34. Basilton!

                                    

                                          
Baz
                          
Nothing exhilarating happened last night. Well, that's a lie lots of exhilarating things happened last night. Making out with Simon in the spare bedroom of my Aunt's crummy flat is all kinds of electric. But we didn't, you know...
                          
He's not ready. I have to respect that, even though I've been ready for Simon Snow to deflower me for years. He says he doesn't know how to go about doing it with a guy. Which insinuates that he and Agatha have had sex. Maybe he's been with other girls before Agatha, too. The possibility makes me itch with jealousy, considering I've scarcely ever thought of being with anyone other than Simon (maybe Jude Law, but that hardly counts).
                          
I told Simon I could teach him what to do, which lead to him to shove me out of bed and turn bright red all around his cheeks and ears. The truth is, I have 0 experience in the field. But one could say I've definitely done more "research".
                          
It's almost eleven in the morning now. Simon's already fully into his holiday sleeping habits, only just grumbling awake now. We're both shirtless, Simon with his grey trackie bottom on and I with just a pair of boxers (I kicked the jeans off before I went to sleep). 
                          
Simon's arms stretch above his head as he lets out a loud groan. Our bare feet are touching under the covers. I nudge his foot with my own. They're softly calloused on the ball and heel. Having Snow under the covers with me like this is so sacred and homely that I almost forget there's a faceless monster constantly trying to murder him. Even after weeks of being together like this, I can't seem to pinch myself hard enough to convince myself it's real.
                          
"So," Simon says, propping himself up on the pillow, stroking lines down my arm, "you love me."
                          
Hair falls in my face as I smile down at my lap, combing it back with my fingers. "Hm, did I say that?"
                          
Simon gives me a gentle thump on my upper arm at that and we both laugh, not able to look each other in the eyes.
                          
"Yeah, you did. And you came all the way from Hampshire just to tell me."
                          
"Okay, maybe I did say that."
                          
He smiles, big and dumb. "Say what?"
                          
I shove him playfully.
                          
"C'mon," he says, grabbing my hands as I go to shove him again, pinning them to the sheets. "You haven't even said it properly yet."
                          
"Would you say it back?" I ask.
                          
"To be determined."
                          
"By when?"
                          
"4-5 business days."
                          
"You're an idiot, Snow."
                          
"You can still say it."
                          
"No."
                          
"Why not," he whines.
                          
"Because I'm embarrassed."
                          
It's true. Feeling are humiliating. You can't put them back in your big sappy heart once you let them out. If I wasn't so desperate for the touch of him I wouldn't have said anything.
                          
"What is there left to be embarrassed about? You were all over me last night like I was a sale rack at the Gucci store."
                          
"I would never buy Gucci on sale," I fake shiver. Simon laughs again.
                          
"That's what I love about you."
                          
He just said it.
                          
We stare at each other doe eyed for a long moment. Then my ringtone cuts through the scene. It's I Want to Break Free by Queen. I set it a few day ago when I was moping over all the lovely things about Simon Snow. His curly sticky-up hair, his favourite movies, his favourite songs. 
                          
I pick my mobile up from where it's been sitting charging on the bedside table. "Mum" appears on the screen. It's Daphne. I keep it as Mum just incase I get in some perilous situation and someone has to go through my contact list for a next of kin. My Father is just Malcolm. I don't call him Dad.
                          
"Shit," I say. Simon stretches over to look at who's calling.
                          
"Mother," I say cooly as if I haven't just fucked off to London on a late night lust-fuelled rampage.
                          
"Basilton! Where the hell are you? I went to bed early, thinking you were would take a while...eating"
                          
You can hear her cringe at the thought.
                          
"You don't come down for breakfast. You're not in your room. I cast locating spells in the woods, you don't appear. The MG's gone."
                          
"I'm fine, Mother. I just had some things to sort out in London."
                          
"And you couldn't tell me?" she winces.
                          
Her voice is thick with concern. It's a weird feeling. Someone caring about my whereabouts, my wellbeing. "It was last minute, sorry. I'll be back before dinner tonight."
                          
"Is this about someone, a love interest?" God, why do adults always reference people your attracted to in such an obscure, old-fashioned manner.
                          
"No," I say abruptly, then glance up at Simon who stares at me with worried eyes, "maybe," I correct, then add, "don't tell Father."
                          
Daphne sighs, "I won't. He didn't realise you left. He's been in his study."
                          
My heart sort of sinks at that. Maybe I should run away more often seeing as my little remaining flesh and blood don't seem to care.
                          
"We'll leave within the hour?"
                          
"We?"
                          
"I'm with Simon Snow," I say. I look back at Simon. He's waving his hand across his throat as if to say "cut it out!"
                          
"Are you two...?" Daphne's question trails off.
                          
"I'll explain when I get back. In the mean time, make sure you put some extra roast potatoes on for dinner tonight."
                          
"Okay."
                          
I hang up the phone and lay it face-down on the duvet cover so I don't have to look at the "12 missed call" notifications. I must have slept through them.
                          
"So?" Simon says.
                          
"So, we're going to Hampshire for Christmas Eve dinner. And I think I'm going to come out to my step-mother."