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Love and Ink

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"Oh my fuck," were the exact words that left my mouth when I first saw them.

Simon was trying not to laugh. Baz was trying not to blush. Both of them looked like two teenagers who had been caught doing the naughtiest thing possible, although they're the ones who came and revealed it to me.

Being completely honest, I didn't know how I was supposed to take it. I never thought they were the smartest idea. I mean, if Micah had asked me, I'd decline right away. Not because I don't love him enough, but because, well…

These things mean everything.

On Simon's left inner wrist were the letters TBGP in pretty, black ink, all encased in a perfect crescent moon. On Baz, on his right, were the letters SS, surrounded by a gentle sun. Both of them were red and raw, freshly done only an hour before.

Never once in my young years did I ever picture Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch with matching couples tattoos. Stuff like that were done by lovesick delinquents and adults who still think it's a good idea to get married after two months. Very, and I mean very rarely, do they ever last. And then they have to go through the pain of getting it lasered off once they realise the mistake they've made.

Simon and Baz looked too happy at the time for me to say anything. It worried me then, and I always had to remind myself that they were a special case. Not many couples who have spent years living together and falsely hating each other exist out there, and not many of them go out and get matching tattoos.

It worried me, but it was cute.

I couldn't help but coo at them. Disgusting, I know. But I'm also not an idiot. And I'm right more than most of the time. I couldn't stop thinking of the fateful day when they'd end it all and regret every moment, every form of 'I love you' (Morgana knows they rarely say it).

It felt wrong to do, I felt guilty, yes, but I had to be realistic. Because so many people fall in love and are guaranteed that their each other's forever. I wanted them to be each other's forever. I still do…

But now…

Now, I don't doubt it. Not one bit.

It's been a little over a year since they've gotten their tattoos that summer, and I'm wholly convinced Simon and Baz were made for each other.

They're not the best at being boyfriends, far from it really, but I've never seen anything like what they have. Not even with my parents.

Their love is written across the stars in galaxies that humanity isn't aware of, I think. Again, awful, I know, seriously, but it's there. And it's true. Simon and Baz watch each other when the other isn't looking like moths drawn to a lamplight. They've been doing it since they were kids, and I've always noticed, everyone's noticed. But it's different now, especially for Simon.

I'm not sure how I ever really doubted how things would work out between them. They'd both die a thousand deaths before letting the other get a paper cut.

Right now, I'm magicking the kitchen clean because Simon forgot it was his night and it's too late for it now. And I'm tired. Simon's slumped on the couch, tangled messily in a blanket. Baz and him had an out of touch moment earlier today. I didn't hear what it was about, but Baz left with a huff and Simon didn't bother going after him. I didn't ask about it.

But the doorknob jangles and Baz is entering like he lives here, which might as well be true.

Our eyes meet and he's nodding cooly like we're silently sealing a deal.

"Alright?" he asks.

I shrug. "Yeah. I'm about to head to bed." I don't ask him if he's spending the night.

We don't say anything else. He's toeing off his shoes and locking the door and his eyes fall on Simon on the couch. Then, he's nearing him and reaching down to touch him.

Simon stirs awake and Baz smiles at him, but I don't think he knows it.

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asks.

Simon mumbles too low for me to hear.

"Come on," Baz is untangling the blanket. "You'll sleep better on an actual mattress."

"M'alright." Simon.

"Seriously, let's go."

He grabs his arm, no, his wrist (the tattoo), and pulls him, gently. Simon is reluctantly following, but following nonetheless, and once he gets on his feet he leans into Baz's chest and hugs him.

Something tells me that they haven't talked about whatever happened earlier today. But this is what I mean. I think, when your love for someone is really true, there are moments like this where you just forget why you're angry at them. You see them and remember why they matter so much to you and it gets hard to think dark thoughts.

Once he's had his hug, and Baz has returned it easily, Simon turns to pick up the blanket and sees me standing in the kitchen. He looks properly dazed, from sleep or love, who knows. But his eyes dance over the countertops and he frowns. I shake my head.

"Sorry about the dishes," he says.

"It's fine."

He nods. "Right... Night, then."

"Night." And it's to both of them.

Baz turns the TV off and Simon is grabbing him by the wrist, right where the tattoo is, and they're off to his bedroom. They're rough around the edges, whether they're together or not, but it's more endearing than it is bothersome.