#oops let's pretend simon and agatha broke up by this point skdjdjj

[diningpageantry]

I love your work!!!! If you’re still doing requests could you do Incinerate by Sonic Youth♥️

"You're not supposed to play with fire, you know." He sounds all cocky, and I don't know whether it's because he thinks he found me doing something nefarious like draining the wildlife, or it's because he actually realizes the depressing reality of what is happening and he's reveling in it.

Because it is depressing. I am depressing. I'm an 18 year old boy sitting alone in the shittiest patch of woodland on this god forsaken island, and I'm just playing with a little handful of fire.

Just spark on my sleeve could end me. Doesn't take long for it to get to my skin, and then, poof, I'm done for.

He could blow it onto me. Then at least Snow could take that single victory over me.

"Well, I am, so bugger off."

He frowns down at me, a few of his curls falling into his face (it's always a bit shaggy by spring time, and though I do loathe the nasty buzz he gives himself, I'd prefer if he just had it well kept). Then, once he probably decides that I'm not doing anything directly that he sees as an issue, he looks around us like it's some set up and another chimera will come barreling out for us. As if he didn't follow me out into the woods sneakily.

He did quite a shit job at the sneakily part, too. I could hear him coming a mile away--Simon Snow has flat feet and a thundering stomp to go with it. He's the furthest thing from subtle.

"What're you doing?" He's so fucking dumb. I wonder if I could snog the dumb out of him.

"Sitting."

"At two in the fucking morning? In the Wavering Fucking Wood?"

"Language."

"Fuck you."

"Piss off," I raise my head, glaring halfheartedly back at him as he just stares down. "I'm having a minute to think. Aren't I allowed space to think without half dying of smoke inhalation from your brainless inability to hold yourself together--"

He sits down beside me. Apparently I'm not allowed space.

"Well what're you thinking about."

"Murder. The Bee Gees. The inevitable heat death of the universe."

He blinks, staring at his palms then at me. "All in that order?"

I grunt. "You're an idiot, Snow."

"And you're engaging me. Doesn't that make you half as guilty?"

I should just get up and sit somewhere else.

And I try to, except Snow grabs my arm and drags me back. "Wait."

"For what?"

He shrugs. "I wanna know why you're here."

Innocent enough, but still something that makes me skip a beat on the inside. "What's it to you?"

"Well if you're not plotting..."

I grunt, trying to yank myself from his grip. "We're done with this conversation."

He pouts--actually pouts--and holds me in place.

In the soft moonlight, he seems a lot less godly in the odd statuesque way he holds himself in (or rather, the one The Mage holds him in). His jaw is a lot softer, and the protrusion of his adam's apple just creates a soft little notch of a shadow. I think about running my thumb over it, then stop my eyes from even holding. It's not very becoming of me to be that pathetic.

"Why don't you ever just talk?" I half convince myself that he sounds hurt, and wants to actually, I don't know, be "friendly", but I know we burned those bridges long ago.

All we have standing now is years of bitterness, and understanding of mutual aims for destruction, and a hope that maybe it won't come to that. I hope on the latter one.

"Because we have nothing to talk about."

"We sort of do."

I turn my upper lip upwards in a snarl. "You're just trying to make conversation since the bridge closed on us."

He stops, then shifts. "No."

"You're a horrendous liar, Snow. Never try to wiggle out of anything serious."

"Thanks for the advice, I'll avoid anything with capital punishment involved."

I nearly laugh at that one, but I don't even give him a smile.

He looks defeated, but it's so ridiculously realistic of him to push on with his efforts regardless. "C'mon. Talk."

"About what?"

He shrugs, and I snort back at him.

"You're awful at this."

"I'm trying!" He cries defensively, raising his hands up. I'm free. I could sprint away, if I wanted.

"Try harder, then."

He glares over, then shifts onto his knees, facing me. He's going to be scrubbing at those grass stains for weeks. "Why do you play with fire?"

"Wrong question. Try something new."

"I'm serious." His hand brushes my arm, then rests against my wrist. His fingers slowly start to close, catching my skin as I suck in a breath that I hope he doesn't notice.

"You won't like the answer.

"And?"

I shift, staring hard at his hand. I never noticed the freckle below the split betweenhis ring finger and pinkie. "Maybe I like the chance," I say, quieter than I'd planned.

I can't see his face, but I hear the shock in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I like the chance of going up in flames." His knuckles are a pale blue in this light. Like the inside light of a torch. "Doesn't take much of a wrong move."

"Merlin." He doesn't pull away. I like that. I like staring at Snow's hand knuckle. "Why would you want that chance, even?"

"Rather die by fate than by someone else's hands." I sound harsh. Bitter. Like the future pain of his blade has gone through my ribs, sliding into me like im the butter he adores because I'm so incredibly soft for him.

He goes quiet. So long that I have to look at him--only raising my eyes to see him looking at our hands as well.

"Do you think I want to kill you?"

"Final victory, wouldn't it be?"

He yanks back suddenly, scanning over me. "Wouldn't you fight back?"

I stop, jaw going slack as I freeze in place. I can't take it back now, I suppose. "I never said that."

"You didn't deny--"

"What the hell are you trying to get at, Snow?" I snap.

"Do you think I want to kill you?" He raises his voice, and enough magic spills out of him to make the air all fuzzy. It makes me disoriented, vision spinning just enough for me to force my eyes shut.

"What does it matter, it's going to happen regardless?" I grumble, rubbing my temples. Snow's inadvertent magic always gives the worst contact high.

I shock to the feeling of hands on mine, slipping around my palms and dragging them between us. "I don't want to kill you."

"You should."

"I don't want to kill anyone." He sounds disgusted. Hurt. Like he's directing the concept of death onto me.

Like I'm the Grim Reaper, sitting before him in cloak and scythe, ready to claim bodies around me.

The thought makes me feel sick, tasting the blood from the rabbit I'd drained an hour ago. Maybe I am the monster he sees.

"Then let the fire do your work for you. You've got clean hands, and it saves everyone a bit of energy."

His hands squeeze around mine. "Stop saying that."

I look directly at him as a challenge. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you dead," he whispers, scooting closer.

"Unlikely story."

He frowns. "I'm serious. You can't die on me."

"Why not?"

"What would I do without you?"

I stare at him, biting back any emotion as I spit out "Live."

He shocks back, then seems to panic, and in the moment, I don't quite know what he's doing. In fact, I'm just more confused when he reaches up towards my face, settling a palm onto my jaw as I go rigid.

"You can't just fucking say that," he mumbles, shaking his head.

I don't know what he's doing. He's coming in close, and my last ditch mental distraction is just believing that he's coming into a really slow, disappointingly low-impact headbutt.

Instead, I startle at the feeling of his lips pressed to mine.

They're soft--delicate. Easy to push away if I wanted, but real enough that I know they're there.

It's not exactly how I'd ever imagined my first kiss. Especially not my first kiss with Snow, but then again, I'd imagined that one with the death we'd fought over earlier.

I sit still for the moment, struggling to process it before he starts goint to move away. In a panic, I grab his hair and jam him forward, forcibly pressing our lips together for a more awkward, more urgent kiss.

He smiles, and I feel my entire body wash over in what I'd imagine flames to be. Tingling, numbing sensations, running from head to toe as he rubs my cheek, letting me soften my kiss before he tilts into a serious one.

We don't pull back til I'm out of breath, and he's fully pink in the face.

"What was that?" I whisper, making it perhaps the dumbest thing I've ever said.

He grins a bit, thumb dragging down my bottom lip. "Call it life reassurance," he breathes, going in for another kiss.

This time, I don't waste a second before snogging him back.