Disclaimer: Rainbow Rowell owns the characters, and the title is from The Sound of Music.

A/N: I started this before Wayward Son came out and then I abandoned it and only recently found it in my drafts, so this fic pretends Wayward Son never happened, okay?

I wake up to Simon thrashing around. His wings are beating uselessly off the side of the bed and I'm glad he's facing me, because I'd probably have a black eye by now if he had his back to me. As it is, I reach forward and shake his shoulder several times, saying his name as I do so: "Snow. Snow. Snow, wake up."

After several long moments, Simon blinks his eyes open, and his body stills.

"What were you dreaming about?" I ask, running my hand down his arm.

"The chimera," he mumbles.

I feel like I've taken a wing to the face. I recoil from him and begin to fold in on myself.

"Shit," he hisses. Now it's his hand on my shoulder. "Baz. Baz, it's okay."

I look up at him, though I hardly feel worthy to behold the sight that is Simon Snow. "'It's okay'? Snow, on what planet is it okay for me to do things that give you nightmares and then ask you to love me?"

Simon runs his hand over his face. "Fuck. I'm sorry. Baz, I swear I wouldn't have told you if I'd been more awake, please—"

"Oh, yes, because secrets make everything better," I deadpan, cutting him off.

"Baz!" he says. "Look, it was a long time ago."

"And yet you still have nightmares about it."

Simon sighs. "Not regularly."

"Well, that's a comfort."

"I'm sorry," says Simon.

I sigh. I've fucked this right up. "No, Simon, I'm sorry. I should never have set a chimera on you and I can't believe you ever found it in yourself to forgive me."

I can see in the dark well enough to tell that now Simon looks annoyed. Fuck. "Baz, you do realize I owe you my life, right?"

My stomach drops. "Oh Merlin, Simon, please tell me you're not here because you think you owe me."

"Of course not," says Simon, and I can breathe again. "Baz. I love you. Not because I owe you. Just because I can't help it. Because you're good, and you care, and you're graceful and competent and so fucking hot."

"I'm not good," I whisper. "But the rest of it . . . maybe. Not that it's enough for me to deserve you, because it's not, but I guess—well, I'll keep trying as long as you let me, and I have to hope that counts for something."

"It counts for everything," says Simon. "And what do you mean, it's not enough for you to deserve me? Have you met either of us? You're an amazing mage, and a ruthless footballer, and handsome, and from a wealthy family. I'm a fuck-up with no magic and I nearly caused the collapse of magic as we know it."

"You weren't trying to cause any harm, though," I argue. "Unlike me. I tried to kill you. And you saved the world! You're not a fuck-up; you're a hero. I stand by what I said—I could never deserve you."

Simon sighs. "Yeah, it was shitty of you to try to kill me. Like, very, very shitty of you. And I might be angrier about it if various entities hadn't tried to kill me pretty much constantly for my entire childhood. But the fact of the matter is that lots of things did try to kill me all the time, and I don't have the energy to be mad about all of them, so it's easier just to be mad at the Mage and leave the rest of it alone. And the fact that you were dealing with repressed feelings and extreme loneliness doesn't make it okay that you tried to kill me—it's not okay—but it does kind of explain it. But what really matters is that you won't ever do anything like that again, and you've saved my life, not just in big ways but also in lots and lots of little ways in the past year, and now we're in love and we're being adults about it."

I shoot him a look. "Since when are you the grownup?"

He returns the look with one of his own. "Since when did you think either of us ever got to be a child?"

I deflate. "Point."

Simon takes my hand, which makes me realize how little we've been touching this entire time, for all that we're lying facing each other on the same mattress. "Baz. We're in love. Accept it, okay? We're in love, and we're good for each other, and we deserve each other, and it's going to be all right."

"Since when has anything involving either of us been all right?"

Simon brings my hand to his mouth and kisses each of my fingers. "Since we got involved with each other," he says after the kisses.

"I swear you're getting smoother every day."

"You must be rubbing off on me."

"You're selling yourself short," I say, and then I yawn.

Simon leans forward and takes advantage of the fact that we're in bed by kissing me on the forehead, something he could never manage if we were standing up. "Maybe I am," he says, "but if so then we both are. And anyhow, it's time to sleep."

"Are you sure you're okay, though?" I ask. "After the nightmare?"

"You're here, loving me, aren't you?" he asks by way of reply.

"Yes . . ."

"Then yes. I'm okay."