#Simon got his enlightenment here first and not at the ball i said what i said

[mirabel-on-a-bicycle]

No but even on top of Omar's chef's kiss ✨ acting in this scene (the how-dare-u glare, the pause, the blatant lie, ughh the knowing SMILEE), its just so so well executed.

Right when Wille lets the audience know that he'd let Simon go, with genuine conviction, and complete acceptance in his heart, this scene comes along and sets the gears into motion.

It's a straight up prophesy, like fate personified, walking off into the dark fog of defeat and turning back, ever so slightly, with a smirk, right before disappearing. Like an "Or so you thought" right at the end of a chapter.

When Marcus threatened to cross the boundry of the mental space and memory where Simon kept Wille, something clicked within him. I like to think that in that pause, Simon learnt the truth about himself: that Wille was still there, in his heart. He had never really let him go. And that Marcus was nowhere near what Wille was to him.

"They don't have names" is such a fucking power move. It's the shutting of doors on Marcus' face, the proof of his loyalty to Wille. Unbeknownst to Marcus or Wille, and only to himself, this is the first time Simon stands his ground and speaks his mind truthfully without Marcus' manipulations. And he gets away with it flawlessly.

And man. Nothing gets to me like small subtle actions that hold so much weight and history. I mean look at his smile. He knows what he said.

[kraken-llamas]

Bunce noticed it first, of course. She lives with Snow, for Crowley’s sake. I almost didn’t believe her when she told me, but her dead seriousness could not be shaken.

“I swear to Merlyn, Baz. It happens all the time. It happened this morning, it’s fucking great.” She said, leaning over her book like she was telling me a secret. Which, I suppose she was. Though it’s not like Simon was hiding it. He’s terrible at hiding things.

I frowned at her over my iced coffee, not quite convinced. “I just can’t imagine Snow doing that, Bunce.”

Simon Snow is many things. He’s brave, always hungry, an insufferable morning person, and stupidly handsome. I love everything about him, and none of those traits matched with Bunce’s claim.

“I swear it’s real Baz. I see it all the time. When he’s cleaning or making himself something to eat, it happens. One time I heard him in the shower.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Everyone sings in the shower, Bunce.” I took a sip of my coffee and sat back in my chair, unimpressed.

Penny glared at me, and then she pulled out her phone. She must have already had her proof queued up because not a second passed before the shoved the device towards me. “Here. Enlighten yourself.” She snapped, then smugly sat back and watched my reaction. She knew I was going to lose it, of course.

The video was shaky, and taken from an odd angle that I realized was from the phone being held sideways and low, like Bunce was clutching it to her hip while filming.

For a second, there was nothing, and then I saw him.

Simon Snow, dancing and singing along to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA in him and Penny’s kitchen. His singing was not as blatantly loud and obnoxious as it is when he’s singing along to the car radio. This singing was softer and more pleasant. He’s actually not half bad.

The dancing however. That was a whole other story. It wasn’t the same level of clumsy awkwardness from the Leaver’s Ball, it has a little bit more rhythm and coordination. It’s mostly a lot of shuffling and small arm movements but on the chorus Snow fucking slid across the kitchen floor on his stockinged feet and does a little spin, his wings tucked close to his body and his tail swinging around him.

“You can dance, you can jive! Having the time of your life! Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen!” He sang, spreading his arms out and pointing in another little twirl on the balls of his feet.

It’s not even the completely bizarre and adorable fact that he’s dancing and singing in his kitchen just because he can. It’s the look on his beautiful face, this carefree and happy smile and bright twinkle in his eyes. I wanted to watch the video again just to see that look on his face again but Penny pulled her phone back to smirk at me in that annoying little way she does when she knows she’s won.

“When...when was that?” I asked, totally flustered, still seeing a happy, dancing Simon Snow behind my eyelids. I knew right then I’d do anything to see that in person. It was probably the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

“Last week. Told you I wasn’t lying.” Penny said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Since then, I’ve been trying my hardest to see this incredible phenomenon. Whenever I visit Simon, I suggest playing music I hope he’ll find impossible to resist dancing along to.

One time I thought he was going to do it, he was tapping his foot along to the beat of some Britney Spears song, but it was just because his foot was asleep.

It takes what feels like forever, but a week and a half after Penny showed me the amazing video, it happens.

Simon and I agreed to have lunch together today, and I get to his flat before he does after class. Penny lets me in before shutting herself in her room, telling me she’s having a very important video chat with her American boyfriend, despite being several time zones apart.

I sit myself down on their sofa and pull out my cell phone to entertain myself with. I’m kind of early anyway.

And then, the amazing happens. It’s like a dream.

Simon unceremoniously walks into the flat, carrying his textbooks and a small bag of groceries in his arms. Earbuds are in his ears and he’s distracted by putting all his stuff down on the kitchen counter. He stacks his books and then begins to put away the groceries. Milk, tea, butter, those biscuits with the jelly in them.

He obviously doesn’t realize I’m sitting here in his living room as he opens the box of biscuits he eats a few before putting them in the cupboard.

He had an extra bounce in his step, coming inside, but the real show starts when he’s putting things away. I can faintly hear the song he’s got playing—“What’s My Age Again” by Blink-182, of fucking course. Simon’s taste in music varies from 1979s and 80s hits to 90s and early 2000s jams in a mishmash of genres.

He’s mouthing the words, eyes half closed as he taps his feet and swings his hips from side to side. And then the chorus comes.

“And that’s about the time she walked away from me! Nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three, and you still act like you’re in freshman year, what the hell is wrong with me? My friends say I should act my age, what’s my age again, what’s my age again?”

His singing leaves much to be desired—he has headphones in, he can’t hear himself and it’s loud and off-key, but I don’t even care.

I literally turn myself around on the couch and lower myself out of view to look over the back of it in the most undignified way, barely holding in my excitement. I don’t want him to suddenly see me and stop before I’ve had my fill of dancing, singing Simon Snow. Though honestly, I don’t think I could ever get bored of this.

He’s doing some kind of shuffling move with his feet that I can’t see because of the couch I’m hiding behind, but that doesn’t matter too much to me because his pink tongue is stuck a little pick out of his mouth as he hums along to the ending chords of the song.

The next one starts up (“One Week” by Barenaked Ladies, if I’m not mistaken) and to my immense joy, Simon starts singing along right into the first few words of the song, nodding his head energetically to the beat.

But then he seems to take in his surroundings for the first time since he came in, and inevitably notices the top of my head peeking over the back of the couch before the second verse of the song. Fuck.

He yanks his earbuds out of his ears, eyes wide and cheeks bright red, like he was just caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. His face would rival the color of his wings, if they were visible.

“What the—Baz! How long have you—I was—what are you doing—“ he blusters, the bloody beautiful moron.

I sigh, and slowly rise from the couch, glad that I haven’t fed today, and can’t blush. This isn’t my most dignified moment, but at least he’s embarrassed too.

“I was just watching the show.” I smirk when his face gets redder, his neck and ears showing color too.

He clenches his headphones in his fist, refusing to make eye contact with me.

“It’s not...it’s just...”

“Adorable? Hilarious? Utterly endearing?”

He glares at me, now. I revel in the fire that flares in his blue eyes. I’ve always been good with fire.

“Shut up. You didn’t see what you think you saw.” I smirk wider, it’s becoming a real smile. Only Simon can coax those out of me.

“Oh, I doubt that.” Simon glares harder.

I just keep smiling at him, and watch as his glare dissolves into embarrassment. He tries to make himself smaller and doesn’t look anywhere near my face.

“What will it take to get you to forget about this?” He asks quietly.

I walk closer and stand in front of him. I take his phone out of his pocket and start scrolling through his music library.

“That’s impossible. No way am I ever forgetting about this.”

He groans and looks up at me, resigned to this until he sees his phone in my hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking a song.”

“What?”

I settle on “Major Tom (Coming Home)” and turn up the volume on Simon’s phone before starting the song. I know Simon likes this song. I place the phone on the counter behind him, and then wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He stumbles into my chest and stares up at me in flustered surprise.

“What are you doing?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, and smile.

“Dancing. Dance with me, love. You’ve been holding out on me—you’re better than I thought.”

“No I’m not!” He says, and tries to break away from me. I tighten my hold on him.

“Come on, Simon. Just one little dance.” I smile at him, and I’m about to have to resort to batting my eyes, when he begrudgingly puts his hands on my shoulders. He’s glaring at me, but the expression is undermined by his pink ears and cheeks, and the way he swallows in that showy way that’s so Simon Snow I want to laugh.

He might have me wrapped around his finger, but I have a similar effect on him. It’s dizzying to know that I can make him weak as well.

I start to slowly spin us in a circle, and Simon is awkward and stiff and accidentally steps on my feet a few times. Then, he gets sucked into the music, and relaxes. His steps become more fluid, and his hands relax on my shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. He smiles shyly up at me, cheeks pushing up into his eyes. I dip my head and kiss his forehead.

Four, three, two, one

Earth below us drifting, falling

Floating weightless, calling, coming home

The song starts to speed up, and so do we. Eventually, I loosen my arms around Simon’s waist as we start spinning faster, his hands gripping my shoulders in the most heart-melting way.

He lets out a happy giggle, eyes closing as he mouths the lyrics. I find myself staring at him as the kitchen blurs into shapeless color behind him.

His curls are a mess, his lips are curled up in a joyful smile, his cheeks are flushed from the movement. Crowley, I love him.

We shift our holds on each other so we’re gripping each other’s hands tightly, and spin faster and faster, and he’s singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. The sound fades out.

Simon is panting, and so am I, but theres a lightness in my heaving chest that leaves me breathless. We slowly come to a stop, still holding hands.

Now Simon catches me off guard, pulling me to him so our hands are the only thing between us. He grins, looking up at me through his stubby lashes.

“I’m starting to think we have a bad habit of watching each other when the other person doesn’t know in this relationship.” He says, and I let out a laugh, and then before I know it, we’re both howling, sitting on the tiled kitchen floor and leaning into each other for support.

Simon braces his warm forehead on my shoulder and tries to catch his breath. “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers plays in the background. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and lean us back against the bottom cupboard doors.

After a minute or so, Simon lifts his head off my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

“Can we do that more?”

“What, laugh?”

“No. I mean, yeah, laughing’s good, but I meant dancing. I like it. I like doing it with you.”

My lips curl upwards and I don’t even try to stop it, I’m so far gone for him.

“Only if you promise to sing.”