Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Do you want my help with the shirt?” Baz gave me a clean T-shirt, but I left it on the dresser. “If it’s all the same to you”—I shrug one shoulder and twitch my wing—“it’s easier to sleep without one.” Baz nods and licks his bottom lip. “Yeah, it’s . . . all the same to me.” He shuts the bathroom door and comes to the bed, getting in next to me. I make room for him. His skin has pinkened up again. Still pale and grey—but a pinker grey. Rat blood looks good on him. “Are you getting crumbs in my bed, Snow?” “I’m the worst,” I say. “I don’t even notice them. You don’t mind sleeping some more?” “No,” Baz says, reaching for the milk bottle. “I’m knackered.” He takes a drink. I watch him swallow. I like it. I like him. His everything. I dig out the last biscuit, then hold it out to him. He smiles softly, taking it. I put my arm around him. “This okay?” “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty much always.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, Snow. There’s no use denying it.” “That’s . . .” I tighten my arm around him. I get my wing around him, too. I like having four arms to hold him. “It’s good. It’s better already, isn’t it?” “Better than what?” he asks. (I think he knows the answers to half the questions he asks me. He just likes to make me talk.) “Yesterday,” I say. “Everything is better than yesterday,” he says. “Yesterday was the nadir.” “It feels so long ago.” Baz sets down the milk. He brushes some crumbs off the duvet. I slink back in his bed, leaving my arm and wing open. His ...