when I shake my head. “I said you were hard to kill.”
Baz closes his eyes and pulls my forehead down to his. His mouth is open for me when I kiss him. His tongue is cold.
Is this what people do? Do they just keep talking? And touching?
I get lost fast when we’re kissing. I want more of it. All of it. I want the lethal dose.
My hands are on Baz’s arms. Then they’re on his shoulders. Then they’re, I don’t know where, everywhere. It isn’t enough—I need his skin. And then I need more. He doesn’t have enough skin for my hands. I don’t have enough room in my lungs for the way his hair smells …
I’m holding Baz now, tight enough to bruise.
I’m biting him hard enough to break.
It’s only okay because he isn’t human—he isn’t, and I am. And my hands are on his neck now. My hands are on his stomach. He’s cold, and it isn’t enough. Where is this going? What’s it all for? I want to kiss him. I want to come on him. But it won’t be enough. It won’t be enough, and then what? My hands are— My hands are in the air. Baz is holding my wrists.
“Simon, ” he hisses.
I try to kiss him, I’m lost. （I’m lost, I’m lost, nothing is enough.） “Simon, ” he says. “Stop. ”
I let go—the only way I can manage, by going limp. Baz shoves me off of him, and I fall on my side.
“Sorry,” I gasp. I try to cover my eyes, but he’s still holding my wrists.
“It’s all right,” he says. “Just, I don’t know, breathe.”
I try.
I try.
I’m trying.
All right.
I’m breathing.
I’m trying.
All right.
When I open my eyes again, I see Baz lying on his side next to me. His hair is a mess. He looks worried.
“Sorry,” I say. My eyes are burning. Christ, next I’ll be crying.
Baz lets go of my wrists and holds my face instead. “It’s fine—I’m fine. I mean, if you still had your magic, I think I’d be dead…”
I laugh, but only because I feel so pathetic. “You think I’m going off?”
“Yeah … I don’t think you have gears, Snow. I think you only go full throttle.”
I laugh again, miserably, and then the weeping starts—I knew it would. I try to turn my face away. “I’m sorry, Baz. I’m never going to get this right.”
“Shut up,” he says. “We’ve only just started trying.”
I close my eyes. Now is when I’d leave. Normally. Now is when I can’t leave. I need to ride this out. I need to keep riding this out.
He rubs my cheeks with his thumbs. “I like your flat,” he says.
I laugh. It’s ridiculous. He keeps wiping away my tears.
I’m breathing. The pressure is fading in my head. The heat is leaving my eyes. I’m breathing. I’m tired. “What if it never gets better?” I say. “What if I never get better at any of this?”
Baz runs his thumb from the bridge of my nose to my temple and back.
“What if every kiss leads us here?”
My eyes burn again. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” he says.
I open my eyes. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “I’ll take it.”
“Don’t fuck with me.”