there is no sign of land

Baz's hands are cold, too. Simon's are resting in his lap, pale, fragile, fingers barely stronger than twigs. Baz could snap them in half, if he truly wanted to. He could snap them at once, and then just as easily he could aim his wand at Simon's forehead and pull the trigger. Just like that.“I think he’d be okay with the chosen one being, like, anyone but me.”Ebb makes a small noise of complaint, eyes shining in the dark. “Don’t say that.”Simon shrugs. “It’s true. He can’t stand to look at me. I can’t stand to look at that… all that disappointment and frustration in his eyes.” ///Baz hates that it took him so long to notice how much Simon is hurting.