“Wrong,” I say. I take his hand again and put my arm back around him. “The Crucible drew us together.”
“The Crucible?”
“I was eleven years old, and I’d lost my mother, and my soul, and the Crucible gave me you.”
“It made us roommates,” he says.
I shake my head. “We were always more.”
“We were enemies.”
“You were the centre of my universe,” I say. “Everything else spun around you.”
“Because of what I was, Baz. Because of my magic.”
“No.”I’m nearly as frustrated as he is. “Yes. I mean, Crowley, Snow—yes,that was part of it. Looking at you was like looking directly into the sun.”
“I’ll never be that again.”
“No. And thank magic.” I sigh forcefully. “The way you were before… Simon Snow, there wasn’t a day when I believed we’d both live through it.”
“Through what?”
“Life.You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I’d wake up every morning and think, ‘This will end in flames.’”
“I did set your forest on fire—”
“But that wasn’t the end.”
“Baz.” His face crumples, in sorrow now—not anger. “I can’t keep up with you. I’m a Normal.”
“Simon. You have atail.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Look.” I bring our hands between us and knock up his chin. “Look at me. I don’t want to have to say this all the time. It’s the sort of thing that’s supposed to go poetically unsaid…” He meets my eyes. “You’re still Simon Snow. You’re still the hero of this story—”
“This isn’t a story!”
“Everythingis a story. And you are the hero. You sacrificed everything for me.”
He looks abashed, ashamed. “I didn’t do it for you, exactly—”
“Fine. For me and the rest of the magickal world.”
“I was just cleaning up my ownmess,Baz. Like, no one would call you a hero for cleaning up your own vomit.”
“It was brave. It was brave and selfless and clever. That’s who you are, Simon. And I’m not going to getboredwith you.”
He’s still looking in my eyes. Staring me down like he did that dragon, chin tilted and locked. “I’m not the Chosen One,” he says.
I meet his gaze and sneer. My arm is a steel band around his waist. “I choose you,” I say. “Simon Snow, I choose you.”
Snow doesn’t flinch or soften. For a moment, I think he’s going to take a swing at me—or bash his rock-hard head against mine. Instead he shoves his face into mine and kisses me. It’s still a challenge.
I shove back. I let go of his hand to hold his neck. He smashes into me, and I take it. I don’t give an inch. (It’s a mess, honestly, and if he cuts his lip on my teeth, it could be a disaster.)
When we break, he’s panting. I press my forehead to his, and feel the tension leave his neck and back.
