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That’s Us: Epilogue

Epilogue: It’s Okay

Word count: 6,186

Read on AO3

TW: Simon doesn't feel too good in some parts of this, but it's not even close to the levels of angst of earlier chapters. It's more comparable with the first chapters of Wayward Son.

Now

“Baz?”

“Yes…” I pause, “Simon.”

His smile is blinding and I can’t look away. I don’t have to. I can look at him as much as I want and he’ll just look back, smiling.

My hand is in his. We’ve been sitting with our backs to the wall for what must be at least an hour now. My eyes feel heavy and tired and the dried-up tears make the skin of the cheeks pull. It’s nice, though. We’ve both been miles away, but feeling his skin against mine helps.

“What you said during your speech… about me… having fallen for someone, do you remember that?”

I nod. It was the most nerve-wrecking thing I’ve ever said. I was so terrified it wouldn’t be enough. Luckily, it was for the Coven. It isn’t for Snow.

“Who did you mean?”

There it is.

“Well, if they had asked, I probably would have said Wellbelove.”

“I don’t love her.”

I smile. He doesn’t hesitate. He sounds just as sure as he used to when he would say he did love her. He was wrong both times.

“You do.” And before Simon can interrupt me, “and you love Bunce. And you love Ebb. And the Mage. And Rhys and Gareth a-“

“And you,” he says and my mind feels empty.

“Baz?”

I take a deep breath.

“Sorry. Just… I don’t think I can let myself believe this is all happening yet? Try again later, yeah?”

Simon smiles softly and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. We’re silent for a few moments, but then I remember what I was saying.

“My point is that you’ve fallen for all of… us.” Close enough. “You fell for the World of Mages and all its citizens and you loved us more than you did your own magic. You care so much about everyone, of course that would mean your downfall.”

I pause for a second. I hate how his love takes him down, and I hate how I love all the love he carries with him about him the most. So, I add, “But, please, don’t stop.” “It was my destiny.” Simon says.

“No.” I say. “No. You saved us because you are good and because you are brave and a hero and because you are so full of love. Okay?”

It takes him a second, but then he nods.

“Okay.”

- - - - -

One Year Later

“Simon?”

Baz is home. I know I should feel panicked now, because he’ll know I haven’t left my spot on the couch for hours, but it’s hard to feel anything. Besides, he must have expected it. I didn’t expect him to come back today and I certainly didn’t expect him home this early, but those few hours wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Not on days like these.

A few seconds after his voice sounds, Baz’s face pops around the door to the hallway. I know he tries to hide it, but the look on his face tells me every question he knows not to ask.

Is it still not over? Did you at least call to let them know you’ll be absent? How long will this episode take? When will this ever end?

He doesn’t say anything though. Rather, his look softens and he moves to the kitchen. I know he’s going to make tea, because that’s what he always does. It’s not as much a tradition as that it has become routine. When he returns to the living room, Baz hands me my mug. It’s always the same one. The one I got as a present from him. It’s painted like an ancient Greek vase, because he’s a nerd. The scene on it is the great warrior Achilles, portrayed as a depressed burrito after Patroklos’ death. That’s Baz’s humour for you. He and Penny say I’m like Achilles. Just a bit down now, but heroic all the same. Baz’s mug has Patroklos on it, because, he says, he is the Patroklos to my Achilles. “I’m smarter, you went apeshit when I almost died, and also… I’m literally dead.” And I love him, I'll add in my mind, but of course he won’t say that. I tried to make a case for him actually being the Penthesilea to my Achilles. Because I realised I loved him the second I (almost) killed him. It’s a discussion we’ve been having for over two years now. Penny refuses to take sides.

“What are you watching?” Baz asks as he takes place on the opposite side of the couch. I shrug. It’s one of the countless cooking shows they broadcast during the daytime. I’m supposed to be at my part-time internship at this local restaurant right now. I started working there during my gap year and when the time came for me to go to uni, I convinced the owner to let me do an internship instead. Luckily, -well for me I guess- he has experience with PTSD himself, so he understands when I get like this and don’t show up. He reminds me a bit of Ebb, which makes me feel guilty for never visiting her, but Baz says she probably understands. Anyway, watching cooking shows and pretending I learn something from them helps quashing my feelings of guilt.

We sit together like this for hours. Baz comments on the stupid mistakes the candidates on cooking competitions make. Through the numbness, I can’t help but feel a little bit proud of the monster I’ve turned him into. When our cups are empty, he gets us a refill.

We’ll be alright. I know that. I wish it weren’t so hard, though. It’s been two years. I thought by now there would be times when I’d forget I lost my magic, but instead it’s more like a gaping hole in my gut that I feel every second of every day. Most days, I just let it wash over me and it won’t take hold of me. But sometimes, like now, the need to fill it and sew it shut becomes so overwhelming that I want to rip out my soul.

But then Penny is there or Baz or both. And they’ll hand me my sad-burrito-Achilles mug and remind me that it’s all okay. They remind me that they’ll cover me in blankets whenever I need them to and that when I can’t stand them that close to me, they’ll cover me in love from a distance instead. It doesn’t solve everything. They can ease a bit of the pain, but only I can mend the wounds. Their presence still helps though. Even when I don’t want it to.

Because by now Baz has gotten me through at least three cups of tea and I have to pee like anything and then I have to get up from my spot on the couch and once I’m up anyway, he’ll ask, “fancy a shower?”

And sometimes I’ll ask him, “wash my hair, please?” Other times I’ll ask him, “will you sit on the toilet and tell me about your classes?” But now I ask him, “play for me?”

And while I turn on the shower and get undressed, Baz gets his violin. And as I step into the bathtub, Baz takes up post in the hallway beside the bathroom door. And as he plays, I concentrate on the music and let the water wash me clean.

- - - - -

Now

“Baz?”

“Yes, Simon?” I can’t wait to get used to the feeling of his name on my tongue.

“Will you help me pack my stuff?”

I can’t believe it’s happening. We’re leaving. First-year me wouldn’t believe me if I told him we’d both make it through. Fifth-year me would believe me even less if I told him how.

I squeeze Simon’s hand before disentangling myself from him and standing up. Crowley, it’s cold up here. I offer Simon my hand. “Of course.”

In reality, Simon doesn’t have a lot to pack, so we decide that he will just pack his stuff, while I start packing mine early out of solidarity. Graduation is still a few days away, but it’s not like I will need most of this stuff. Classes are finished, so the students mostly spend their last days at school roaming around and making memories. There have never been this many secret dorm parties in a single week.

As we work, we talk about everything and nothing. I catch Simon up with the latest Watford gossip and Simon tells me something about living with the Bunces and all their children. Although the stories don’t come easily, the kids do seem to have been a good distraction for him.

We also talk about the future. He tells me he and Bunce have found an apartment in London. Bunce is going to study Political Science, while he is taking a gap year to work, both for money and on his mental health. I tell him I’m going to study Classics and I get another blinding smile from him.

“What?” I ask, I feel a smile creeping up my face.

“Nothing,” he’s still smiling. “I’m just glad you’re going to study something you actually like. I always thought your dad would make you do some business-whatever course.”

“Me too. But apparently, once you’ve passed a certain point of disappointing your father, he just gives up trying to micro-manage your life altogether,” I shrug, “apparently saving your family’s political nemesis’ life is way past that point.”

I’m still smiling, but Simon looks sad.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asks. I know that by now I should know he cares, but it still catches me off-guard. I turn away from Snow, back to my closet where I’ve been stuffing clothes in a box.

“We’ll be fine,” I say. “Daphne won’t let him keep me away from my siblings forever.”

I hear Snow stand up and soon his arms are around my waist. He rests his head in the nook of my neck. “I’m sorry, Baz.”

I cover the arms wrapped around my stomach with my own and slip my fingers between his. “Don’t be. I don’t regret it.”

“I know,” Simon murmurs into my skin. “Still sucks, though.”

“Still sucks,” I sigh. For a moment I let myself be held. Then, I turn my face to give him a quick kiss. “Carry on, Simon. Some of us are tired from crying all the time and want to go to sleep.”

“Bossy,” Simon rolls his eyes and lets me go, but not before squeezing me extra tightly and kissing my cheek. My skin burns.

Our conversation turns back to lighter subjects and I tell him I’m going to live in London with my aunt. Neither of us comment on it, but the air feels a bit lighter and a bit tighter with the mutual knowledge that we will be living in the same city.

As I tell Simon all about Keris’ proposal to Trixie last week, I notice he is being remarkably quiet. When I turn around, I see him sitting on his bed, his back turned to me, shoulders slumped. I move around our beds to his side of the room as quietly as I can and hold still at his foot end. At his bedside sit two meagre boxes filled with the few possessions he acquired over the past years. Sitting on the bed, Simon holds a picture frame that is unfamiliar to me. I take a hesitant step forward.

“Can I?” I ask quietly. It puzzles me how he can be so bold in comforting me, while I’m absolutely terrified of coming too close to him.

Simon nods almost unnoticeably and I sit down beside him. He angles the picture towards me. It must have been taken a few years ago. The Simon in the picture looks barely a few years older than the Humdrum did. At his side is Penny, behind them the gates of Watford. He’s smiling. They’re both smiling. Such genuine smiles that it makes my heart ache and I can’t help but smile too. I move to rest my chin on Simon’s shoulder and together we look at the picture.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this one before,” I say quietly.

“I know. I hid it from you and then I forgot about it.”

“Afraid I was going to use it against you?”

“Nah,” Simon says, “afraid you would destroy it.”

Ouch. Fair enough. That does sound like third-year me.

“Sorry.”

Simon lifts his head up and I pull back to watch him smile at me.

“I think maybe we should agree to stop apologizing for the past eight years.”

“Deal,” I say. And we turn back to the smiling faces in the picture. Simon’s thumb softly caresses the frame. I’m not sure he’s aware of doing it.

“I just hope one day we’ll look this happy again,” he says.

“Me too,” I say.

“And that you’ll be in the picture with us then.”

I turn my head and press my lips firmly to his cheek. Suddenly, I’m not too scared of getting too close. I stay right there, just for a few moments, like I’m pausing time. Then I rest my chin back on his shoulder and look at the picture. I imagine myself next to them and I smile.

“Me too."

- - - - -

One Year Later

“Simon?”

“Yes?” I shout back over the sound of the shower. By now, Baz has stopped playing. It’s okay, I’m almost done anyway.

“Do you want me to bring your clean clothes to the bathroom or do you want me to leave them on your bed?”

“You can put them on my bed!” I shout back, and then, “thank you!”

For forcing me into clean clothes and for asking. The shower curtain is opaque, so Baz wouldn’t be able to see me, but I still don’t think I want him that close right now. I’m glad he knows by now how to let me tell him that without actually making me say it.

When Baz passes the door again on his way back, he calls out, “I’m heading back to the living room. Let me know if you need anything.” What he means is: you can go to your room without being scared of running into me, but I’m still here for you.

I don’t answer, but he knows I’ve heard him.

I don’t understand how it is possible to sometimes feel like my body isn’t mine at all and like I’m completely detached from it, while at the same time being so terrified of someone touching me. If the body isn’t mine, why should I care? Maybe that’s what scares me. That if someone were to touch me… if someone were to get that close to me, they’d realise there is nothing inside. A hand glides over skin. They’re both mine, but they’re not.

Feel your body.

A voice pushes through. I hate the voice. It’s my therapist’s and if I could, I’d forget all about the voice, but annoyingly, over the years, it has taken hold of me.

Feel the way the water touches your skin. Feel all the places where it hits your face and your shoulder and your arms and your back. Grab a bottle of shampoo. What does the surface feel like beneath your fingertips? And the material, how would you describe it? Is it hard or soft? Is it supple? Does it feel cold to your skin or warm? Is it wet or dry? Put it down and take something else. What does it feel like…

I hate the voice.

But it does help.

After a few minutes of feeling things, I’m always surprised how calm I have become in the process. Still a bit numb, like there’s a cloud in my head, but at least it’s not as stormy a cloud anymore.

I shut off the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I know Baz said he was in the living room, but that doesn’t stop me from halting at the bathroom door to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway. When I get to my room, the bed is made and the promised clean clothes are neatly folded on top of it. They’re not very different from the ones I wore before: simple trackies and a t-shirt. But they’re clean and they feel fresh against my skin.

As I dress, I can’t stop my eyes from drifting to the far corner of the room. There is a sheet thrown over it, but the shape of my boxes from Watford is still easily distinguishable. Sometimes, I lay awake for hours, looking at them. I couldn’t bear to unpack them when we moved in. What am I supposed to do with all that stuff anyway, I thought. It’s not like I can wear my Watford uniform in the Normal world. But then I got scared of opening them and when I started losing sleep over it, Penny decided to cover them up to get them as out of sight as possible. It helped for a bit and then therapy also helped a bit, but lately I’ve started feeling restless about them again.

“Everything okay?” Baz yells from the living room. I blink a few times, before I yell back, “yes!”

I get finished dressing and walk back to the living room. Baz is on his side of the couch, still dutifully watching people cook on tv. My side of the couch has had a makeover. The cushions have been straightened and there is no sign of my body shape engraved in it. My blanket is folded, but positioned right where I can reach it if I need it. I don’t sit down.

“Baz?”

He looks up and hums.

“Do you think we can unpack my boxes now?” I ask. “The ones from Watford?”

I can see the gears grinding behind his eyes as it takes him a second to catch up. Then he shakes his head as if to wake up from a dream.

“Yes, of course!” He says and he gets up from the couch. “Do you want to do it in your room or here?”

I consider it for a moment. The sound of the television keeps going. He hasn’t shut it off.

“Let’s do it here, yeah?”

“Sure. You want me to help getting them here?”

I almost smile at his awkwardness, but it also makes me sad. It’s like I’ve given him a surprise gift and he doesn’t know if he can accept it or if I’ll take it away from him again if he gets too excited. So, I say, “yeah, sure,” and we walk to my room.

It’s not a big space, so it feels almost dangerous moving around each other to get hold of a box each, but eventually we make it back to the living room. He on his side of the couch, I on mine. The tv is still blaring in the background as we get to work.

“What do I even do with all these old school books?” Why didn’t I think to pack them first, so I wouldn’t have to be confronted with them the second I opened a box? “It’s not like I have any use for them.”

“What do you want to do with them?” Curse Baz for always making me think for myself. I shoot him a look. He’s started folding all the clothes that I just threw in there haphazardly two years ago. I sit back and let myself think about his question.

“I don’t know. Would the school want some extra books for students whose families don’t own a mansion?”

Baz laughs.

“I’m sure they would be very happy with it,” he says with a smile. Then his face turns serious again, “do you really want to give them away?”

I sigh. Damn him.

“No…” I say. “But I don’t want them in sight all the time.”

“Bunce keeps a box with all her schoolwork, you could ask if she could take yours as well?”

“Oh, so, I finally unpack these boxes and then put my stuff in another box?”

“Correct!” Baz says and I can’t help but laugh. Merlin, I feel stupid for procrastinating this for so long. (You weren’t being stupid, I hear a voice say in my head and I can’t decide whether it’s my therapist or Penny or Baz or perhaps all three of them at once. You just weren’t ready.)

I quickly cast aside all books about magic, but I take a moment to flip through my Latin and Greek homework.

“You want this for your studies?” I ask Baz and hold up my translations of Catullus. Baz full-on grins, “I don’t think those should ever see the daylight again.”

I smile and turn back to the papers in my hand. When I read through my translation of the poem on the first page, I can see I didn’t actually do that bad. I just didn’t understand the poem back then. Catullus writes about this girl he calls Lesbia and how in love he is with her. He says that when she smiles at him his voice gets stuck in his throat and his ears ring and his arteries are filled with fire. I think he basically says he dies? It didn’t make sense to me then, but I think it makes sense to me now.

“Simon?” When I turn to Baz, he is smiling and I die a little. It takes me a moment to take my eyes off his face and look at what he’s holding. In his hands is a picture frame that seems familiar. He reaches it out to me and I take it. Two faces, smiling up at me. If there is anything good that could’ve come from these boxes, it’s this.

“You want to put it up somewhere?” Baz asks.

“Yeah,” I nod. “But let’s wait for Penny, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” he says and we sort through the rest of the stuff in silence.

Afterwards, I curl up on my corner of the couch, feet buried in the cushions meeting in the corner. We’re both watching the tv again, but I don’t think either of us is really paying attention.

“Baz?” I ask. He hums. “Why were you home early?”

He looks at me and I reach out across the space between us. He reaches back and I grasp his hand in mine.

I’m not stupid and I’m not that forgetful. There is a reason he came back. I don’t think he was even supposed to come here after class. He does stay over regularly (albeit mostly on the couch), but usually not more than two nights back to back.

Baz watches his thumb stroke mine. “I got a call from Mordie a few days ago,” he says. “Apparently she had an accident a few weeks ago.”

I straighten up, but he squeezes my hand.

“It’s not bad. Just a sprained ankle and what she thinks is going to be a really cool scar.”

I smile.

“But it just makes me so mad that no one told me. And I-“

He pauses for a second. I pull his hand closer to me and press a kiss to it.

“So, I called my dad and then I yelled at him a bunch and he just said he forgot.”

I have to stop myself from squishing Baz’s hand in anger. I know he doesn’t need me to be mad at his dad. I know I could be for the rest of my life, but Penny says my energy is better spent supporting Baz instead.

It’s goddamned hard, though, when there are tears glistening in his eyes. So, I take a breath and I pull on Baz’s hand again, but I don’t reach out to kiss it. Instead I keep pulling until his head is in my lap and my arm is over his chest. It’s remarkable how easy it can be to hold someone when being held is the most terrifying thing in the world.

So, I hold Baz as he tells me about his conversation with his dad and how disappointed he is after all the progress they have made over the past few months. And I hold him as he tells me about Mordelia’s injuries. He tells me about calling Daphne after and crying to her and her apologising and swearing she thought he knew. And then he tells me about Mordie’s latest pranks and how crowded the tube was and how annoying his professor. And we laugh and we cry and we watch people cook on tv.

I hold him through it all.

- - - - -

Now

“Baz?”

“Yes, Simon?” Baz halts on his way to climbing into his bed. He changed in the bathroom while I changed here and now his hair is flowing down his face in waves and it looks softer than ever. I want to smile at his use of my name, but I can’t quite get past the nerves I’m feeling. I’m standing awkwardly in the centre of our room between our beds. I could have climbed into mine before Baz came back and we both know it.

“Could I…” why is this so hard? “Could I stay with you tonight? Just to sleep.”

I know my face must be bright red, but even Baz is looking a bit pink. After a few moments, he recollects himself and he gestures towards the bed. “Yeah,” he says, “yes, of course.”

In a silent dance of unfinished movements and awkward looks, we come to the conclusion that Baz climbs in first and then I join him. Our struggle with blankets and limbs ends with Baz lying on his back and me partly covering his side as I tug my head under his chin. I can feel his heartbeat like this and I’m sure he can feel mine. The covers weigh heavy on us.

“How do you not burn alive with all these layers?” I complain, but at the same time I pull him even closer.

“The window is opened.” I don’t comment on how he could have closed it all this time. “Besides, you know I run cold.”

“Not anymore,” I snuggle closer. “You have me now.”

Baz doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way he squeezes my arm that he is smiling.

We lay in silence for a bit, our breaths syncing. Knowing this is probably the last time I’ll ever be in this room is equally crazy to me as the fact that I am here at all. A few months ago, I’m sure no one would have expected I’d ever return. I knew I had to be here, though. Partly for Baz, but in reality, I could have met him anywhere. Mostly, I knew I needed the closure. This is where it all started and I would have regretted it forever if I didn’t finish it here too.

“So, I guess it was you who lost in the end, wasn’t it?” Baz murmurs. And before-Simon would have interpreted it as a boast or a jab, but right now I know exactly what he means.

“I don’t know. I guess?” And then, “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

I try to find the words to explain it. Baz waits patiently.

“It’s just… I mean, obviously I lost a lot. I wouldn’t say I’m not a loser in all this. But it also feels like I won some things?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… it’s just that I’ve always been so lost in life, yeah? Nobody knew where I came from or what I was supposed to do, least of all me. But I never had a future either. If you wouldn’t kill me in some war, it would have been the Humdrum or some creature the Mage would make me fight. And… sorry, it feels as if I’m rambling.”

Baz chuckles, “I can’t say I’m entirely following, but keep going.”

Use your words, he doesn’t say and I smile.

“Okay, so, I think this is what I mean: I think everyone is lost in life. I mean, we get here and then we just… have to figure it all out or something? And then you lose stuff along the way and you gain some. And sometimes it sucks and sometimes it’s great, but you keep moving forward to fight for what’s to come? A happy life, with more losses and more gains. But I was never allowed to have a future, so then what do you fight for? It was like all my successes wouldn’t mean anything because I’d only get to enjoy them for so long. And, I mean, of course, that goes for everyone, because we all die in the end. But knowing that everything you achieve you’ll only get to enjoy for a few years doesn’t make for a great motivation to keep going. So, I was always searching for reasons to try.”

“That’s why you couldn’t let go of Wellbelove.”

I nod. “Yeah. And I think the reasoning behind that made sense. Because, as I said, we all lose in life. But it’s infinitely more worth it, when we get to share life together. Because then life and everything you win and everything you lose becomes this beautiful path of learning and growing and sharing and loving. And I still want Agatha to be a part of that journey for me, but not in the way I thought I wanted her to. I used her to give myself a sense of purpose and that’s not how it works.”

“What’s the difference?”

I think for a second. “Well… sharing life and learning together and needing other people is different from depending on them and expecting of them that they will make your life worthwhile for you. But anyway, I think all this time I felt like I was inherently robbed of the opportunity to live. So I got all the crappy stuff of life, without also getting the good stuff. And even though my father died and my mum is gone and I lost my magic, I now get to have a future. And I’ll get to lose more and win more and just… live, y’know?”

When I look up at Baz, he looks like a mess.

“And then I also get to share all that with Penny and with Agatha and, if you’ll have me, with you.”

Baz reaches down and strokes my cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll have you.”

I turn my head to kiss the palm of his hand. We look at each other and it feels like time stands still. How could I have ever thought I felt anything towards him that wasn’t love?

“So, yeah,” I continue eventually, “I’d say I did lose. And I’d say you lost too. And I’d say we’re going to lose a whole lot more someday. At the very least death is an inevitable loss, even for immortal vampires -when climate change sets the planet on fire, you’re going down,” I feel Baz chuckle beneath me. “But what we win is that we get to experience it all. The good and the bad and the everything in between. And if we’re lucky, we get to experience it together with people we love.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I say. “So, really, I’d say that if we are losers at all, then we’re the most beautiful ones out there.”

The smile I receive is blinding.

- - - - -

One Year Later

“Simon?” Bunce yells from the hallway, and then, once she’s burst through the door, “and Baz, apparently!”

My head is still in Simon’s lap, the floor still covered with school books and Watford clothes. She doesn’t comment on the mess on the ground, instead looking to me for an explanation. All I manage is a smile to let her know we’re okay. If it were a good day, she’d come over to give us both a hug. On a bad day, she’ll just smile and keep her distance. Today, Simon reaches out his hand to her and she grasps it, finger slipping between his.

When she lets go, she takes a seat on the floor in front of us and takes another look at Simon’s old stuff.

“So, what is this all about?” She asks. I look up at Simon, but the look he gives me tells me he wants me to respond.

“We figured it was about time we’d unpack those last boxes.”

“About time,” Penny echoes, deep in thought, and she reaches for the framed picture on the floor. Simon and I watch her look at it for a while. From my point of view on Simon’s lap, our eyes are at a similar height and I can see hers trace the faces on the picture on by one. She smiles. After a while, she raises her eyes back to us.

“So, what are you going to do with all this stuff?”

“I don’t know,” I respond and I look at the Simon. “Simon?”

He scans the items on the floor and the picture in Penny’s hands. “I think I’ll keep it. Maybe get some of it out of my sight, though. Baz said you have a box where you keep your old school books?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Bunce answers, “Do you want to clean it up now?”

“Maybe later,” Simon says, “but I do think we should put that picture somewhere.”

I can’t help but smile and I can see Penny smiling and out of the corner of my eyes I can see Simon smiling and all three of us are smiling and maybe we’re okay.

“Okay then, where do you want to put it?” Bunce gets up and with one hand holding the picture she reaches the other out for Simon to take and pull himself up on. She doesn’t let go of his hand and neither do I, so we wander the apartment, the three of us, hand in hand.

We unanimously decide against either bedroom, as we all want to be able to go see the picture at any time. The bathroom is the next one to go, since that just doesn’t do it any justice at all. We keep wandering the place until we find the right spot. It’s going to take way past dinner time if we do this now, but I still take the time to get the drilling machine and put the photo up.

After, we cook dinner together and eat under candlelight and our awful collective music taste. Even though Simon mostly keeps silent, Bunce and I make jokes about day to day life, about the news, about celebrities, about anything. Simon rolls his eyes at an argument Bunce and I end up having over some random subject and then Bunce and I roll our eyes at Simon when he argues we should just shut up and bake him scones to compensate for boring him to death.

Of course, we do end up making the scones and Simon ends up helping, because Crowley knows he doesn’t trust us with anything in the kitchen. So, while Simon stirs the batter, Bunce and I hold a dancing and singing contest to the music and I can’t help but smile brightly when I notice even Simon slightly nods his head to the beat.

Once the scones are finished, we all collectively decide we deserve to skip our homework for the night and watch some thoughtless movie instead.

I don’t really register much of what’s happening on the screen. I do, however, register the smell of Simon’s freshly washed hair, as he lays with his head on my chest, watching the screen. I do register the sight of Bunce tapping along with the soundtrack of the film on Simon’s legs that he has thrown over her lap. I register the feeling of our chests rising and falling together. And I do register this little taste of happiness that I have right here.

And I think that Simon may be right. I think of the picture, which we decided to hang in the hallway, so that the second you open the door, you’ll be greeted by smiling faces. You’ll be greeted by the people who make this little apartment the home it is. And then I think that that is exactly what this is. Home.

I’m home. In Simon’s home. Simon is home. And Bunce is too.

And I think that I understand what Simon meant. There will always be the inevitability of death and hurt in life. There will always be moments in which we lose. But lying here with Simon’s head on my shoulder, Penny’s legs over mine, and Simon’s over hers, I can see that it’s all worth it.

If we’re always going to be doomed to lose, just because that is the way life is, then this is the most beautiful way to do it. Surrounded by people you love, getting to experience this beautifully broad spectrum that is living and feeling and loving. Together.

If this what losing is, then I can say that we are the most beautiful losers of all.

Yes.

That’s us.

Thank you for sticking with me through all this. <3

I could write pages on every little thing I put into this story, but I hope most of them have come across without me telling you about any of it. There are, however, still some things I feel I do have to say: 1. I headcanoned Baz with a heartbeat pre-WS and Rainbow can pry it from my cold dead hands :'( 2. You can find a picture of burrito-Achilles right here: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CgRXmuPUkAAsss-.jpg 3. Penthesilea was an Amazonian who fought on the side of the Trojans. When Achilles stabbed her through the heart and pulled off her helmet, they instantly fell in love as they locked eyes, but obviously it was too late. Find a pic here: https://www.ecosia.org/images?q=achilles+and+penthesilea 4. The poem of Catullus quite literally rips my heart out everytime I read it. Even more so because it is based on a poem of Sappho. Wikipedia here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus_51 5. I used the word 'loser' here as meaning "a person who lost something/at something". It's the closest translation to 'verliezer' I could find, but in Dutch it doesn't have that additional layer of being a word commonly used to define a person as... 'not cool', I guess? In Dutch we just use the English word for that haha. But anyway, I hope the extra layer in English doesn't make it confusing. 6. It was quite the struggle to convey what the song means in the story and I'm still not 100% sure I got it right, so if you have any questions or just want to talk to me about this whole fic in general, you can always find me here on Tumblr @futuristicallygayduck or @pauladelaula :)

Again, thank you all, you are all angels. <3

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #my writings #my writings: that's us #I really hope you guys enjoyed this #Thank you for reading #and thank you for all the lovely comments you have sent me on the previous chapters #they occasionally drove me to tears #and it's for you guys that i never gave up on this story #even if it took me almost three years to finish it #its been a good ride

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