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wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

hiii!!! omg please please pleasee do a part two of 3 hearts broken cus it fucking slaps miss girl

part 2 to 3 broken hearts!!! ive been so 🥺 at all the lovely comments+interest pt 1 had so thanku all !

summary: serious serious angst again will tom somehow get it back (unlike looking cos boy is a fool)

warnings: again lots of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) / wayyyy too much tea / slating Dom abit (obvs fictional but idk if I like the guy sorry his opinions are :/) / commitment issues

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read part 1 here!!!!

That was three days ago now. Three days since you'd spoken to your boyfrien- well, Tom. It wasn't evident what the situation was.

The typical British weather brought with it the most ironic pathetic fallacy you could ever see. The clouds were dark and glooming, firing angry pellets of rain out as hard as they could. When you had pulled up on the roadside, it had just been a light drizzle but synchronised with your anxiety levels rising - so did the rain. When you finally opened up the car door, you threw your hoodie open with a sigh before running up the pathway to the front door.

It was the same burgundy red that you knew so well, but this time instead of just letting yourself in - you stood in the rain used the brass knocker thing twice. To be honest, you were hoping that no one was home - but in that house, it was pretty unlikely. After 30 seconds of getting drenched in the downpour, you were about to let yourself in with the spare key before the door swung open.

"Oh! Er Y/n?"

"Yeh um hi." You had to shout a bit over the sound of what must now be classified as a storm.

"Toms not-"

"I know. Can I come in?" As awkward and stunted as this conversation was, if you didn't get out of the rain asap you would literally end up drowned.

“Oh er yeh-yeh yeh come in.”

Harry stammered as he held the door open, gesturing for you to enter into the tiled hallway. Gratefully, you followed, throwing your sopping wet hood back down and wiping your feet on the floor.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I left some scripts here. My management are on my arse to read them and-"

"And you waited till Tom left for mum and dads?" The fluffy-haired boy has caught you red-handed; there was no defence, so you didn't even try.

Because yes, you knew on a Friday afternoon when Tom was home he would always, like clockwork, go to his parents just to kick back and watch gogglebox with both of them. It was only natural then that you chose Friday afternoon to come and pick up your stuff.

"I've been waiting in my car for half an hour till I saw him leave." Harry half laughed at that, still the two of you standing opposite each other in the hallway. "Um, do you… do you hate me Harry?"

Clearly, he hadn't quite been expecting your question going by the way his eyes almost bugged out his head.

"No, I-I, of course, I don't… look, I'm home alone so you fancy a cuppa?" Not being able to help the small chuckle, you nodded appreciatively, following Harry through the house.

"Your answer to everything is tea."

Harry had prepared the two mugs in silence as you sat at the table waiting patiently - if nervously too. You didn't miss how Harry had still used your favourite mug, having had to dig through the cupboard to find the weird square-shaped thing. Once done, he rounded the kitchen island and placed it in front of you, which you instantly cradled in two hands - for the hope of warming you up.

"You cold?" Obviously, it was pretty evident that sitting in your rain-soaked hoodie was not cosy at all. "Hang on a sec."

The boy sprung up again, returning moments later with a hoodie in hand, one he offered out to you with a little smile. The issue was that him and Tom shared clothes, so the hoodie he was kindly offering to you also had been worn by Tom before. Which made it hurt a little bit to wear. It was better than sitting soaked through though.

"How have you been then?"

"Not the best, to be honest, but uh… how about you?"

"Being with Tom while he's fighting with you? Oh, it's a barrel of laughs. You might've escaped it, but I haven't." He was trying to lighten the mood, and you appreciated it, offering him a half-smile that didn't really meet your eyes.

"Yeh sorry about that."

"Don't apologise; it doesn't sound like it's your fault Y/n."

That surprised you. Tom, especially when he was in moods like he was when you argued, wasn't one to admit when he was wrong. It was usually how the world was against him and how he was so hard done by. Accepting responsibility was something he hadn't said to you yet - but at least, small steps.

"He say that?"

"Pretty much… doesn't seem like he's angry at you, but-but he's still angry."

"At the world?" You rolled your eyes; this seemed to be the same old Tom through and through. Still immature. Still not with the right mindset.

"At himself." Harry countered, slightly entertained, when he saw the flash of surprise in your face as he sipped his drink. "And me… if I dare to so much as breathe this week."

This time you properly laughed, and Harry joined in too before the room fell back to silence - except the noise of the rain hitting the garden patio slats. You swirled the tea round in your mug, feeling the brunette's eyes on you. He'd always been your fake little brother too, since you'd met the Hollands way back 3 and a half years ago. Tom and yourself were barely adults, which meant the twins were still proper children. Harry had always been the one that understood you. Hollands, by nature, loved humans - loved to talk, to chat, to gossip. But sometimes, doing all that socialising got too much for you, as it did for Harry. He was the only one that seemed to understand social exhaustion. So when those moments had hit, you'd kept each other company in silence.

He got you, sometimes in ways your own boyfriend didn't.

"You know why he got so worked up, right?" You shook your head, looking up curiously. "Dad got under his skin on his birthday zoom thing."

Ah, now that did seem to coincide with the start of Tom's more petulant phase. To be fair, Tom had been asking to move in together for near enough a year now - but it was only in the past month it seemed to be the only thing you'd talk about and obviously only three days since the flight back. Dom's birthday barely a week ago, whilst you and Tom were both filming - except Tom had managed to get a day off where you hadn't. So you hadn't heard this conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"Was talking about how he and mum were settling down at Toms age, joked about how you rejected him, said maybe you were holding out for something better."

"Something better?" Harry sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"He'd seen an article just off a trashy tabloid… it named you Hollywood's golden girl or something, said you could have the pick of any person on the planet…"

Of all the people in the world, why is Tom affected by shit journalism? He knows how much bullshit people write. He knows how it's all made up, exaggerated nonsense. And what he should know, completely and totally, is how much you love him. And if he didn't, was that your fault? Had you done something wrong, something to make him doubt you?

Harry seemed to notice the internal dialogue going on in your head, adding to the point. "It wasn't the article though, it was the fact dad said it."

Hmmm.

You and Dom got on; it wasn't like you hated the possible future father in law or whatever. Just…. you had very different outlooks. As much as Tom prided himself on how' grounded his family keeps him' -to you at least, they aren't entirely at sea level either. They'd never really had any particular struggles in life. They were the definition of middle class, and that's about it. They lived in a posh suburb of London, had all their family still around. It was the perfect family.

And whilst you were in no illusions about how privileged your life was now. It hadn't always been. You'd never had the 'nuclear' family. Instead, only your dad and a string of dodgy and fleeting stepmothers while struggling to make ends meet. So you were just always wary of Dom, of his opinions that so often his boys took for gospel. They always seemed pretty sheltered and close-minded.

And yet, Tom was a grown man.

"I get that, I just… Tom should know that we know more about our relationship than his dad. I mean,… have I done something wrong? Made him think I'm not in this for the long haul?"

"No nonono Y/n he's just… well he's an idiot, isn't he? I don't think he properly understands why you're cautious about moving and everything. He's just an idio- "

Harry was cut off for lightly insulting his brother by the sound of the front door opening, both of your heads swivelling towards the source. You then met Harry's eyes in a panic, to which he replied relatively simply.

"Just talk to each other. For my sake." You would've argued if it weren't for the fact you were so focused on Tom's shuffling around in the entrance hallway - back early from his parents.

"Baz? Where you at? I thought I saw Y/n's car and-"

"Kitchen!!!" Before Tom could say anything else, possibly landing himself in more trouble, Harry interrupted as his chair screeched while standing up. And then Tom was just there. Standing in the doorway, his arms dropping limply to his side as he noticed you. Everything about that moment seemed to freeze, when you locked eyes with him for the first time in three days. It didn't go unnoticed, the way his Adams apple bobbed, the way his eyes widen. The boy looked plain and simply terrified.

It was Harry who broke the silence, after giving you a stern look that said 'stay'. The younger Holland boy walked up to Tom and spoke.

"Try actually talking and actually listening about your problems with each other." And then he was gone, down the hallway and up the stairs.

For a few moments, Tom stayed absolutely stationary, now staring at where Harry had been when speaking to the both of you (but mainly Tom). Long enough to put your sense of unease at an all-time high, ready to make a break for it.

"If you don't want to talk, then I can leav-"

"NO!" Apparently snapping out of it, Tom exclaimed loud enough to make you flinch from your seat. "Sorry! I-I just… I wasn't expecting to… you know, to see you."

"Yeh I just uh- just came to pick up some scripts… Harry cornered me with a tea, though; otherwise, I'd be…."

"Baz thinks the whole world could be fixed with tea."

"that's what I said!" You instinctively responded, forgetting the fact you're supposed to be mad at him, and just for a second falling back into your normal flow.

Tom didn't even try to hide his grin in response, until you quickly corrected your face- then he did too. Turning around to put the kettle on for himself. Because right now, he needed to fix his whole world, and he needed all the help he could get. For a period, the only noise was the sound of the kettle boiling, then the teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred - until he padded over, taking the seat across from you.

"So."

"It's been a while," Tom stated the bloody obvious.

"You never called."

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

You thought that the early signs weren't all that auspicious. His ability to read a situation once again failing.

"I wanted you to say something."

"Say what?"

"What do you think Tom?" He replied to the sarcastic tone by sucking in a sharp breath, holding it for a second, before slowly exhaling. As if trying to compose himself, take time to think of a response - a mature move for him.

"Well, I think you want me to say sorry? For being so moody and not waiting for you and for upsetting those kids. And thanks too, for covering for me?"

You just hummed. Waiting for him to continue. Because yes, you did deserve all those things. But you also deserved more. An apology for, oh I don't know, saying he didn't think you loved him? It was a wait that never ended, he had nothing more to add.

"Going by your face, I take it I missed something?"

The bloody cheek of it.

"Theres nothing else? Nothing else at all? …" You gave him that chance, the opportunity but all he could respond with was a shake of his head. "You thought I was fine about you saying that I don't love you?" You hadn't intended on raising your voice, but really you hadn't realised you did till after the fact. To blinded by rage at his ignorance.

"You want to talk about this now?"

"When else Tom?" You sighed, realising he perhaps wasn't ready for this conversation. Maybe he needed more time to think things through, have sense talked into him by various wiser family members. Or maybe, he never would be. That was the worst-case scenario. But also… you're most likely prediction.

He shuffled in his seat, clearing his voice but not saying anything. Not a peep.

"I have spent three years of my life with you. I've had countless nights of too little sleep because that was the only time you could facetime. I've exposed my relationship to the world and people's opinions because you didn't want to hide. All I've done is love you. How could you even say that?" There might've been tears in your eyes, yet you were determined to keep them at bay. You needed to have this out, one way or another, to be clear and cohesive and logical. No time to cry.

"Y/n I know that, I…" He sighed, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you were quicker to pull it away. There was hurt in his eyes, but so there should be. "It just sometimes feels like that's it for you. That yeh you love me but you just want to standstill. That this is as much as it'll ever be."

Your emotions were suddenly uncontainable. Your voice croaked as you whispered, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No love, nonono if that's how you feel then that's okay. But it's something I'm not… shit this is hard." He took a pause to take a sip of his drink, your glazed eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I can stand still anymore. And yeh I was pissy and childish the other day because my dad got under my skin about the whole moving in thing… But these past few days, it just has got me thinking. Because I love you, so much."

This time when he reached out to grab your hand, you actually leaned into it yourself. Not because you were giving in, but because this hurt. This hurt so fucking much that you needed something to ground you, or else god knows. Because the way he was speaking, it sounded so finite.

"I love you too."

"I do know, which is…is why this is so hard." At the very least, Tom had conceded that.

The conversation ceased to silence yet again. The room felt so cold; even Tom/Harry's hoodie was doing nothing to keep you from the endless empty cold that seemed to be coming from within.

"When I re-registered my health card last month, and I made you my emergency contact on it. I-I made you my next of kin on everything actually. I didn't think about it twice. And-and this-"You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, immediately pulling up the app onto the open page. "This is my Pinterest board for our baby's nursery theme. I know-" You paused, to quickly wipe your cheeks clear of the tear tracks that may or may not have been there. "I know it's probably a long way away, but I just love the Scandinavian theme." You laughed at yourself, suddenly embarrassed at your blabbering and quickly pulled up a different app. "And this… this was from the other week when I was helping Y/bf/n start her vows." Hands trembling as you turned the phone around for Tom to see again. "She was finding it really tricky so she said, what would you say to Tom on your wedding, so-so I made this list." You only dared to look at him when you were sure he'd be reading through that note.

It was bizarre because he looked… well, he looked happy. Here you were feeling traumatised, showing things that you'd barely even deeped how committed they were - and he was pleased? Feeling the fire burn once again inside of your chest, you quickly swiped the phone away and back into your pocket. Only then did he look up, eyes widening - presumably at quite how psychotic you looked.

"So don't you dare say that I don't want a future with you."

You said it with such force, there was a pause. Tom letting those words sink deep into his brain. The way his expression flickered minutely gave you hope. You thought he got it. You thought he really understood now.

"But why don't you want to move in then?"

There it was again. He knew why. But he didn't get it. And, probably, he never would.

You were about to crash completely. So you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even aware of your chair crashing to the floor in your wake. You ran out of that house and away from him. Away from who you had thought was the love of your life.

?give tom a final chance w one last part?

feedback is always v v appreciated <3

tom taglist : @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08

people i think might be interestd in this (sorry if not just let me know and i'll remove the tag!!!): @obiwanownsmyass @wildxwidow @parkersvogue @coffeewithoutcaffeine @tomhollandlol @thefallenbibliophilequote @clumsymandu @hiraethenthusiast @mannien @abrielleholland @evermorehabit @niallberry @greatpizzascissorstaco @runawayolives @annathesillyfriend @letsgotothemoonlight @lovelybarnes

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #harry holland

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theinvisibledreamergirl · 3 years

Text

Sweet dreams, TN

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Helena Craig) x M!OC (Clay Banner)

Words count: ~2.1k

Category: Smut/Angst/AU

Warning: 🔞 content/Language

A.N: I really wanted to picture something else. What if my MC didn’t get her place at Edenbrook Hospital in her first year and her boyfriend did? And what happens if she comes as a surgical resident in the 2nd year? Also I’ve decided that in this fic I’ll call MC in her middle name Helena or shortened Helen/Ellie. It’s the alter-ego of Klaw so it has nothing to do with her. After posting this I’ll log off from Tumblr ‘cause I know it’s a disaster😭😭😭😭

Song: “Sweet dreams, TN” - The Last Shadow Puppets (pls hear this first to understand it better ❤️)

MASTERLIST

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I just sort of always feel sick without you baby

I ain’t got anything to lick without you baby

Nothing seems to stick without you baby

Ain’t I fallen in love

“Do you have the keys for the handcuffs?”

“Whoa. Is someone getting a little afraid hm?”

“Well I don’t want to be useless without my hands. So I can touch you.”

“I do have the keys darling.” The two faces were closer breathing into each other’s air. “But I need you to be quiet now.”

“Show me then.”

It’s just the pits without you baby

It’s really just the pits without you baby

It’s like everyone’s a dick without you baby

Ain’t I fallen in love

The command was clear and both of them entered to the inevitable path.

Feeling each other’s skins in the most obscenely way and falling to that wild imagination that both of them had been restraining for a long time.

It was a heavenly and a desirably emotion that led themselves to be part of this trap.

They could hear their accelerated heartbeats as more and more they looked hungrily and darkly like animals fighting for domination.

Blue vs Brown.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

And all my pals will tell me is that I’m crazy

You bet I’m loopy alright

And I just don’t recognise this fool

That you have made me

Whoa I ain’t seen him for a while

Panting breath wasn’t in their expectations and shared a laugh before they reached the culmination and he unlocked her handcuffs to fall completely in his arms.

Their strong embrace fitted perfectly the curves of their bodies despite their sweat. When he was about to pull off she pouted in a whisper.

“No. Stay.”

“I will.” He promised with a searing kiss.

“But you did left me.” Her expression changed completely and in a mere of seconds she wasn’t there.

He blinked. “What?”

The sound of the alarm woke him up and suddenly he felt his underwear soaked.

“Holy shit I did this again!” He growled in frustration as he rubbed his face.

He made attempts to get up but his knees were too weak to keep his balance. Another attempt and he slowly started to walk. Or better a crawling you may call it.

He turned on his bathtub to make a quick shower and to clear this mess of himself. But the hot water made him feel again those goosebumps of that sweet dream and closed his eyes again.

She looped his arms around his waist and start to kiss his shoulders slowly and gently while moving her hands up and down his bellybutton. He let a content sigh while drifting again to that imaginary scene.

And as your shrinking figure blows a kiss

I catch and smash it on my lips

Darling I can’t seem to quit.

When there wasn’t a shoulder to lean on his head, he slapped his face growling loudly and continued his shower in disappointment.

Completely falling to bits

I really might be losing it

The idea that you’ve existed all along is ridiculous

I don’t know what to say

He missed her.

Not longer after that he arrived at Edenbrook gladly on time thanks to his fast BMW vehicle. He carried his bag through the hall of the hospital and a megawatt smile that he recognised it very well stopped him.

“Yo yo look who’s back again. My mann!” They clapped their backs.

“Ooff Bryce!” He was breathing hardly. “We were celebrating yesterday for the end of our intern year. I’m sure that we didn’t miss each other that much.”

“C’mon Banner can’t you just be funnier person in your life for once hm?”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Anyways I have to change my clothes unless you don’t have anything else to say.”

“I do actually.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I met someone today.”

“So?”

“You have no idea whom I have met.”

“Let me guess did President Biden come here?” He snorted when he saw Bryce’s not amused reaction. “Okay fine go on.”

“As I was saying I met today a female but let me tell you man... this woman is not like the others. She’s like a goddess that entered to this building and blessed my life when I made eye contact with her.”

Clay was really trying his best not to laugh to this exaggeration. “You have met plenty of women and it’s not your first time Bryce.”

“Tsk. It is my first time. And may I add she was like queen Cleopatra that summoned everyone when she walked here.” Bryce added in a wandering gaze while he was doing his usual ministrations. “Black stilettos clicking and wearing those black leathery pants revealing her curves...ohh I’m thinking I’m going to fall in love man. She had a long coat on her shoulders and that white shirt mmhmm.” He closed his eyes. “She truly was the boss and I’m betting on this... her elegant body will be in my bed. But-”

“And there’s always a but right?”

“Can you believe I didn’t get her name?! Not even her number!”

His friend squealed in laughter. “What did you think fool? That she was going to follow you straight into the on-call room?”

“Yes!” Bryce exclaimed. “That’s what I thought too man but I lost her because that damn nurse came to me for signing a patient in a surgery.” He sighed and shook his head. “I lost the most perfect chance today and I don’t even know what she was doing here... she can’t be a doctor though ‘cause she’s too beautiful for this job.”

“Well then good luck on finding her ‘cause I have to go now. See you.” He trailed off to the direction of the elevator.

“Yea see ya.” He waved back at him before he muttered. “Go back to surgery Bryce before Tanaka cuts you off.”

————————

“This is going to be your office.”

“Thank you so much Mist- Dr. Tennant!” She corrected herself briefly before she would say another embarrassing thing. “I really don’t know how to express my gratitude for this.”

He scoffed. “Please can you just talk normally Dr. Craig? I think at the first time we met the rule was by names. Call me Simon.”

“Sure. Simon.” She really wasn’t used to it though. First no title of Miss/Mister and now calling by names. USA had really big differences with UK not only in titles but also in medical policy and legacy.

“And now I must say to you congratulations!” They shook hands. “And also I’d like to introduce you to our Diagnostics Team.”

She nodded in agreement.

When they finally arrived at the front door Simon stepped first to get the attention of his colleagues who seemed to be occupied as they were studying a case so he cleared his throat loudly. All of them turned their gazes to him except for an attending who didn’t even have to recognise his friend’s voice.

“What now Simon?”

“Hello to you too my pal. You know everyone that there was going to be a resident in the absence of Edgar’s, right?”

“Yes we know that.” The Japanese-British woman spoke.

“Have you brought him here?!” Judging by his accent it was an Indian man who exclaimed happily.

Simon chuckled. “Yes Baz but it’s her.”

“Ooooohh.”

“Let’s hope she’ll be useful for this job.”

“Don’t worry Ethan. She was selected as the best surgical intern in Imperial College of London Hospital and many other things among but I’ll let her to present herself.” He made her a signal to come inside.

“Everyone this is Dr. Helena Craig.”

“Please you can call me Helen or Ellie if you want.”

“I like Helen better.” The woman got up and shook her hand. “Dr. June Hirata.”

“Me too! Hi I’m Dr. Sebastian Mirani but everyone calls me simply Baz.”

“Ethan?” Simon asked quietly to get up and greet with her but he wasn’t moving any inch.

Helen gave him a knowing smile and said without breaking her gaze to him. “It’s alright for me if we don’t shake hands. I feel the same way too when I meet people that haven’t given me a good and a reliable impression at first so I completely understand your condition now.”

She caught him off guard. Ethan Ramsey expected her to scowl or glare into his eyes but instead she was killing him with that radiating smile.

Fuck.

The same smile that was reserved for him yesterday at Donahue’s bar.

In the corner of his eyes there was an unfamiliar face that stayed some stools away from him.

She lit up a cigarette even though Reggie had been strictly to every client not to use it but it seemed she didn’t care about it.

Her blonde hair was tied up in a bun revealing her constructed jaw and her long neck.

She had also earrings pierced. Was she a troublesome woman? Or maybe a drugs dealer judging by her extravagant outfit. But what caught his attention was that she didn’t look amused or happy.

She was sad. And exhausted.

Along with her was a small luggage that she had carried with herself here. She called Reggie to bring her a strong scotch and found by the latter that she was British and it was her first time in Boston.

She had also asked him for a hotel nearby this place and Reggie suggested some of them including “La Vista” Hotel which was the best. She thanked and left him the payment.

Now her eyes landed on the icy blue that had been staring on her for a long time and gave him a wicked smile. She raised her glass in purpose and licked her lips after drinking bits of it.

She was really gorgeous in all of his honesty and they didn’t break their eye contact for maybe a couple of minutes. He could do it every time without any hesitation just to rest in those piercing brown’s.

He was a very handsome man and even though he seemed older than her, she didn’t give a single shit. She could imagine his toned muscles and abs beyond those pesky clothes. She was marveled and could sense that he felt the same too.

It was like they both understood each other.

No words needed.

Only looks.

But she knew who he was. Ethan Ramsey. And she was glad that made him completely at her mercy and was enjoying it.

Poor man she thought.

She couldn’t wait for his reaction tomorrow when he would find out who she was actually.

His colleague.

Helen could imagine his flustered face and transfixed into her with his mouth agape.

She got up from her seat slowly in a tantalizing move while he drank in one gulp his scotch and called Reggie again for another fill.

She walked past him but before leaving with her luggage she lowered her head to his ear whispering dangerously. Her breath was a tingle in his ears and could almost feel her lips brushed.

“Thank you for the distraction. I really needed it.”

She left unceremoniously when something dropped from her and he immediately caught it.

It was one of her earrings with the initial ‘H’. He was about to call her but she was gone.

Maybe he would find her tomorrow again. Here.

And he really found her. In the most obscenely and the most embarrassing way if he could describe it. Instead of what she said he got up with his smuggling look.

“Wrong observation.” When she heard his deep voice for the first time she gulped and could see his eyes glimmering triumphantly. “I hope you don’t ruin this opportunity.”

He caught her off guard. While they were touching each other’s palms an unknown heat coursed down in their bodies. Bullshit they thought because he was just an attending and she was a resident. Suddenly another voice was approaching to them.

“I’m terribly sorry for my lateness but I was-”

He abruptly stopped himself when he saw her.

His eyes were widened and his breath hitched.

She was here.

Baby we ought to fuck

Seven years of bad luck

Out of the powder room mirror

Could I have made it any clearer

She saw him too.

But not with a happy or a grateful face that always had welcomed his heart.

This was a mere seconds of glaring and then a plastered smile that he knew too well.

Clay Banner had screwed things up a year before he entered Edenbrook Hospital.

And now the woman of his dreams was standing right in front of him with his attending.

His girlfriend.

His Helen.

Or... was?

It’s love like a tongue in a nostril

Love like an ache in the jaw

You’re the first day of spring

With a septum piercing

Little Miss Sweet Dreams, TN

—————————————————————-

TAGS WILL APPEAR IN A REBLOG!

Ps: if this fic doesn’t surpass The Grinch Girl fic notes... there’s not going to be a part two😂😂 sorry...and Happy (late) International Women’s Day💪🏻💋🥰🥰

UPDATE: Part two is posted and it’s called- She’s thunderstorms

#open heart fan fiction #open heart choices #open heart fan fic #oh au #n*fw #ethan ramsey #my mc #ethan ramsey x mc #clay banner #clay banner x mc #triangle of love series #part one #my writing

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nightimedreamersworld · 3 years

Text

Carry on Countdown - day 5: Sleepless.

Midnight dates

I'm going with fun and fluffy for today's prompt! @carryon-countdown

Summary:

The world looks like an entirely different place at night.

The streets aren't really desert, but it's close enough to it that it feels like we're the only people left here. Just Baz and I, alone in the night.

Or: Simon and Baz go out on a (way past) midnight date.

Word count: 1,3k

Read it here on AO3

Or below the cut:

Simon

I can't sleep.

It's almost three in the morning, and I've been tossing around on the bed for what feels like forever. I've used the restroom, tried to drink warm milk (which usually helps me calm down), and I even tried studying. I'm running out of options at this point.

It's hard to tell what triggered this. Most days, I'm so tired I'll collapse onto my bed and sleep for eight hours straight just fine. I have nightmares, occasionally, but nothing keeps me up for too long these days.

Except, well, when I can't seem to turn off at all.

So, when I can't think of anything else, and it's obvious that my brain won't shut down anytime soon, I call Baz.

He picks up after the third ring. "What?"

His voice is groggy and heavy with sleep. It makes me smile. I used to feel guilty for waking him up like this, but… well, I've been learning to reach out to him more. Tell him what I need, ask for help, and sometimes just… spend some time with him.

"I can't sleep," I say, pacing around my room.

"What's going on?" He asks, sounding a bit more awake now. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"I'm fine. Just… feeling restless, for some reason."

"Oh, I see." There's a brief pause. Then: "Snow, is this a booty call?"

I bite my lip, nervously. "Depends."

"On what, exactly?"

"Would you like to go out on a midnight date?"

"It's… three in the morning, darling," he says, a taunting edge to his voice.

"Anyway. Would you?"

He doesn't answer immediately, which makes my resolution about this falter. I'm about to back down the offer and hang up when he says: "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

I grin in the empty room and open my wardrobe.

Baz

Snow is ready to go when I get to his flat. Off to where, I'm not sure yet.

"You wouldn't be content with bothering Bunce, would you?" I ask, jokingly. He knows this is not a bother to me. (As if I don't break into his room every once in a while at the wee hours as well.)

He grins at me, and I can't suppress a smile in response.

It's nice, the way we can do this now. Rely on each other and joke about it and know that we're solid. That none of us is a burden to the other.

"She has an important test tomorrow," Snow says, seriously. "Finals, you know how that goes. So, I didn't want to wake her."

I nod, taking his hand as he comes out into the hallway and closes the door, quietly.

He's dressed nicely, wearing that pair of jeans I got for him on his last birthday, with a light blue shirt and his favorite denim jacket. (He spent the summer holidays learning how to embroider. Now, there's a pair of red dragon wings ornamenting the back of it.)

"Hey," I say, squeezing his hand when we enter the lift. "You look nice."

He blushes, and it makes my heart skip a beat. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

I snort. "This expensive thing?" I point at my velvet overcoat. "Don't let yourself be fooled. I'm wearing pyjamas underneath."

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling up. I swear to Crowley, everything about him at this moment makes me want to smash my face against his.

Oh. Wait. I can do that now.

I turn to Simon, cupping his jaw with my hand and running my thumb over his cheek, just under his eye. A question.

His lopsided grin is all the answer I need before kissing him.

It starts softly, as it is more often than not. But we haven't been seeing each other so frequently lately, what with his job and uni and our therapy appointments, and I guess we both missed this.

His mouth moves hungrily against mine; just for a moment, though it's enough to light me up from the inside in a way that makes me think the overcoat is useless.

It's over too soon. We part when the lift's doors open, and get out hesitantly, still holding hands.

"Wait," Snow mutters as we reach my car. "Were you being serious?"

I stop with my hand on the door handle. It takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about, but then I snort again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Snow?"

He takes that as an excuse to start unbuttoning my overcoat. I laugh, grabbing his wrists. "Not in the middle of the street, you nightmare! It's fucking cold."

"I just wanted to check!" Snow says, putting his hands up.

"So it was a booty call!"

"Merlin's beard, no," he laughs. "I mean, not really. Yet."

"If you say so."

He shrugs. "C'mon, Baz. We need to be back before dawn." Then, he takes the car's keys from my hand and plops down onto the driver seat.

I stare at him, eyebrows shooting up. The audacity.

"What?" Snow asks, grinning.

"Who gave you permission to drive my car?"

"Wouldn't you if I asked?"

"Yes, but you didn't!"

He huffs, getting out and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Can I drive?"

I consider saying no, just because I love the way he pouts when I do that. (His lips are already twitching, anticipating it.)

I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. "Fine."

Simon

The world looks like an entirely different place at night.

The streets aren't really desert, but it's close enough to it that it feels like we're the only people left here. Just Baz and I, alone in the night.

I don't know exactly what about driving feels so calming to me, but it does the trick, so I don't dwell on it.

We turn the radio on and drive around for a while, singing along to the songs. I've got my window rolled down, and the cold night air fills my lungs.

(It makes me feel good, being aimless like this. Like I'm an arrow whose only purpose is to fly, not to land.)

We stop at a red light, even though we don't really need to. I turn to Baz.

"Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," he says, the overcoat closed tightly around him. "Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure yet," I say, my fingers thrumming over the steering wheel.

"Do you want to stretch your wings?"

I think about it. It's been a while since I've had time to go flying, and to be honest, I miss it—the cold wind on my hair, feeling weightless, and being up in the clouds…

I smile at Baz. "Would you go with me? Flying, that is."

He frowns a bit, and I wait, expectantly. This isn't something we usually do, but when we do…

It's incredible. I mean, flying is always incredible, but having Baz in my arms and knowing he trusts me enough for that…

"Alright," he nods, eventually, smiling shyly at me. "Do you prefer to go to the beach or the country?"

I think about it. The night stretches before us, and so does the road.

"You know, the sea looks beautiful at night. We could see the stars."

He's smiling, and the street lights light his face beautifully. "Sounds good, love."

The light turns green, but my foot hesitates on the accelerator. "...But we can also go home, if you're tired."

Baz lifts an eyebrow at me. "Please, Snow, don't insult me like that. I'm a creature of the night. I can handle some sleepless hours."

"What about your classes?"

"Ever heard of afternoon classes?"

I grin widely. "Brilliant."

Then we're hitting the road, and I know the night is just long enough for today's adventure.

#carry on countdown #coc 2020 #carry on countdown 2020 #simon snow series

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 4 years

Text

Gift Fic!!

A very happy birthday to my dear @vkelleyart !! A little something to brighten your day and hopefully make you laugh!

I’ve Been Everywhere

Shepard

I don’t think I would have given them a second look if it wasn’t for the wings.

You see a lot of unusual cosplay at Ren Faires. You see a lot of cleavage too, but I’m not going to complain about that.

Some of the cosplay is amateur, homemade, but still in the mood of the whole thing, you know? And some of it is expert level, seriously slick.

Those wings were something else. Those wings were magic.

It’s hard to spot Speakers. They blend in, glamour the obvious, layer on the mundanity, making it nearly impossible to catch even a glimmer of the magic they hold. They go out of their way to do it, to mask the magic.

Not these three. At least not in the usual way.

Granted they looked pretty run-of-the-mill at first sight—a chubby, Middle-eastern looking girl in something like anime cosplay, what with that school uniform look. The tall, dark-haired guy with the Anne Rice, modern vamp vibe. My eyes almost slid over the stocky dude with them–he was just so ordinary looking .

Until those wings popped.

Maybe that should have been my clue. The ordinary. But it didn’t feel like the way Speakers usually mask it.

Because once I took a good look at them, they were practically leaking magic everywhere. Like they failed a Subtlety of Magic class or something. Do they have classes for Speakers? Like schools where they learn to control the magic and filter it, to hide it in plain sight?

I wonder. I’ve never heard about anything like that on the message boards.

These guys would obviously be dropouts, if they actually do have schools like that. They could use a semester of Remedial Magical Skills 101 or whatever they’d call it.

Those wings got my attention. They looked so real, even from a distance. Fluid. Not like the mechanical stuff I’ve seen before. And there was that weird thrum in the air when they popped out.

I mean, I’m not saying I can sense Speakers or anything, but there’s definitely been a change since the whole demon incident. Like I crossed a threshold or something, with magical beings? Like a veil was lifted, maybe.

I can spot them a lot better. Most of the time.

These three though. They didn’t look like much at first glance but they may as well have had SPEAKERS tattooed on their foreheads, the way they were acting. As if I could stay away from that.

I don’t know what was up with all that nonsense they were doing at the Faire. Wands out in the open. Magical words flying. Poorly, at that.

They really must be dropouts or complete dumb-asses or have gone rogue or something. No magicians would ever risk being so blatantly obvious with their magic.

I mean, I’ve followed other Speakers before and I’ve never seen a hint of a wand or heard a whisper of a spell cast out loud. I’ve read up on it—on the web, on the message boards, heard from other people who were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the magic workers doing their thing.

I’ve managed a few words with one or two myself.

But they’re evasive, secretive. They don’t talk about magic, they don’t even admit they’re magic. And they most certainly don’t go around sprouting functional dragon wings, decapitating fellow vampires with funky spells and using wands in public.

I’d be surprised if these three aren’t on some delinquent wanted list.

I trailed them when they left the Faire. For a whole mess of reasons.

They’re intriguing, for one. I’ve always wanted to know more about Speakers. These guys, they’re so out of control, so careless with it. I thought maybe this was finally my chance. My chance to get in with Speakers, find out what I can about them. Research, you know?

They’re nothing like the ones I’ve read about, the ones I’ve sweet-talked into spending a bit of time with me.

A witch-girl who decapitates first, asks questions later.

Berserker fly-boy.

And then that magical vampire. That’s a new one. A vampire with a wand. Who kills other vampires. I’d have said they were some sort of elite, covert, vampire infiltration squad, what with the decapitation and dusting they unleashed a few hours ago on the local Dracula crowd.

If they weren’t so completely inept at the covert part of that equation.

Maybe they’ve got something to do with the Next Blood.

Not that I got a chance to ask. They bugged out of there before I could get close enough to start chatting, introduce myself, get a conversation going.

They probably wouldn’t have given me the time of day, being magicians. Even though I helped that homely Edward Cullen wannabe with his spell. He’d have been dusted if I hadn’t.

I get why he chose to stick with the vampire cosplay. I mean, I can see it. Camouflage yourself in plain sight. It makes sense. Puts people off your trail.

He’s pale. And he’s got a widow’s peak.

But still. The circles under his eyes kind of detract from the look. And that crooked nose. It’s kind of the first thing you notice—it really takes over his face, like he’s all nose. Overly groomed eyebrows, far too heavy with the foundation, and then that honker. Yeah. He’s no Edward Cullen, that’s for sure.

I can’t believe they’re driving right into a Quiet Zone. You’d think they’d know what a bad idea that is. But then again, these three seem mighty clueless for magicians. Or vampires. Or harpy hybrids. Whatever they are.

It was quick thinking by Edward (I’m just going to call him Edward, it’s easier) to act like it was all a show. That might work for run-of-the-mill Normals. But anyone like me—or a demon in disguise, any Maybe really–wouldn’t be fooled.

Not with them spilling magic like that. I’ve never seen anything like it. Spells, magic fire, the dude bro guy literally flying. (I’m going to call him Kevin, it’s easier.)

It was unreal.

I flash the brights. I don’t know how to get these idiots to pull over. If they’re driving right at it, they’ve got no clue what trouble they’re getting themselves into.

I flash the brights again. The Mustang just speeds up.

Mustangs aren’t made for late night drag races on gravel. I try to stay close behind. They come back onto the main road just before the Henge.

Well, that’s it. Just crossed into the Quiet Zone.

I speed up.

The Mustang practically does a donut as it turns into the parking lot. No idea how to drive either. They need more than some friendly advice–they need a handler. Like a chaperone or something.

I pull up in front of them. Cut the engine and the lights. Get out.

“Hi.”

They don’t trust me but at least they let me get them out of that mess with Jeff Arnold. Never a good idea to cross Jeff or any of his posse.

And I was right about this crew. They are careless. The girl–Penny–she just magicked her way in here, into this hotel room, without a care in the world. Then she cast half a dozen spells on the other two. Simon and Baz. (I’ll have to stop calling them Kevin and Edward in my head.)

Spell after spell, to try to get the skunk funk off. It’s not as bad as it was, I’ll say that. Not as good as it would have been if we’d had tomato soup, but I doubt there’s a spell for bringing bathtubs of soup into existence.

She just cast them all in front of me, like I didn’t even exist. I expect they’re going to try something on me. I wouldn’t put it past them. They’re not masking their distrust, I can tell you that. Not the first time I’ve dealt with that and I’m sure not the last. I’m used to it by now.

These three don’t seem to be following any set playbook, just reacting to situations as they come up. I suppose you could call it resourceful and bold, but that doesn’t fly with the local Maybes or the resident Speakers.

Not the way it’s supposed to be done. There’ll be a reckoning if they don’t watch out.

That’s where I come in, if I can smooth talk them well enough to get past their defenses. Penny’s fierce, I’ll give her that. Put a proverbial knife to my throat while I was driving the getaway car. I don’t know if that’s sheer bravado or stupid desperation. Probably both.

I should be able to bring her around. If she ever lets me get to talking, that is.

They all look like hell. Grubby, exhausted, the faint aroma of skunk still clinging to them.

I’m right about Baz though. He’s a vampire, no question. Took a chestful of shotgun pellets and lived to tell. I don’t know if lived is necessarily the right word.

Survived might be more accurate. I know people call them the undead but I didn’t really believe it until I got up close and personal with this guy. Scrawnier than the Twilight vamps and a lot less sparkly, for one. Almost as fast though, when he was running alongside the truck.

But there’s a weird innocence to him. I don’t know if that’s the right word.

I mean, he’s fierce too. Cold as ice, grimly menacing. Certainly not afraid to play with fire, which seems a bit risky to me, considering.

No qualms about incinerating his own kind, that’s for sure.

I’ve seen vampires before, from a distance. Like the ones at the Faire. They’re pale and arrogant, powerful and vicious.

None of them ever looked quite this lost.

He and Penny collapsed on the bed by the window almost as soon as we got in the room. I hadn’t pegged them as a pair, but it works, I guess, if you squint.

Opposites attract, so they say.

And they are opposites, at least in looks. He’s tall and lanky, pale as the moon, all sharp edges. She’s short and round, warm brown skin, warm brown eyes. At least they’re warm when she’s looking at the two of them. They’re blazing and accusatory when they’re on me, that’s for sure.

Still, they’re nice eyes.

Edward’s—I mean Baz’s—nose is even more noticeable up close. It’s like they fitted him with the wrong size? Like it was made for a much larger person. Someone with a broader face. And it’s too high, like it needs to be shoved down a half inch. That’d probably make the proportions even worse, what with that wide mouth of his.

Was his mouth always that way, I wonder? Or did it get bigger because of the fangs?

I have so many questions.

Doesn’t look like I’m getting any answers tonight. Penny and Baz fall asleep in minutes, not even bothering to get under the covers.

So it’s just me and Winged Victory over here. He’s got his back to the door, like some threatening sphinx guarding the exit.

The sphinx I ran into last March was far more attractive.

I can’t tell if Simon’s got freckles in his acne scars or scars on his freckles. In any event he’s got literal craters on his face. And so many freckles. Big ones, small ones, clusters of them.

It’s like some pint-sized Jackson Pollock shook a paint-laden brush at him. Repeatedly.

I don’t know what to make of him. He was like some Biblical avenging angel, wielding cosplay swords like they were the real thing this afternoon. Staking vampires like it’s his literal job.

I don’t know. Maybe it is.

Simon’s got a scar that runs down across his left eyebrow. Splits it in two, with a little bare patch in the middle. His arms are crossed over his chest at the moment. He’s got scars all over them too--wide, silvery scars. Thin pale ones. Puckered gouges that look like they were left by claws.

He’s glaring at me, but I’m used to that from Maybes. At least until they get to know me.

I just smile back.

read it at ao3

#carry on #wayward son #shepard #baz pitch #simon snow #penelope bunce #happy birthday venessa #idea from rainbows tweet about simon describing Baz and attraction being SUBJECTIVE #shepard from omaha #my writing #my fic #crack fic

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theshrubbery · 3 years

Link

Chapter 7 of Can I Be Close to You

I hope you enjoy! Also, I’m not sure if the links are working, I haven’t been able to load anything on Tumblr for a while - I’m not sure if that’s the same for everyone, though!

SIMON

Baz’s bed is comfy. I’m sitting in the middle of it with my legs crossed, waiting for him to come back. I’m hoping he comes back to his room anyways. I’m meant to be with Mordelia, but she’d told me to do one after I dropped her back in her room, so I came back here.

I’ve been sitting here a while now. I’m bored. I don’t know where I’ve stuck my phone and I can’t be bothered to look for it, so I’m stuck with nothing but my own thoughts and picking at the lint on Baz’s bed cover until Baz himself bursts through the door.

I don’t think he expected me to be in here, the way he throws it open and storms into the room.

The way the tears are beading along his jaw.

I scramble from the bed and stand there, dumbly, a little panicked. A lot panicked. Baz rushes to compose himself, quickly wiping the tears and acting as though he’d just been wiping his face.

“I thought you’d be with Mordelia. Or in your room. Snooping again, are we?” Baz says, bitterly. It lacks the bite of his usual retorts and it makes my chest tighten. His voice is hoarse; watery and thick in a way that I don’t think I’ve ever heard. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’ve ever really been in this situation before; I’ve certainly never actually seen Baz cry. I’ve heard him a few times, during the nights at Watford, but it was always dark, and I always ignored it.

“What happened?” I ask, not rising to his bait. “Did you argue?”

“What do you think?” Baz snaps, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling as he closes the door. He leans his weight onto one leg, keeping his gaze locked above my head. He clenches one hand on his hip and uses the other to quickly wipe at the tears that keep forming.

I take a step forwards, no idea if that’s the right thing to do. What does Baz need? Should I leave? Should I stay?

“Are you okay?” I fight against the tightness in my throat to ask him.

“Snow, just—leave. Please leave. I’m fine, it’s just—it’s just my father.”

“I don’t think you should be on your own right now,” I tell him, the words just falling from my mouth. I take another step towards him; he still isn’t looking at me.

“Please, go.” The hand at Baz’s hip tightens, trembles, clutches at his own shirt.

“As much as I hate your guts, you don’t deserve to be treated like shit by your own dad,” I say. Baz goes quiet, the room silent enough for me to hear the way his breath is hitching. I can see tears welling in his bloodshot eyes, his bottom lip quivering before he bites on it to try and keep it still. Baz tries to take a deep breath. Then I watch as he swallows, his throat bobbing. Then his face begins to screw up, his eyebrows furrowing, his mouth pulling into a frown, his eyes squeezing shut.

Fuck, what do I do? I’m probably making this worse, aren’t I? Should I let him cry it out? Try and make him stop? He told me to leave but did he even mean it?

Baz presses both his hands to his face, trying to muffle his sharp hiccups and shuddering breaths. He’s beginning to hunch over a little, and he looks so vulnerable and small as he sobs and curls into himself that I start to feel sick with the anxiety of not knowing why.

“Why doesn’t he love me,” Baz hiccups out. He says it the way people do when they’re upset. Like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it, like he has no control over his mouth. I’ve never heard Baz sound so broken.

“’Cause he’s a dick,” I say. I’m so far out of my element I think I can see the fourth-dimension.

“But—” Baz chokes on a sob, then another, and just one more before he can carry on speaking. “But he’s my father. Why won’t he—” He shudders, heaves in more air. He’d probably be able to breathe a lot better if he took his hands away from his stupid face, if he tied his hair back, maybe. Baz sobs again, following it up with a pathetic whine that has me prying my hands from his face and fighting the urge to kiss them.

“Baz… Come on,” I say as I pull his hands down gently. He looks wrecked.

“My father is right there he’s—it’s like I’ve lost him, too. I just—I just want him to be my father.”

I manage to get his hands away from his face and I keep hold of them. Baz is blotchy and red; tears seem to be falling faster than his eyes can make them. But even then, wretched as he looks, I still feel like I want to kiss him again. It hurts to see him like this though—proud, pompous Baz, usually so confident and poised, reduced to this crying mess. It’s hard to see someone so well put together pulled so far apart.

“C’mon, come with me, let’s go sit down.” I try to move him using the grip I have on his hands, but he refuses to budge. His legs are starting to shake though, and I don’t trust his knees to hold him up much longer.

Baz shakes his head and starts lowering himself down to the floor. Okay then, floor it is, I guess. I know how stubborn Baz is—it’s no good trying to get him to the bed if he’s so fine with sitting on the floor—so I follow him down without letting go of his hands.

He thumps to the floor on his ass and I sit in front of him, close enough to see the pores in his skin, resisting the urge to wipe the tears from his cheeks. I never felt like this when Agatha cried. When Agatha cried it was sort of like; there, there, it’s okay but with Baz… Baz sitting here, crying his eyes out, it makes me feel like I need to fight the world. It’s making my eyes burn.

“Is being gay so wrong?” Baz sobs over his lap.

“Of course not,” I tell him firmly, pulling on his hands to get him to look at me. “Of course not—Baz there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I can’t help it,” Baz cries, lost in his own thoughts. “I can’t help it. Why won’t he love me?”

I don’t know what to say to that. To be completely fucking honest I think I might start crying along with him if I open my mouth to try and say anything at all. I don’t think Baz will listen to anything I say at this point anyways, he’s too far gone. I steel myself and try anyways though.

“Your feelings aren’t flaws, it’s just part of who you are.” I yank on his hands again when he looks away from me, force him to focus his eyes on mine. “You should be proud of it. It’s not something to be hated, you’re fine as you are, Baz.” I’m proud of myself for managing that. I’m surprised at how easy it was to say.

Baz’s eyes flick between each of mine, like he’s searching for something inside of me, and then his face twists back up and he slumps forwards into my chest. I wasn’t expecting him to do that, and it takes me a moment to reorient myself to the feeling of Baz’s face pushed into my neck, the feeling of his hot breath on my skin as he sobs.

Hesitantly, because you can never be too fucking sure with Baz, I let go of his hands and extract them from between my chest and Baz’s to pull him closer to me in a hug. It seems like the right thing to do; Baz pushes his face even further against me and wraps his own arms around my waist. His legs are tucked under him, splaying to the side beneath the arches of my own legs, which are bent at the knee and spread to let Baz sit between them. One of his ankles is touching mine; the contact is making my skin tingle.

I reckon he’s gonna be really embarrassed when he comes back to himself but for now I think it’s best if I just let him get it out his system. So, I do. I just let him cling to me and cry like the world has fallen down around him. His hands are twisting in the back of my shirt, pinching my skin, but I can’t bring myself to care; I don’t care. Right now, all I care about is my mortal enemy, who, I’m realising, I kind of want to hold in my arms for a really long while. And maybe kiss again. But mostly I just want him to smile.

It’s uncomfortable sitting hunched over like this, I’m a sloucher by nature. And I’m not too far away from the wall, so I squeeze my arms around him tighter and shuffle backwards until I’m leaning. Baz clings a little harder, but I don’t think he really notices.

Eventually, Baz seems to cry himself out. He slumps heavier against me, warm and solid and there. His chest and shoulders still stutter with hiccups and shuddering breaths, but he’s calming down. He must’ve needed the release, he seems so slack now.

BAZ

I feel like I should be horrified. Or at least embarrassed. I’m not though, or at least not yet. I just feel safe. Snow is terrible at comforting people and yet he knew exactly what I needed to hear, exactly what I needed to do. I haven’t cried that hard in years. It’s probably why I exploded like that in the first place—I’m a champion at bottling everything up. Conceal, don’t feel, or whatever it is Mordelia has been going on about recently—pretty sure it’s from some film.

“Alright?” Snow asks me. He sounds so soft that I can’t help but imagine he loves me like I love him. But that’s wishful thinking and I know it. I feel him pull away from me and try to look down at my face where I’m keeping it bowed down towards our laps. Oh, sweet mother of god, I’m in Simon Snow’s lap.

“Fine,” I reply. I try to loosen my grip around his waist but instead I pull him closer again. I feel, rather than hear, Snow make some sort of disapproving noise. It’s like a low hum that vibrates in his chest; I feel it against the side of my face. I never want to let him go. I want to sit this close to him forever, I want to feel him like the warmth of the sun all over my skin until the day I die.

I sit up and remove my arms, shuffling backwards away from him, leaving the security of his arms and legs. My face feels sticky and crusty. It’s disgusting and I wipe at it, still refusing to look at Snow—I think I’m afraid of what I might or might not see—and try to think of something witty to say, something Baz-like.

“I hope you’re happy,” I say, thinking the words up as I speak them. “You have enough blackmail material to destroy me, now, don’t you, you bastard?” I try to sound callous, maybe a little venomous, but my voice wobbles and I finish speaking with a hiccough. How ghastly.

Snow leans away from the wall and tucks his legs beneath him, pressing his hands firmly into his thighs as though he wants to reach for me just as much as I want to reach back out to him.

“I’m not gonna hold this against you.” I don’t look up at his face yet, but he sounds like he’s pouting.

“Why not?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to stop me from doing anything stupid. Who came up with this fake-dating idea anyways?

“You… That would be low, even for me. I have standards, Jesus, Baz.” The tremor in his voice makes me look up at him. Or that’s what I blame it on, at least. My stomach somersaults a little when we make eye contact.

“Snow, were you crying?” I blurt before I can try for any semblance of tact.

“What—No. No!” Snow blinks frantically to try and dispel the tears but this only shakes them loose. “Fuck. Maybe a little.” He pauses. “Okay, fine, I did. A little. I couldn’t help it!”

We must be a sorry sight, the two of us. Me, crying like my soul’s being ripped out. Snow, crying because I’m crying. What a complete tosser. I love him. What’s new, really?

“You’re a disaster, Snow,” I say. I keep my voice as level as I can—blank so that Snow can make of it what he will. I notice the golden shadows beginning to slide down the wall above Snow’s head, capturing his fine, flyaway hairs in a gilded glimmer. It must be later than I thought.

“Are you hungry?” He says, ignoring what I said.

I nod. “I could eat.” My voice still has an unpleasant gravelly thickness to it. “I don’t want to see my father, though.”

“No, yeah.” Snow waves a hand and nods his head. “That’s probably for the best right now. I’ll go get us something to eat if you want.”

“Can you even remember where the kitchens are?” I taunt. I think my nose is starting to run and I’m tempted to wipe it with my sleeve, but I resist—that’s disgusting. Besides, I’ve already embarrassed myself enough in front of Snow for one day.

“Of course! It’s about the only place I can.”

“Lord behold, Simon Snow and his stomach-ruled compass,” I say drily, rolling my eyes. “At least change your shirt first.”

My tears, snot, and god-knows what else are all over him. He looks down, I expect him to pull a face at it, but instead he just snorts and tells me he probably should and pulls the shirt off. He doesn’t even stand up, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t wait until he’s on the other side of the room. Nope. Not Simon Snow. He just yanks his shirt off and then brings it closer to his face to inspect it, sticking out his lower lip in concentration.

I’m about to make a comment. I’m not sure what kind of comment. Probably an asshole one. I don’t, though, it dies in my throat. Or, maybe, it’s sucked out by the slight pudge of Snow’s stomach, like a dream to a catcher above a bed. That sounds ridiculous, even to me—I just can’t stop staring at him. He’s beautiful. Luckily he’s not paying any attention to me, or if he is he’s not giving me any indication that I should stop looking.

Snow pushes himself to his feet and I try not to watch the way his arms flex and contract as he pushes himself up. Obviously, I fail. I’m ogling the poor bastard. He’s mumbling something to me, but all I’m hearing is sound and all I’m seeing is him. He goes over to my closet, throwing the dirty shirt down onto the floor beside the door of it like the animal he is, and begins to look through my clothes for something to wear.

The cheek of him.

It’s so hot.

“Baz, don’t you just have, like—I dunno, t-shirts?” Snow is pulling this affronted sort of face, like my choice in clothing offends him. He should understand that some of us have taste.

“Do I look like I own—”

“Never mind, I got one.”

I raise my eyebrows.

He turns around holding up a faded black t-shirt with a large, peeling, print of David Bowie plastered onto it.

“David Bowie?” Snow asks me as he pulls it on.

“My aunt got it me for—” I hiccup again, like I’ve been doing since I stopped bawling my eye sockets out and I try to play it off as cool. “Look, Snow, just go get us food, okay? I’m starved.”

“R-right. Right, will do. Be right back.” He grabs his phone (it’s a flip phone, I hate it), nods, smiles, ducks towards me like he’s going to do something else, flushes red, ducks away, and leaves.

I breathe out a heavy sigh and push my hand through my hair, make a fist and grip it there. I want to rip it all out if that’ll ease the pressure in my chest just a little.

I love him. I love him. It’s all I ever think, all I ever feel. It’s getting repetitive. I can’t find it in me to say it feels old. He’s setting my brain alight recently and I don’t know what to do with it. The way he held me… I’ve had dreams of Simon holding me like that. Admittedly I wasn’t crying in those, but still, the feeling of his arms so tight around me was as perfect as I thought it would be.

My face is still sticky. The skin on my cheeks feels tight and crusted. I really should wash it. I go down the hall to the bathroom whilst Snow’s occupied downstairs with his foraging and splash some cold water on my face. I look dreadful in the reflection. My eyelids are so puffy and red I wish I hadn’t looked. I can’t believe I let Snow see me like this. Nothing I can do about it now, though, I suppose. What’s done is done and all of that.

Back in my room, I go to my bed; I sit. Eventually sitting gets boring, so I lay back instead, looking up at the wooden panelling of the canopy. Snow’s taking his sweet time. My back hurts. I sit back up, restless, then sigh. The light in the room changes, dips a little darker, and I go to the window to look out at the grounds.

The window rattles as I push it open and lean in the frame on my crossed forearms. It’s so cold that the air feels crisp and sharp, I feel so stale and wrung-out, it’s refreshing. Two dim headlights trundle up to the front gates, I can see them from here, and a little blue Prius pulls to a stop. I’m confused until I hear the front door open and see Snow jogging up to meet him, waving an arm to tell the driver he has the right place.

I try not to laugh. I really do, I don’t want Snow to see me and ruin his surprise. The driver is wearing a Dominoes uniform and is carrying what is clearly a pizza box. As grateful as I am for pizza, Snow clearly didn’t think this through all the way and it’s hilarious to watch. He’s on one side of the gate, the driver the other, and neither of them has the code to get in.

I can’t hear what Snow or the driver is saying from here, I can just hear the low vibrations of Snow’s voice, but I imagine it’s great. Snow makes some sort of gesture and the driver responds by nodding and turning the pizza box to the side to pass it between the bars in the gate. It looks like some sort of criminal exchange and Snow is all the more endearing for it.

He thanks the driver, turns, and I duck away from the window to make sure he doesn’t see me and go back to the bed. I’m not really sure why, but it doesn’t matter.

I hear the car drive away and, a few minutes later, the bedroom door creaks open and Snow pokes his head through the gap looking as though he isn’t sure he even has the right room. When he sees me, he kicks the door open with more force and flourish than is really necessary and holds the pizza box above his head like Rafiki and Simba.

“Look what I got!”

“I can smell what you got.” It smells glorious. My mouth’s watering.

“Never insult me again, dickhead!” Snow crows, as though he’s giving me a gift from the gods and not a takeaway pizza. It might as well be though, a god-given gift, that is. My family are very big believers in eating properly—I can’t even remember the last time I had a takeaway. My stomach grows loudly.

“Whatever possessed you to order pizza?” I ask, as though the idea of stuffing my face with the stuff isn’t glorious. I pull my legs up beneath me on the bed and gesture Simon over.

“It’s the food of champions, this,” he says as he climbs up next to me and puts the box between us. He starts opening the lid and I swear I see golden rays of light spilling out from inside.

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure."

“Don’t you ever dispute the healing properties of pizza, Pitch,” he says seriously. He opens the pizza box all the way and removes the little bit of plastic from the centre. “Sorry there’s only one. I didn’t have the money for more.”

“You bought this yourself?” I say, surprised. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like he could have asked my father if he had any spare change laying around. I guess I’m just not used to thinking about money in the same way that Snow is. “I’ll pay you back.”

Snow waves a hand and makes a noise of, I presume, disagreement. “No, no. Don’t bother. I bought it for you because I wanted to.”

SIMON

Baz is looking at me as though I just proposed to him or something. Then he clears his throat and gingerly peels a greasy slice of pizza out of the box, tipping his head back and guiding it into his mouth with his other hand.

It’s making me feel hot all over, watching him. And my chest is twisting with this strange sort of protectiveness. The sort of protectiveness I was told I should have felt for Agatha.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of pizza you liked so I just played it safe.” I blurt out. The pizza is just plain margherita. To be honest I wanted more on it—maybe pineapple—but Baz is a picky eater, he has been since first year.

“This is fine, Snow,” he says once he’s swallowed his mouthful, covering his mouth with his hand as he speaks. He’s done that since first year, too.

He finishes his first slice and picks up a second, I’m still only on my first. I can’t concentrate. The pizza tastes great but it’s like a thick ball of dough in my mouth. I’m nervous, anxious, jittery. I don’t know why. But I do know I want to brush the hair out of Baz’s eyes. It’s slipped from behind his ears and is draping over his eyes—he doesn’t seem bothered about it, but I want to touch it.

And whilst I’m looking at his hair I look at his eyes. Really look at them, whilst he’s looking away from me, and notice how long his fucking eyelashes are. They seem a darker colour than his hair, which is black as it is. But it’s the kind of black that seems to hide a rainbow inside it when the sun shines at the right angle, like raven feathers or oil. His eyes are slightly down-turned, and the sort of turbulent grey you see ships sail in in those old paintings.

I take another bite of pizza and another lock of hair falls into Baz’s face. I clench my fist to stop myself moving. He flicks his head to move it out his face, scrunches his eyebrows, tilts his head to the side to keep his hair away from his mouth. This angle exposes his neck to me, his strong jawline.

Something like butterflies dipped in molten glass swoops low in my stomach.

I like him, I realise.

I’m in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-fucking-Pitch.

I choke on my pizza and Baz rushes to pour me a glass of water from his bedside pitcher.

#carry on #carry on fandom #carry on fanfiction #simon snow #simon snow fanfiction #baz pitch #baz pitch fanfiction #simon x baz #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fic rec #cibcty

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angelsfalling16 · 4 years

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Into the Fire

A 20 First Kisses Fic

Read on ao3

Summary: Baz always said that this would end in flames, but Simon thought he was just being dramatic. When he gets a glimpse of what Baz dreams about, Simon sees that Baz truly believes it’s true, and he has to find a way to change his mind.

Word Count: 2640

A/N: This fic was inspired by the song Bruises by Lewis Capaldi, but the title is from the song Into the Fire by Thirteen Senses.

***

Simon

As I lie in bed, my eyes heavy with sleep, I fill the spell start to take effect, lulling me into a deep sleep.

It’s a spell that is supposed to allow you to see into someone else’s dreams while you’re sleeping. I’m hoping that it does as I want it to and allows me to jump into Baz’s dreams so that I can finally figure out what it is that he has been plotting.

I didn’t trust myself to cast the spell, so I bothered Penny until she agreed to cast it for me.

If only to prove to you that he isn’t plotting anything, she said before reminding me for the fifth time of all of the things that could go horribly wrong. You could get stuck in the dream. You could end up in someone else’s dream. You could never wake up. You could die in the dream and not come back. Baz could find out and kill you for going into his dream.

Aha! I interrupted. So, you agree that he wants to kill me.

That’s not what I said. But I waved her off and told her to say the spell.

I didn’t feel any different after it was cast, but that was fine because I wasn’t supposed to until I was falling asleep, so I hurried up the stairs in Mummer’s House and waited quite impatiently for Baz to fall asleep that I could sleep myself. I only hoped that our close proximity would ensure that it was his dream I ended up in.

I don’t know how long it takes between the time that I fall asleep and the time I find myself in Baz’s dream.

I find myself still in our room, but it’s different. All of the furniture is gone, and there is a fire blazing, filling up the room. It’s a couple of feet away from where I stand at the door.

At first, it seems as though the room is filled with flames, and it must mean that Baz is dreaming about setting the room on fire with me in it, killing me while I sleep.

After a few moments, though, it starts to become more apparent that the flames create a circle, the edges of it mere inches from the walls, only arching away from where I am still standing.

A harder look shows that there is a figure huddled in the middle of the flames. I can’t see any features from here, but it’s obvious who it is.

Baz.

The flames are a sight to behold.

You imagine what it would be like to watch something go up in flames, but you will never truly understand what it’s like until it happens to you.

The fire is bright swirls of red and orange that seem to be drawing me closer. The only odd thing about it is that it should be sweltering in here. My shirt should be stuck to my skin with sweat, and my throat and lungs should be filling with soot, choking me until I can’t breathe.

None of that is true. It’s quite the opposite actually. The air around me is cold, and I shiver as I take a step closer to the flames.

Is this what hell is like? Being surrounded by flames, yet unable to get warm?

I reach out, and the fire flairs up for a moment before settling back down again. I take a deep breath to steady myself, but I don’t pull back.

A distant voice in my head reminds me of Penny’s warnings, but I barely here them over the roar of the flames. It sounds like they’re calling to me, and I don’t want to fight it. I want to be a part of them, to see what would happen.

The flames reach out like hands, beckoning me closer, and I can’t resist the pull. I imagine letting it grab hold of me and pulling me in until it’s too late.

In fact, I let it do just that. I stretch my arm out farther, letting the flames lick at my skin and surround my arm with a vice-like grip. I don’t have time to panic before it yanks hard and pulls me in.

But rather than going up in flames, I am able to pass through it, unscathed.

It’s eerily quiet on this side of the fire. On the outside, I could hear its threatening roars, but in here, there is only silence.

The boy in the center of the flames doesn’t notice me, but it is definitely Baz.

“Baz?” I whisper, taking a careful step towards where he sits on the floor, head pressed to his knees, which his arms are wrapped around like he’s holding on for dear life.

It takes a moment for him to lift his head, and when he does, there are tears tracking down his face, which he doesn’t even attempt to try to hide from me.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice sounds almost childlike compare to the way he usually speaks to me. He sounds uncertain and frightened.

“I—.” I’m not sure how to respond to that.

I can’t tell him that I hopped into his dream. I only wanted to see if I could figure out what he’s been plotting, but I never could have imagined seeing something like this. He must be having a nightmare.

Rather than responding to him, I take another step forward but stop when he flinches.

“Stay away from me.” His voice shakes when he speaks, but his tone is harsh.

“Baz,” I say quietly. “I just want to help you.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t. You want to kill me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you hate me. And because I’m a m-monster.” His voice breaks on the last word, and a fresh wave of tears overtakes him.

I wish that there was something I could do. I hate to see him in pain like this.

I know that we don’t get along and that I’m constantly trying to catch him in the midst of his evil acts, but I never wanted to end up like this: scared and alone.

“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.

He scoffs, turning a familiar glare on me, unsoftened by his sobs.

“You of all people should know that that’s not true. For three years, you have been going around telling anyone who would listen that I’m a vampire.”

“That doesn’t make you a monster.”

“Then, what does it make me?”

I don’t know, I realize. I see Baz as my enemy, have since the day we met, but I have never once thought of him as a monster.

He’s not a monster. He’s just a boy.

And that’s what I tell him.

“You’re a boy,” I say, moving towards him slowly, afraid that I’ll scare him off even though he has nowhere to go. “You’re my roommate. The person who drives me mad on a daily basis. You are a lot of things, but a monster is not one of them.”

He turns away from me, and I can tell that he doesn’t believe me. I have to find a way to make him believe.

I walk the last few steps to get to him before kneeling in front of him.

He still doesn’t look at me.

“Baz,” I say quietly. “You are not a monster.”

His hands clench into fists before relaxing again, and the flames flare up brighter around us.

They must be caused by his mood. If I can get him to calm down or distract him, they fire might die out.

I have to try something. Anything.

“Baz,” I say again.

He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. Talking isn’t going to get us anywhere. I have to try something else and fast, because the circle feels like it is tightening around us.

I reach out to him, placing my hand against his cheek and lightly pushing it until he’s facing me.

He opens his mouth, probably to protest or tell me to get lost, but before he can say anything, I lean forward and press my lips against his.

I start out soft, then kiss him more firmly when he doesn’t pull away.

It takes a moment – a moment where I feel like I’ve made the wrong decision and have only succeeded in making things worse – but then he starts to kiss me back, pushing back against me with a quiet desperation.

Too soon, he pulls away from me, and when his hand reaches for my neck, I begin to panic, thinking that he plans to throttle me. But then his fingers wrap around the chain around my neck, and he yanks hard, snapping it. He grabs my cross and tosses it across the room. It passes through the flames that are slowly beginning to recede.

The corners of his mouth turn up in a facsimile of a smile. Then, he kisses me.

When I open my eyes again, I’m back in my bed.

The flames have disappeared, and the room seems to be the way it was before I fell asleep.

I turn to look at Baz’s bed and am relieved that he appears to be sleeping soundly. I hope that his nightmare ended when I left.

I feel like I haven’t gotten any sleep, but I don’t think I can go back to sleep now. I quietly check the time and find that it’s reaching the time that I would normally get up to get ready for the day. I must have been asleep longer than I thought.

I let myself lie in bed for a while longer before I decide that I can’t keep imagining that kiss any longer.

It felt so real, and for some reason, I want to try it again. Even though that would be really stupid.

I just want to feel Baz’s lips against mine again and know that he is safe. To let him know that he is safe with me and that I don’t think he’s a monster.

I shake the thoughts from my head and slip quietly out of bed, grabbing some clothes in the dark before heading into the en suite.

I start to get dressed, and I realize that I forgot to grab a clean shirt. Rather than put the other one back on, I decide that it will be okay to just step back out into the room to get one since Baz is still sleeping.

Only, when I step out of the en suite, the lights in our room are all on, and Baz is making his bed.

He turns at the noise, and when he catches sight of me, his eyes narrow.

“You look like crap,” he sneers.

I ignore him and rush over to my wardrobe to grab a shirt, hastily putting it on. I miss one of the buttons and end up having to redo it, all while feeling the heat of Baz’s gaze on me.

I can’t tell if he remembers the dream, and if he does, he probably chalked it up to an even worse nightmare than usual, one where he was forced to kiss me.

My hands shake as I run a hair through my hair, hoping to somewhat tame it but not expecting any real results.

“Where’s your cross?” Baz asks suddenly.

I reach for my neck, but I can already feel that it’s gone.

“I-I’m not sure.” I know that it had it on last night, but I don’t remember taking it off.

I think back to the dream to when Baz tore it off of me. When he tossed it, it landed in front of his wardrobe.

Obviously, the dream wasn’t real, but maybe because I was…

I step around Baz to get a better look, and sure enough, my cross lies discarded on the floor, right where it landed in his dream.

I move to pick it up, and Baz watches me.

“What is it doing over there?” He asks, a hint of surprise coloring his tone.

“You threw it there,” I murmur, leaning down to pick it up.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. In your dream.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t remember it?” I ask, peering up at him. I’m not sure which answer I’m hoping for.

“Remember what?”

“Your dream.”

“What are you on about, Snow?”

I swallow hard, knowing that he’ll likely kill me when he finds out, but there’s no going back now.

“I went into your dream last night, and you pulled off my cross.” I don’t tell him why he did that. It’s probably best to keep the details to minimum.

“Why were you in my dream?” He hisses.

“I-I wanted to know what you were plotting.”

“And you thought my dreams would tell you that?”

“I don’t know,” I say in a small voice, only now realizing that it was an absurd idea. “I thought that maybe even in your dreams, you would be thinking up ways to kill me.”

“That is still a horrible breach of privacy.”

He lunges for me, and I back into the wall.

“Anathema!” I shout, just in time. Though, by the look on his face, I probably should have let him hit me. That way, he would be unable to hurt me again.

“Tell me what you saw,” Baz says quietly, not backing away from me.

“You, surrounded by flames. And y-you were crying. But then I—.” I cut myself off. I can’t tell him that I kissed him. He might change his mind and hit me anyway.

“You what?” He asks. Or really demands.

“I k-kissed you.” I brace myself for his fist. I don’t expect what he does next, though.

He laughs. He actually laughs at that.

It’s a harsh mocking laugh that I’ve heard a thousand times, but this time, it digs into me.

“What’s so funny?” I growl, not seeing any humor in this situation.

“First, you think that I would be plotting in my dream. Then, you think that you can kiss me like I’m Sleeping Beauty and a kiss will awaken me.”

“It’s not like you were complaining,” I grumble.

“It was a dream,” he shouts, laughing harder.

The sound rings throughout the room, making me feel hot with anger and making the edges go a little hazy.

I need to calm down, but I can’t. Not when he keeps laughing.

He’s lying. That kiss was not just a dream. It was real. It felt real.

I want to hit him but can’t for the same reason he couldn’t hit me.

I need to do something, though.

So, because I’m an idiot and apparently have a death wish, I take the step forward that will close the distance between us and kiss him, wiping the smirk off his face.

I expect him to push me off immediately, but after a moment where he freezes, he begins to relax and kisses me back.

The kiss is at once familiar and like something wholly new.

The memory of the dream-kiss is there in my head, but it pales in comparison to the real thing.

Baz’s lips are soft against mine, and he’s surprisingly gentle as he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I tilt my head to kiss him deeper, and he sighs against my lips, a soft little sound that I hope to hear again sometime.

When we pull back for a moment to catch our breath, I realize that I’m still holding the cross in my hand, so I quickly toss it across the room before kissing him again.

This is what we should have been doing all alone. We should have been kissing instead of fighting because this is so much better.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fanfiction #my writing #20fk #i'm weirdly proud of this fic #tho the summary sounds a lot better than what I actually wrote #but i don't want to change it #i also could have done a better job of editing #but i hate editing my own writing #and hate asking people to beta #so i'm sorry for any mistakes!

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Two Sides of the Coin (2)

Chapter 2: One for the Job | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

MODALA, KAGAN SYSTEM, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The planet was nearly barren, blanketed with grey skies and silver clouds that hung low—but neither thunder nor lightning appeared, yet the possibility loomed as low as the puffs and pillars of clouds as it seemed to close beyond the peaks. Mountain ranges framed the horizon in silhouettes as black as charcoal. Woodland barely covered the gorges and quarries, flora was sparse and selective—you’d see more rock than leafy greens, to see some vegetation, one would have to trek for miles.

Rocky terrain outstretched itself to the far reaches of the planet, leaving barely any room for water to spring, empty craters served as bowls to a rain that may never come. A city stood into the middle of the wasteland, a beacon and an oasis—for those running away from something or someone, or those who just want a nice tall glass of liquor to drown away their grievances.

The same shuttle escorted Vader to the surface of the planet, it docked near the enormous structure that distanced itself away from the border of the city. Strategically placed near a lake, it was nothing but a block of concrete, adorned with statues that served as mere ornaments upon the gates of the fortification. The architecture was crude, perhaps the owner invested it all on the space. From a certain point of view, it was deemed a castle—at least in a ruffian’s standards.

The lone dark lord of the Sith ventured into the stronghold. A hatch in the giant metal door popped open and out comes a scanner droid, grumbling in a throaty, alien language at Darth Vader.

“I am here for the Bounty Hunter’s Guild.” Vader simply said.

A single glimpse was enough to prompt the person on the other side of the door to let him in. The main door creaked, pulling its weight was enough of a burden in its rusty cogs, and the castle owner raised the door high enough for the esteemed guest to bring himself inside. The guards at the entrance to the main audience hall slightly shifted upon the sight of Lord Vader—who ignored them as he passed them by—wordlessly, they agreed that the guest is tenfold the terror than anyone who’s set foot into their stronghold.

Darth Vader’s grand—albeit abrupt—entrance into the main chamber caused all heads to turn and the chatter to quieten. Literally standing in the center of attention, he ignored the curious and intrigued gazes, their eyes unable to penetrate through that black shell from head to toe.

The castle owner, a human male—whose face was etched with wrinkles and sullen cheekbones—sat at the center of the chamber, surrounded by his guests and fanned by a pair of scantily-clad, lavender Twi’leks. When Darth Vader stepped into the brightest light in the room, the master of the house sprang from his throne with his arms extended on both sides—a boisterous welcome, contrast to Vader’s entire demeanor.

“Well, well,” the owner beamed, his voice mingling with the soft, robotic breathing of the dark lord. “Welcome, welcome!”

He was received with an indifferent silence. The owner started over with a throaty chuckle through the clenched smile.

“Baz Oldak, head of the Guild’s local charter, how can I be of service, m’lord?” he introduced himself in a jester-like tone, mixing between sarcastic and genuinely welcoming, curtsying at the dark lord while keeping a safe distance.

“I require a bounty hunter,” Darth Vader simply said, and then let himself finish to emphasize the next words. “Your best one.”

Baz Oldak chuckled, impressed by the simple yet heavy request.

More heads and eyes shifted, side-glances played along Darth Vader’s periphery but he blatantly ignored them all, not knowing that most of them were actual bounty hunters. The idea of being hired by none other than the Darth Vader himself is a demanding job—but a rewarding one nonetheless once his contract is satisfied. The idea of being flushed with coin from the most powerful authority in all of the systems is each and every single hunter’s wet dream.

“Well now, Lord Vader,” Baz rubbed the curve of his chin. “And who’s the miserable sod that one of my hunters will come after?”

“That is only between me and whom I’ll choose,”

“By all means, m’lord,” Oldak motioned to the entire room with one slow sweep of his arm. “Take your pick.”

The blood-red coating of his helmet’s sockets gleamed menacingly under the spotlight; ever since he stepped into this place, the sleight of his head finally panned across the room—he was personally scouting the one.

Apparently, he wasn’t satisfied with the variety before him. He angled his head back in front of Oldak.

“None of these seem to be capable,” Vader commented. He stepped closer to Oldak, to which the ordinary male took one step back out of sudden terror; the dark lord spoke in a hushed tone, albeit it’s more frightening than his usual tone. “These couldn’t be all of your hunters? I heard that this local charter of the Guild housed one of the best. Surely, that’s no exaggeration.”

“My, my, I suppose I’m going have to bring you to the back room,”

The codenaming didn’t faze the dark lord, though it intrigued him. Oldak spoke in whispers, his words only came through Vader, and then gestured to a particular area across the chamber where he may find what he needs.

With great haste, Darth Vader brushed past Baz Oldak’s shoulder, the impact of his black duraplast breastplate was enough to leave a bruise.

“She isn’t expecting any visitors though,” the small man quipped a final time, massaging and flexing his shoulder as Vader halted—hoping that this little host would have said something more substantial.

The blast door led Darth Vader into a room. A lounge of sorts with a booth in the center, but the shadow of the canopy obscured the body of the one who’s seated alone, glass of liquor in hand. Their legs perched over the center table were the only ones exposed under the light, the boots slightly wiggling in a leisurely rhythm but there was no music—not even a light note or melody in place.

As Vader went closer, he was able to gradually make out the face of this hunter who kept their head low in the shadows. The silhouette of the Sith lord had already occupied the hunter’s periphery, to which they had no choice but to pull their head up to face him in the comfort of their shade.

“Well, let’s see, now…” a female voice hummed. The whites of her eyes slightly popped out in the dark. “Tall, dark…

Her eyes examined Vader from top to bottom, she afforded a little chuckle, “Brooding. You must be the fabled Darth Vader.”

Silence from Vader, exempting the slow, huffed inhaling and exhaling through his mask.

However, he sensed the smallest twinge of fear within this young woman. He wagered that her confidence sourced only in the shadow of that canopy. She remained unmoving and pressed on with her questions.

“So, what brings you to this desolate skughole?”

“A contract, no less. Your guild head spoke highly of you and I wanted to test out the wares, Jidné.”

A scoff-like chuckle escaped her nostrils, she raised her eyebrows—not caring whether Vader could see her expression in the dark or not.

“Then you must be very desperate,” Jidné retorted as-a-matter-of-factly, tipping her head a bit before sipping her glass.

“My previous agent has performed quite disappointingly. I am simply expanding my options.”

“How perceptive,” she puts down her glass, untangled her crossed legs and pulled them away from the table, finally showing her face into the light—to face Vader.

Long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders, the loose locks that dangled from her hairline framed her young face. A scar—whose flesh has healed and pinked over time—traced the contour of her cheekbone, standing out from the natural color of her skin. To Vader, she was but a child wearing a woman’s clothes; his curiosity brought him nothing but questions as he studied the girl.

So young, for someone in such a dangerous occupation. He thought to himself as he saw through the red film of his helmet’s socket.

Though the appearance didn’t matter to him as long as she could finish the job.

She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. “Now then, who’s the goose I’m chasing?”

Darth Vader was never one for long conversations, and he always kept himself reserved with his words unless necessary.

“A boy,”

“A boy?” Jidné scoffed, afraid that a laugh might offend him. “You have to do better than that, m’lord. But okay, I’ll bite: what’s the deal with this boy?”

“That boy is a Jedi.”

Jidné’s head angled to the side, her interest significantly piqued. Her squinted eyes under the shadows of her room prompted Vader to elaborate.

“And what’s so special about this Jedi—besides the hefty bounty on his head?”

“He is in possession of something vital. Bring him to me alive—along with what I want from him. I can guarantee your payment will cover both his bounty and your fee,”

“I suppose Baz told you that I require a 50% upfront payment. Also, you do realize that you have to pay a portion for him—he calls it a referral fee.”

“Consider them all done.”

Darth Vader slightly angled himself, turning back to the guards, bellowing a single yet firm “Guards!” and a pair of Stormtroopers poured into Jidné’s lounge room—one of them held a cylindrical case. He puts it down on the center table, a single turn of the handle and the hydraulic lock unlatches; revealing columns of credits neatly lined to the very walls of the case.

In a single glance, Jidné estimates the total contents to cover her upfront and Baz’s referral—with a quite generous tip just so he can shut his mouth. Her client has certainly outdone himself.

“The bounty and the other half of your fee will be given once you’ve delivered what I ask.”

She fished out a single bar from the cylinder, light danced on the clean, golden finish of the money as she examined it under the light. She returned it and sealed the container herself.

“By any chance, do you know his name?”

“No. Red hair, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Okay, that narrows things down a bit,” she leered, making a pensive face as she rolls her eyes and bobs her head. “Good enough.”

Jidné stood up to her full height, but not even she can level herself with the literal standing of the dark lord—whom she wagered to be no less than six feet and three. She had to lean an inch back to fully view his entirety. The light of her lounge room highlighted the sharp edges of his mask and the crimson film on the sockets showed her distorted reflection.

She awkwardly stepped to the side, the canister filled to the brim with credits in her hand, and proceeded to leave Vader in her own chambers as she prepares herself to head out.

“Remember, bounty hunter: alive.”

That reminder stopped Jidné in her tracks, she glanced over her shoulder until Vader was back in her peripheral vision. Her snarky attitude had been taken over by her deadpan, serious mode the moment she saw herself to the door. Now, a firm tone of the voice lingered in her throat as she answered.

“Yes, my lord.” She assured.

Finally, Jidné exited the room and left the door open for Vader. Her right hand searched for the leather holster dangling by her belt, she pressed her palm against the fabric until it sank to follow the mold of the weapon inside, her fingers blindly tracing out the vague shapes that embossed over the holster.

She zipped through the crowds loitering by the doorway of the main hall and headed to the docking bay of the castle where her beloved carriage awaits her.

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raspberry-arev · 4 years

Text

And they were roommates! (Snowbaz fic)

My writer self is back, armed with a cringe title and a whole lot of angst. Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary folk, I bring you a second part of the only fanfic I have ever written: And there was only one bed! (full of me projecting onto Baz because I can)

Summary: Baz and Simon have been sharing a bed for quite a while now, but their relationship is not progressing at all. Who will make the next move? Can they just talk to each other like normal people? Find out for yourselves!!

Word count: 7,5k

Tags: sharing a bed, kissing, unholy amounts of angst, heartbreak, oblivious gay energy, Penny the emotion translator, eventual fluff, Baz being a tortured soul x10

BAZ

What followed was silence.

Approximately five weeks passed since the time Snow exploded at me – this time in verbal form – and demanded we keep sleeping in the same bed, for no better reason than he wants to. (Look at pretentious I am, saying “approximately” like I haven’t been counting every single night.)

Each sunset marked the time Simon Snow would come from the bathroom, breath smelling of peppermint toothpaste, and lay down in my bed. Sometimes I wasn’t there to witness it, as I was at football practice or feeding underground, but I assumed it would always happen like that. I could see him there, waiting for me, every time I closed my eyes.

I didn’t even have the energy to call myself pathetic at this point. I was too far gone.

The issue I had with this was that we – upon previous agreement, you could say – didn’t ever talk about it. At first, that seemed ideal. Wouldn’t it be dangerous to get too close? We might as well avoid it. Not give anything we were doing a name. What an adventure,I thought like the idiot I am. We would be secret lovers that didn’t call themselves secret lovers for the safety of it.

Now, I desperately wanted something defined. Something I could name and understand.

Snow and I… were stagnant. Each night was the same as the last. He was there, and however late I came, I sunk into the strange familiarity of his arms. (I hated the way I adored him even if he was snoring next to me with his mouth open.) But there was nothing else happening – just the sleeping, as he had said before.

Was I hoping for, at the very least, weekly make out sessions? Yes. Like bloody hell I was, who do you even take me for?

Admittedly, I was hoping he would say something, too. I was hoping he would try to give me more hints at whatever he was feeling when we were together. And he did not. Night after night, he did not, and I am a coward, so I surely wasn’t about to go first. Contrary to what it looked like sometimes, I did not have suicidal tendencies.

One thing did change, and I felt like it would be only a matter of time until people got suspicious. We stopped fighting. After all, rowing all day and cuddling all night was too great a contrast. I wouldn’t be able to keep that up. All our name-calling, playing tricks and consequent bursts of anger were replaced by strange, polite indifference. Snow mostly ignored me outside our room, perhaps besides the occasional staring across a room that I reciprocated as soon as he looked away. And I attempted to ignore him, painfully aware of the weird looks Dev and Niall were exchanging when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. I dreaded the day they would start poking their noses into it.

What pissed me off then was that even when we were alone, our conversations were never more than small talk. Not more than asking about when the other was coming back as he was one foot out the door. “You’ll have to spell the bed again, I think.” Asking whether you can open or close the window. Maybe a couple of: “Sorry, am I laying on your hair?” Or: “Can you move, my arm is asleep.”

And, who could forget, talking about fucking homework.

I distinctly remember this one time when I laid down next to him and he hid his face in my shirt, arm thrown over my body. I got comfortable and pulled him closer, just a tiny bit, so I wouldn’t look too desperate for contact. As I was thinking disgustingly gentle thoughts at him, he suddenly pushed me away just a little so he could look at me from under his heavy eyelids. “Baz?” he said, his voice deeper than usual. I swallowed. “Yeah?” I whispered almost without moving my lips. I thought I knew what was going to come next, and my stomach did a flip. Nay, three flips at once.

And then he asked, “Was there homework for Greek?”

I thought I would slap him. That was the closest I came to yelling at him – I called him stupid and lazy at the very least, because of course there was, firstly, and secondly, how dare you be so ridiculously oblivious, Simon Snow? How dare you?!

He didn’t understand why I got so upset.

I didn’t care to give him lessons in taking a hint.

I tried to think of it like this: what we had was already more than I ever thought I was going to get in my life. And thinking about that usually made me smile just a little. Who would have thought, right? Tell that to my younger self and he would probably pass out. In a good way.

(Can one pass out “in a good way”?)

(Do vampires have to worry about fainting? I didn’t get around to testing that out just yet. Maybe if Snow kissed me…)

These days, I kept thinking about all that the two of us could be. About… about “together”. And I knew I must be delirious, yes, but oh Crowley, it all must’ve meant something, right? Maybe, just maybe, Simon was thinking the same things I was. Maybe neither of us was brave enough and we were just playing this charade of “casual” because we thought the other didn’t care. Maybe we were bothclueless idiots and we couldn’t take a hint.

I felt myself growing more hopeful.

I felt like with all that life was throwing at me since my early years, this would be the one good thing that happened to me. This would save me and outweigh the tragic rest. If I just took the chance.

Soon.

Soon, I would.

Maybe not today – or tonight – but when I felt the time is right. On Morgana, I would.

***

Another day. Another day just like the others, full of schoolwork, stolen glances and talking about nothing of importance.

I was gathering my things for practice, while simultaneously burning a hole in Snow’s scalp with my eyes. Why wouldn’t he just talk to me? He was usually friendly with people. But then you let him sleep in your bed and he pretends you don’t exist…

Well, actually, no. I was being unreasonable. It’s not like I knew what to talk to him about either. Nothing seemed important enough to even hassle with. I wanted to talk about the two of us, about kissing, about dates, about more, morethings than just schoolwork or who uses the bathroom.

I couldn’t stall any longer. It wasn’t like Coach would be mad at me for coming late; after all, I was one of his best players, and if all else failed, a single mention of Mother would put him back in line.

But why would I wait here? What for?

Just as I turned my back to him, he glanced at me from his bed. (The only time he used it was when he was lounging during the day.) “When are you gonna be back?” he asked me. His tone was about as intimate as a landlord’s. I fought the sinking feeling in my chest.

“Late,” I replied. I needed to hunt today.

“Ok. Bye then,” he murmured, and I closed the door behind me without a response. I had to stop in the middle of the corridor to take a few deep breaths. I was so, so annoyed with him. And with myself. What was it I even expected him to do? A dramatic declaration of unyielding affection as I was off to practice? Was I stupid?

Yes. Stupid in love. There was no use in pretending I wasn’t. I thought of Simon Snow, as I did most of my waking hours, and let the warm feeling spread throughout my body as I descended from the stairs and walked on to the school grounds.

I cared so much. And I felt so alive for it. But I was also… frustrated? Sad? Desperate? All of the above.

Was I ever going to have him? Oh, I so desperately wanted him. I missed those days when I listened more to my sense of rationality than my heart. When I could see that to keep him safe at least a bit, I had to keep away from him. And to keep myself safe, too.

Now, I wanted to battle the odds.

Fuck the odds, fuck all prophecies. I only had limited time. “Saving the world” would get in the way. Someone else would get in the way – what was the deal between him and Wellbelove now, anyway? I didn’t know! Or maybe we would both live to graduate… and he would go out into the world doing Crowley-knows-what and I would be out of chances.

I refused to let myself run out of chances. Not this time.

Stood directly in front of the changing room, a couple of lads trailing behind me, I stopped. I turned on my heel and stomped back toward the dorms, waving off all confused shouts that came after me. None of them was Coach. Not that I cared. There was something I had to do.

My legs brought me back to the Mummers House, up and up and up all those stairs. Ran to the door. Swung it open. The impulse that brought me here was buzzing in my body. What was I doing? Who knew. Not me.

Snow didn’t move from his bed in those ten minutes I was gone.

He sat up straighter, his eyes asking me tens of questions. But before his mouth could ask some too, I was looming over him.

“Get up!” I ordered.

There was a flash of wariness in his expression. He did what I asked. Slowly. I noticed his hand hovering over his hip. That bloody sword of his. Yes, Snow, get it ready, I’m fine leaving this world like this. After this.

I let go completely. Sometimes, the crashing of all the walls you built to protect yourself can sound like a single sigh escaping your lips.

I grabbed his face and kissed him. Shut my eyes as tight as I could and leaned into him, and he was burning hot, so undeniably, amazingly real. I was kissing Simon Snow and I didn’t care that I didn’t know what to do with my lips now that they made contact with his. It… it seemed easier in my head. I had never kissed anyone before this. Like whom? Who could ever be enough to replace him?

For a split second, or maybe split ten years, nothing happened. And then his lips moved against mine. Took the lead. I let him. I felt him grab a handful of my shirt and I was ready to melt, ready to burn –

Movement.

Something moved at the door.

I opened my eyes, which was precisely when his hands pushed me away so hard I almost landed on my ass. All disheveled and confused, I looked around.

And I met with two eyes opened wide, in utter disbelief.

The eyes of Penelope Bunce.

There are and never will be no words to describe the terror I felt.

Fuck. Fucking shit, I was dead. The world was positively over.

I glanced at Snow in panic, as if asking him what to do, how to handle it, how to lie, what to say, please Simon just–

It wasn’t an exchange of glances. It was me looking and him trying not to vomit, I’d say. His face was wild with emotion. I couldn’t identify it, but it wasn’t a good one. It felt like he had shattered every bone in my torso, just like that.

His head whipped around towards Bunce.

“It’s not like that at all,” he exclaimed, reaching out to her as if he was urging her not to run away.

It’s…

It was not like that. Like that. At all.

Crowley, I was a fool. I was a fool. Somebody shoot me. Burn me and put a stake through my heart. My life was over anyway.

Don’t cry. Just don’t cry, you stupid fuck, don’t cry.

Bunce was just opening her mouth to say something, but I already dashed forward. She jumped to the side with a yelp as I pushed through the door and left. And almost rolled down the stairs. And slipped onto the school grounds and I ran, I ran, I ran for the forest as fast as I could, as if I had a horde of villagers with torches behind me, which would probably be a better fate than the one that was awaiting me.

My chest was aching. As if somebody was stabbing little pieces of glass into it.

I didn’t think it would feel like that. I hadn’t thought about anything at all, period. I never would have done it if I had.

As I stumbled between the trees into the eerily dim woods, everything was screaming in my head, everything was so loud, every sight and memory so bright, but the brightest and loudest… that would be his face. The one he made after he pushed me. When he said… When he denied everything…

Suddenly, my legs gave in and I collapsed onto the ground. My chest was so tight. It hurt so much, Crowley, what was happening? It felt like my heart was actually, physically ripping in half. Could it? I might be the first person – creature– to experience it. Violent sobs came out of my throat and I was not just crying, I was screaming like an animal into my hands, and the sound was so foreign as it echoed in the misty forest that some part of me found it unlikely that I was making it.

I stayed there until dark and then hunted and cried and hunted again. And the entire time, at the back of my head, I was thinking: I didn’t know it would feel like this. I didn’t know he could break me any more than he already has.

SIMON

Days continued to come and pass, and I was mostly carrying on as usual. But I couldn’t really escape the obvious: something was very wrong with Baz.

I lived with the guy my whole teenage years, you know. He always had this air about him, like he’s something better than you and he knows it really damn well. He was posh and graceful and unbothered; I was never totally sure if it’s just an act, or a genuine, unrehearsed thing about him.

Suddenly, all of that got lost. After… well, after.

I didn’t really try to talk to him or anything. Didn’t know what I’d say. But he wouldn’t even meet my eyes when we passed each other, anyway. It felt like he was hiding inside of himself, if that makes sense. From me, or maybe from everyone. He skipped meals and afternoon tea, nobody had seen him at the pitch for weeks. He looked like a beaten dog most of the time. Something told me it was my fault. Although that seemed impossible. He always looked like he couldn’t care less about what I said or did. I was pissing him off by just breathing, basically.

But then… The last month or so, I didn’t know what to make of him.

I didn’t know what to make of myself, either. I solved that by just doing what I liked doing and not over-analyzing why I want to do it. Case in point, sharing my roommate’s bed. As long as he was up for it… (It’s not like anything gets solved by just thinking about it until you go crazy. You gotta let things go.)

However… I caught myself way too often staring into the distance and absentmindedly touching my lips. The kiss was still pressed into them.

I… look, I really don’t understand what happened there! Or rather, I somewhere deep in my soul I did, but going down that road positively terrified me. A week ago, a bloke kissed me like it was the end of the world and then ran away. No, wait – Baz kissed me, not just “a bloke”. That was, somehow, different.

But that’s where I would have to start asking myself questions. And honestly, I didn’t have that kind of time.

Of course, then there’s the situation with… Penny just… walking in on us. Like that. I kind of wished she would tell me what was going through her head, but I also desperately prayed to never have to talk to her about it. Maybe she would spare me and we could forget about it…? Penny wouldn’t tell anybody. I knew she wouldn’t, but I… I never talked to her about the whole thing. I promised Baz I wouldn’t tell anybody about what we were doing. It’s not like we did anything, anyway, but I couldn’t even imagine the chaos that would take place if the word got out… Everyone would start assuming things and…

It’s understandable that I didn’t want that, isn’t it? As if I didn’t have enough issues to deal with.

Penny didn’t say a single word about it for a very long time. I almost got my hopes up, almost allowed myself to carry on like usual.

Until one afternoon, when we met up for a study session. As in, Penny helps me with my schoolwork and I tell her whether her essays make any sense, although they are always very well-phrased and generally perfect.

(We used to bring Agatha, too. But she didn’t really talk to us anymore, since we took our “break”. Just a fancy word for a breakup, basically.)

(Did I even miss her?)

(See, another question I wasn’t keen on answering.)

After she managed to cram some of our Political Science study material into my head…, she made a vague comment about the “last time she came to my room” being “interesting”. I could see curiosity bubbling just below the surface of her face.

Oh no, please don’t, Penny, I thought. Out loud, I said: “I really don’t know if Baz has reported you know how to get to the boy’s dorms, sorry. I hope he hasn’t.”

She gave me a look, like I see right through your bullshit.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” she assured me, “but you know I’m not talking about myself here.”

I felt my cheeks getting hot. I hunched and started picking at my uniform.

“Simon? Are you okay?”

Did I really want to tell her? I could feel she truly wanted to listen… she was Penny after all. We were a duo. A team.

“Look, I just…”

And then I spilled. Like an idiot, stuttering and getting tangled in words that had just too many syllables to be mumbled at an extremely high speed, I told her about everything. About my nightmares and the damn fire that I lied to her about out of embarrassment, about Baz’s offer to sleep in his bed, about how long it’s all been happening. I left out the kissing… I didn’t know what to say about that.

Penny was usually a pretty stable person. Not the type to get over-excited or freak out. But this time, her mouth was gaping open. She couldn’t believe her ears, and I didn’t blame her. It all sounded like a fever dream.

“So… that’s that,” I concluded and put one of my hands in my hair. “We’ve been sleeping together until… well, until that time. You know.”

“Wait,” Penny almost slammed the table. “Wait, sleeping together?!”

Sleeping…Oh god. Oh god, why can’t I talk like a normal person? “No!” I waved my hands, ears burning. “No, I mean literal sleeping. Literally!”

“Oh. That makes more sense, to be honest. Although I don’t judge…”

“Penny! For Crowley’s sake!”

She chuckled. There was a bit of silence. But then she looked at me with her kind eyes. Like she was looking at a kid. “But there was kissing?” she nudged me.

I looked away. “Only what you saw.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no…” I shook my head. My brows furrowed as I tried to think of what I wanted to say. I just knew I wanted to say something. To not give her the wrong impression. Although, I didn’t know what impression would be right. “I don’t even know… whyhe did that, you know? To be honest, at first I thought he was going to punch me.”

And then he kissed me. And he was cold and firm and grabbing my face and nothing like anything I felt before.

Penny smirked and clicked her pen.

“Not really surprising,” she assessed. “Baz seems like exactly the guy to be mean to his crush.”

“Wait, uh… Crush? You… you think he likes me like that?”

She gave me an absolutely bewildered look and leaned towards me.

“Simon! He made out with you!”

All blood started boiling inside of me. I sunk into the chair. It… yeah, it made sense, but to think of it like that was…

Was I his crush?

Was he my crush? How would I know? Like, how can I be sure?

“Simon… have the two of you talked about what happened yet?”

I just shook my head.

“I don’t want to get nosy or anything,” she pushed up her glasses, “but I think it would be better if you did. Clear communication helps a lot, you know?”

Yeah?

And what would I tell him?

I didn’t have any answers. What was I feeling? Why exactly did I like when we shared a bed? Would I kiss him again? Did I feel something for him? Did I feel something for a boy?

What did I want from him?

I buried my face in my hands. I heard Penny get up immediately and rush around the table to my side. Before she could say anything motherly and soft that would just make me hurt from the inside, I confessed to my empty hands:

“I have no idea who I am anymore.”

BAZ

I was sure this was where I would stop loving Snow.

Up until now, I would have thought that was impossible to achieve. That somebody would have to kill me in order to stop me from loving the boy… I had been wrong about plenty other things before this, it was no wonder I was wrong about this, too.

Dear Morgana, I felt ashamed of myself for how utterly shitty I was feeling.

I thought I would be… well, sad at best if I were to be rejected. I had expected it, hadn’t I? I thought I’d be quietly, promptly devastated, and then not anymore, just to stand tall and undefeated when the inevitable backlash comes.

There was no consequence for what I had done, surprisingly. But I couldn’t relish in the thought, because…

Well. As previously stated, I felt like shit.

I could not sleep. Contrary to popular belief, even undead creatures need sleep to function, and I would get four hours of shallow slumber a night at best. I was being haunted by… well, not nightmares in the traditional sense… just dreams. Bad dreams. Bad, because Snow was in them, bad, because whenever I saw him, awake or not, my chest started hurting again (which was completely of a psychological origin, yes) and I genuinely felt like crying. But I could not, not even when I woke up sore and exhausted and with an overflowing fountain behind my eyes. I could not cry, because after all, the person who caused this was my roommate. And I had my pride. To the extent that I wouldn’t let him see me break down completely.

If sharing a room with him felt impossible before, I don’t know what it was now.

Absolute hell. My personal brand of it.

I couldn’t even look at him. I couldn’t bear being in the same space as him. Golden boy. “It’s not like that.” I wasted so much of myself on him. “At all.” Not that I was worth much to begin with, but still.

I hated him. I hated him, I was hurting, I was crying my eyes out when nobody could see or hear me, I hated myself, I kept hurting and not sleeping and not eating and I wished I would just stop existing too.

It’s been a while since it’s been so bad. The way I felt.

But maybe it was for the best. Because with all the hate and hurt that was filling me, how could there ever be space for more affection?

Maybe this would really be when I broke free from him.

If I survived to see the day, that is.

***

Time seemed to happen to everybody else, but not to me. I was not even sure how on earth I was keeping up with all of my assignments. I didn’t remember finishing them or turning them in, but there they were. Guess I had been working on autopilot.

But one of these identical, bleak afternoons, something ominous happened.

First of all, it was all a fault of bad timing on my part. I was passing the dining hall when afternoon tea would be coming to an end. I realized my fault as soon as I turned into the corridor and saw my classmates slowly leave the room. Chatting in groups. Everywhere. I tensed up – I knew hewouldn’t be far, as he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to ram cherry scones into his mouth. Just the thought of him made me ache a bit…

Then I caught a glimpse of rapid movement.

Unfortunately, I looked.

And Crowley below, it was Penelope Bunce. Waving at me. I didn’t even try to look over my shoulder to see if she means somebody standing behind me... Her gleaming dark eyes were fixed on me alone.

Cold fear gripped my lungs and squeezed the air out of them. This was it. The consequences were here. Invasive questions. Possibly ridicule or threats, who knows? My mind was giving me plenty of possible catastrophic scenarios. But I couldn’t not pass her in the hall – there was nowhere else to go, besides run in the opposite direction as if my life depended on it.

What did she want?

I would ignore her. I would just walk and ignore her.

I did make an honest attempt… but Bunce caught my elbow when I was trying to squeeze through a group of younger students. My try at the “get your filthy hands off me” glare went in vain.

“Hey!” she said to me. She knew damn well how weird it was to pretend that we just casually greet each other like that, but went on anyway: “I just hoped we could talk for a minute.”

“Well,” I retorted and yanked my arm out of her grip, “I definitely didn’t.”

Bunce let air out of her nose. Not exactly like an angry bull. An exasperated bull would be more like it.

“Just keep it civil for once, will you,” she looked up at me. “It won’t take long, I promise.” And then, as if she had been reading my thoughts: “Simon’s gone to Ebb’s today, you know.”

Crowley bless the weird-ass goatherd.

I jutted out my jaw. I was still feeling very defiant, but maybe hearing her out would make her leave me alone sooner. And as much as I didn’t like to admit that, Bunce was always sensible. Slightly terrifying and intense… but yes, sensible.

“Alright?” I reached up and put my hair behind my ears. It was greasy. Bleh. When was the last time I washed it…? “Go on, then.”

“Not here. Come,” she ordered and simply started walking. Her audacity was almost impressive. The only interactions we ever had was when she was breaking up fights between myself and Snow… she was in no position to tell me what to do, and yet, there she was.

Commanding. Bossy.

I followed her because she reminded me of a part of myself I couldn’t really find and dearly missed.

After turning a few corners, she tried to open a door of a classroom, seemingly at random. The door was unlocked somehow. She let me in first. I made sure to stand very close to the exit, in case I needed an escape route.

Once she was facing me, I made a simple gesture in the likes of “what is it”.

“Okay, so,” she started, “it’s about that time you saw me come into Mummers House.”

My hand twitched toward the door. I had to admit, she phrased it quite nicely though. As if her breaking the Watford code was a graver situation than me and Snow… No, I couldn’t even finish that thought on the inside without feeling my chest tightening. Fuck.

“What about it?”

“Well, I thought that we could just make an agreement here. Since it looks like you didn’t go and report me.” She hops onto a table and swings her legs back and forth. “I won’t talk if you won’t, that sort of thing.”

I snarled. What a sneaky little…

“Mutual blackmail? I’m touched.”

Bunce looked at me in a very strange way. “No, I didn’t mean it like that at all,” she assured me. “I can magically swear it if you want. It’s not my thing to tell, anyway. I would never.”

Tell the tale to someone who believes it, I thought to myself.

But I couldn’t really say anything out loud. This was the one person – apart from Snow – that knew what happened. Nobody else could ever know. But… but she did know already. By accident, but she knew.

Something in me was meekly calling out to her.

Say more. Please. Let me… I don’t know, let me break and spill all over the floor like broken shards of a porcelain figure. Please, could I…? Just once, could I stop holding myself together…?

Except I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t rest. The pretense was all that I had left to do in life. Always acting, always hiding, always keeping everything locked in.

“Other than that, I…” Bunce added and I kind of jumped, not really realizing she was still there and it wasn’t just me, lost in my own mind. “I wanted to ask if you’re feeling alright?”

I gave her a quick look before turning away.

“That’s honestly none of your business.” The tone of my voice was all wrong. Too fucking vulnerable. Bunce replied simply: “I know that.”

We looked at each other. Two completely different people who existed only in the background of the other’s life. But it felt like now, we were connected. However insane it sounds. Maybe we were connected by knowing I kissed Snow and got my heart broken. Maybe by more than that, whatever that “more” would be.

Bunce sighed and tapped the other end of the table with her hand. My eyes fixed at the window behind her, I approached and lightly leaned on the desk, still leaving a few feet of space between us.

“Look,” she said, looking straight ahead, “don’t get me wrong. I love Simon to bits. But the truth is, my best friend is often quite a dumbass.” Then she corrected: “Usually.”

That, I could agree with. But I said nothing. I was busy biting my tongue and refusing to look at her.

“He reacted pretty badly then.” She crossed her legs at the ankles. “But just… wait it out. Simon will come around as soon as he’s done figuring out… well, all of it. He is on a good way.”

I felt a lump rising in my throat. I swallowed. So they were talking about it? What else did the girl know? And was I even mad about it at this point?

What I was more interested in was…

“Bunce… why are you even telling me that?” I asked, giving her a puzzled look (mixed with my general despair look, I presumed).

But really. What good was it to her to tell me all of this?

Not to mention she was giving me hope. I could not afford that. Not again, not ever again.

She smiled at me. Way too kindly. It hit me all at once how odd this tête-à-tête was. “Well, Pitch, that’s simple,” she retorted. “I know that you care about Simon a lot. In your own way. That includes pushing him down the stairs from time to time.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upward.

Nothing like the memories of good, simpler times.

“And don’t get me wrong,” she suddenly continued, “but you’ve looked like absolute hell lately. That was a factor too.”

That actually made me smile for a second

“Thanks,” I told her, and when we looked at each other, she was grinning. “Pleasure,” she nodded at me, then jumped down onto the floor and formally extended an arm towards me. I rolled my eyes, but I gripped it and shook it a couple times, as if we had just concluded a business meeting. She put her hands in the pockets of her blazer and, instead of a goodbye, wished me: “Good luck out there.”

That created another crooked smile on my lips. I decided to mark this experience as less ominous than previously expected. As she turned her back to me and reached for the door handle, curiosity started growing in my mind. I couldn’t keep it all in.

“Bunce?” I called out to her.

“Yes?”

“This wasn’t… He didn’t send you to talk to me, did he?”

“No, he wouldn’t. But I figured, since I was already guiding one idiot through his love life, I might as well help another.”

SIMON

In the course of the following weeks, I had more deep emotion-related conversations with Penny than I had in my entire life before that. I mean… when it comes to feelings and relationships, she knows way more than I ever will, I think. I told her she was wise once. She laughed at me.

But basically…, I had been thinking.

And I was not ready to say anything definitively… I had no labels or anything yet, that stuff was just too confusing and I didn’t really need a label on my attraction and whatnot to function. But I settled on one thing: I so had a crush on Baz. And in a weird way, I think I had had it for a long time, but I just didn’t realize what it was.

I just kind of thought that I did not like boys, period. Because that was different. And if you were feeling that different, you would just know immediately, wouldn’t you?

Turns out that liking Baz is a very normal, right, non-dramatic feeling.

That reminds me… earlier that week, I went to see Ebb again. She was in quite a good mood that day, and she was concerned about how quiet and lost in thought I seemed. I started this vague conversation about “what if you liked someone that you maybe, uh, shouldn’t date or anything”. After a while of letting me spout absolute confused nonsense, she quietly asked: “Could this be about Natasha Pitch’s son, Simon?”

I almost choked on the stale pastry she gave me to munch on. I demanded to know how she got that so fast, and she just assured me that nobody is that obsessed with another person without a good reason. “I remember when you came to me once in your third year,” she laughed, “and talked about the boy for full two hours. That’s when I started to have an inkling.” Her eyes got misty. “You were so cute back then. And look how you’ve grown…”

My mind racing, I pushed on: “Why didn’t you talk to me about it then?” And Ebb answered with her own gentle question: “Were you ready to be talked to?”

No. No, I wasn’t, not then. And I still fully wasn’t now.

But maybe I just had to dare.

Ready or not, here I come.

***

Just like that, it was evening. Baz had quietly slipped into our room after dark and went straight to the bathroom.

I turned on the light.

Couldn’t sleep, anyway. Also, this felt like a giant déja vu.

Breathe, Simon, keep breathing…

I stood up as soon as Baz returned into the room, twisting his wet hair in a towel. How could he look so hot with wet hair? It wasn’t fair.

Baz stopped in his tracks and took everything in. Me in just my pajama bottoms standing there… the nightlight dimly lighting the room… me again, this time like he was calculating what was the catch here. Then he threw the towel over his chair (weirdly disorganized of him) and went to get to bed.

“Baz?” I spoke to him.

He twitched, as if he couldn’t decide between turning to me and ignoring me completely. But when I made a step towards him, he suddenly whipped around. I noticed the wary, hurt look in his eyes before he was able to conceal it. Crowley. I really fucked up, haven’t I?

I hated the way he was coiling up and leaning away from me, inch after inch. I didn’t know him like that. Oh please, let me fix this. All of this.

At first, I meant to just talk to him… as Penny said, open communication and all that… But being here with him, I made a quick change of plans and reached out to him. To cup his cheek in my palm. He almost turned his head away. But then, he closed his eyes and let me touch him. I wanted to erase all the tension in his face. I slid my hand to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing his wet hair, dark like the night sky outside…, and stepped closer.

Not as close as I would like, but closer.

Baz refused to look at me.

“I would tell you to get up,” I teased him lightly, “but you’re already standing, so…”

Then I tilted my head, to the side and up, just so I would reach his pursed lips.

BAZ

He was going to kill me. I didn’t want to make it so easy for him… I didn’t want to just let him waltz back into my personal space like he hadn’t made me feel the worst kind of way before this. But…

But as soon as his lips touched mine, the electric impulse brought me back to life. I felt lightheaded. He kissed me again and my lips turned soft and welcoming in a millisecond. I had no dignity. None. I kept myself from intertwining my limbs with his, from pulling at his curls. I wouldn’t give myself too easy… I wouldn’t…

Who was I kidding?

I didn’t have much of myself to give. He already had me.

SIMON

We pulled away from each other, breathing just a bit quicker than usual. Baz’s face was still difficult to read, but his eyes were wide, almost childlike. I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

“Sorry,” I said. “It took me too long, didn’t it? Penny says that I should hire an emotion translator.”

He smirked. “She did say something along those lines, yes.”

I dropped my hand from his face and blinked about a hundred times. “Wait. Wait, since when do you two… I mean, she talked to you? Or youto heror… what?”

Baz cocked an eyebrow. “Well, Snow, I’m stealing your friends one by one. Watch out.”

Morgana help me, he could be so arrogant sometimes… I was annoyed just listening to that tone. And attracted. Somebody should explain the science behind all that.

“You’re an ass,” I pointed out.

He gave me a slow stare-down.

“Is that all you were going to say to me?” he wondered.

I felt my palms start sweating immediately.

No, I’m fine, I reminded myself. This is fine.

“Ah. Yes!” I nodded. “I, uh. I like you? If that’s not obvious by now. I didn’t really know before, but I like you a lot and… Yeah. I don’t know what we will do with that, but… Yeah. I mean…” I stammered. “If you… Do you?”

Not smooth. Definitely the least smooth confession in the history of confessions. I should have stayed at the kissing. That’s clear communication enough, I think.

Baz looked at me without blinking. At the last two words, he gave me this absolutely confused look, as if he didn’t know what language I was speaking to him right now.

“Crowley, Snow,” he sighed. Absolutely done with me.

Then, he grabbed my shoulders and hauled me back first into a wall. Before I could even think “he’s attacking me” out of habit, he was already pressing his body into mine and kissing me like there was no tomorrow. He always kissed with intent, like the whole fate of the world depended in it.

I could do this all night. I would if he let me. I broke away only to whisper: “You are confusing the Anathema, I think.”

His cheeks turned a bit pink. “Shut up,” he snapped and went for my lips again. I turned my face away, just to tease him.

“No, but really,” I laughed. “You’ll have to be nicer to me now, won’t you?”

Baz looked me in the eyes.

His were beautiful. So damn beautiful. Like storm clouds.

“Snow…” he whispered gently.

BAZ

I couldn’t handle it. He made a stupid joke about the Anathema… and we were standing there in the soft yellow light of the night lamp and he was laughing so sweetly, he was like the damn sun, so warm and bright.

And I loved him.

I loved him so much I felt like it was going to rip me in half.

“Snow…” I managed to breathe out.

And then I felt tears rolling down my face.

He was about as startled as I was.

I immediately turned away from him and tried to breathe, but lately it was difficult for me to stop crying once I started. It was… it was all just a lot. Simon Snow came back to me. I was kissing Simon Snow just now. I didn’t deserve this, did I? I bet he didn’t mean it. I bet something would take him away from me again… and I would just be alone, completely alone again. I was so scared. Scared to be happy, because once you find that happiness – especially if it’s a person– it can be taken away from you.

“I… Baz? Did I say something? I’m sorry.” He tried to take a look at my face, but I tried just as hard to hide it.

“No,” I blurted out and looked up at the ceiling. “Crowley, no. I am sorry. What the fuck is even wrong with me…” I staggered sideways and leaned on the writing desk. I covered my eyes with one hand and pushed my fingers into my eyes, as if I could physically push the tears back.

“Hey, come on,” Snow cooed. I didn’t even have the willpower to try and fight him off when he put his arms around me. Making sure I wouldn’t start openly sobbing took all I had. “Really, did something happen?”

I tried to answer normally. But what came out was a half-sob, half-laugh, before the words began rushing out. “I just… I never thought this would happen,” I admitted. “All these years, I thought I could just never have you and… Now look at me. Crowley. Way to ruin the mood, right?” I felt like I could die.

“I didn’t… You’re not… You haven’t ruined anything,” he shook his head and rubbed my back to comfort me. But I could feel him not being sure what to do. Then he apologized: “Sorry, I’m rubbish at this, too.”

I dared to lay my forehead on his shoulder.

“We’re both pretty rubbish, I think,” I croaked. “And I’m the one making things awkward.”

“Well then, you could just push me against that wall again. Would that work?”

“Ha ha,” I said sarcastically, but then, I couldn’t help but laugh just a bit.

He brushed my hair out of my face.

I slipped my arms around his waist.

“Baz?”

“Yes?”

“Just… just wondering. How long have you liked me for, exactly?”

Funny you should ask.I lifted my head up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The answer was simple. Straightforward.

“Always.”

He looked guilty for some reason. He pressed his forehead against mine. “Sorry it took me so long, then,” he almost whispered, and I couldn’t help but smile the widest smile in… Well, in years, I think.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I think it’s okay now.”

#snowbaz #baz grimm pitch #simon snow #snowbaz fic #carry on fanfic #part two #angst #fluff #penelope bunce #anyone ever had a heartbreak so bad they were physically in pain?#yes? no?#projectiooooon #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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voidcat · 4 years

Text

– Hostile, Thoughtful

Summary: It is the last gig Micah gets to play with the band, before he returns back to America. Simon has never made it to one of their gigs and promises Penny to be there tonight. – punk band au; Penny on drums, Baz as vocalist and bassist, Micah as the guitarist

Word Count: 1.5k

Characters: Simon Snow / Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Penelope Bunce, Micah Cordero

A/N: The punk band idea came to mind with CSH songs mostly and I wrote this with Deadlines (Hostile) in mind. The lyrics are in bold and italic.

Dedicating this to B. (just like any CSH related work I do) This AU wouldn’t be a thing without you <3 – ao3

It all starts with the drums and the moment he opens his mouth.

Here is Simon Snow, at a little pub on a Friday night. Finally accepting one of the many invitations Penny actually took the time to write down on paper to attend one of her band's gigs. He knew before she could play the drums and knowing Penny, it was a guarantee she was amazing at it. But he never had the time to see them live until tonight.

“Come on Simon! This is Micah’s last gig with us before he returns back to America. You owe us at least this one visit!” Penny said one day in the middle of their study date and who was he to deny and tell her no. And frankly, he had been wanting to see them live for quite some time, the never ending tales of their rehearsals and gig mishaps…

So he finds a way to escape Dean Mage’s grasp and attention tonight and finds himself at the crowded pub, waiting for his friends to get on stage.

He can see Penny and Micah going up first, setting up their instruments and doing some sound check. As he watches them discuss amongst themselves, it occurs to him that he never met the third member of the band. Was that the vocalist? Or the bassist?

I think Penny had told me the bloke was both of these things, he thinks. Sure, maybe he isn’t that into the whole music act but even he knows that’s quite unusual and sounds a bit stuck up.

Most people in the pub are there to enjoy their Friday evening with friends over a few drinks but he can see the people checking the stage with their eyes every few minute, they must’ve gathered an audience for themselves after all that playing. Didn’t Penny say they usually do song covers though?

He is interrupted from his thoughts he hears the heavy “thud” of a boot stepping onto the stage suddenly. Long stylish hair, dark clothes to surround his figure and fit him perfectly as if they were tailored just for him. Dark paint around the eyes and upper half of his face, what was it that Penny said about that disguise? He cannot remember. The nonchalant walk up to Penny to exchange a few words and then putting on his bas and tapping on the mic to check if it’s on. Yep, that must be the vocalist/bassist. He seems a bit too posh to be in a heavily punk themed band. But Simon cannot deny the fact that he seems to be fit and good looking. The black paint seems to highlight his sharp features under the dim lighting. The purple glitter spread over his cheekbones, adding a pinch of not-so-needed charisma and doing his face wonders.

They begin without a word or a warning. Only Penny hitting her drumsticks in rhythm, an unsaid “and two-three-four!” hanging in the air.

I never see the threat too soon

The moment he starts singing, Simon feels something shift in the air surrounding him.

The blood on the bandage, the ghost in the room

His throat runs dry, as if he is the one on stage, performing in front of hundreds of eyes.

Got a canvas as white as the moon / But when I see it at night, it's a sickening blue

The vocalist’s voice is low so far and it feels a fuzzy feeling on his skin. Leaves Simon aching, searching for something he cannot name.

I was thinking people never change / But there's a new taste of dread that I cannot explain And the thoughts that make up my life / Get reflected in others from time to time

The guitar enters, the voice a bit louder, but it sounds to be lacking something still. Looking for something, searching through the room like a bat echo locating.

Now I've got another question / And if we run out of time, can we make an exception?

A new element enters his singing. Starting to sound more like he means as he signs, as if he was the writer of the lyrics and is the one asking.

Got a piece that needs completion

Every other words seems to trail off, leaving Simon alone with the aching emptiness of his heart, a place waiting to be filled, stinging a little as he sees Penny and Micah share knowing looks and hidden smiles, secret promises and silent words of love.

Oh, temptation / I could be a part of you

Simon finds himself drawn towards the vocalist as the words leave his lips. “Yes!” he wants to shout, raise his hands, make a scene, make a move, to be seen and to be held. “Yes!” he wants whisper to the brooding figure, wrapping his hands around him, taking in his scent. “Yes.” He wants to say to someone he does not even know, does not recognize, someone hiding behind a mask of paint. His ears fell deaf to voice of Penny’s back vocals.

And the next thing he knows, Simon’s eyes are locked with his.

Am I, am I, am I, am I on your mind?

He can hear the mild wonder in his tone, the small hint of amusement too. Almost as if he is directly asking Simon himself. He wonders if they’ve met at the campus before.

The world seems to stop from that moment on.

Everything around him is a blur of colors and voices. Eyes focused on him and only him, ears perking up at his voice, he cannot divert his gaze. Feeling a tug at his soul, he wants to walk towards to stage, to him. To reach out, get lost in his raspy voice, stay wrapped by this bubbly feeling surrounding him forever. In that moment, he feels himself floating in space, with him by his side, eyes never leaving one another, following each move.

The vocalist’s voice tones down a bit, just as the music. They begin the new verse.

Simon remembers Penny complaining about him and his performances. How he can be one with the music they make or sing it so soulless, if it doesn’t speak to him. He figures this song must.

The excitement in his voice is as clear as day, as blue as the sky, as warm as the scones Simon likes to have and as real as the never dying ambition to keep learning Penny seems to have.

He feels more real than anything else Simon has ever laid eyes on; vibrant, beaming with passion and emotion, ethereal, capturing everyone’s attention, making everyone long for him. Yet his eyes are set on one person only and that is Simon.

His voice keeps raising, building up with the song itself. With each word, he raises his head. With each word that leaves his lips, there’s a gleam in his eyes. Burning through Simon, looking into his soul with such care and understanding no one could possibly offer him before.

He is offering him the world, everything he has and does not have. His belongings, titles, his love and his sorrow, his feelings and future. He is offering everything Simon could have wished for and will wish for, every small thing he longed for, every major thing he prayed for. He is ready to give it all up, leave everything behind, to start a revolution overnight. He is ready to risk it all. And all his eyes ask in return is Simon.

He seems to tilt his head in a weird manner as he says the word “hallway”. Does this mean they’ve seen each other before? Have they met in the hallway? Is it possible Simon read his movements wrong and overthinking something that never occurred? The way he looks at Simon says he knows exactly what he is thinking and the questions he is asking.

And when the chanting of “I feel it”s and “You’ll feel it”s start, Simon is enchanted all over. Getting lost in the movement of his lips, his fingers, the piercing looks in his eyes; Simon finds himself drawn to him like a sailor is to a siren.

The chorus begins again, with Penny’s contribution, his voice still dominating the room and Simon’s thoughts. The song, and the rest of the night, passes by without a notice.

A hand hitting his back, Simon is pulled out of his trance. He looks around to see their little gig has come to an end and trails the room for him with little hope, remembering the time Penny had said he leaves as soon as they finish.

“So, what do you think? Pretty good for an amateur band?” Penny asks with a smile on his face, sweat dropping from her forehead.

Simon just nods with a smile, not trusting himself to speak or make any coherent sound. They stay there for a while, having a drink, Micah and Penny packing up their things from the backstage as well as their guitar and drum stick. The bartender waves hurriedly at them, showing them the photos taken from the gig, their last gig together. After that, they leave the pub, returning to their welcoming beds.

Simon cannot stop thinking about long slick hair, gray captivating eyes.

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thesmalltowngal · 4 years

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COC Snowbaz 1- Longing

COC #1: Sun/Moon

What will happen when the sun and the moon finally collide? Will this end in flames?

~ GUYS, this is WAY shorter than my usual stuff but I am too exhausted to care. I hope you enjoy! ~

“What are you painting?” Snow asks curiously; less of a growl than usual. I’m painting us, I want to tell him.

Instead I say, “The sun and the moon Snow, what does it fucking look like I’m painting?” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, still staring at the canvas in front of me. He came into our room in a huff while I was painting (it’s the weekend) and sat on his bed, tossing and turning.

“What’s wrong now, Snow?” I asked him. He sighed out of his nose but turned to face me.

“Crowley, Baz, just everything. Agatha broke up with me, first of all. And then-” “Chosen, if I gave the illusion that I actually wanted to hear what was happening in your pathetic life, then I’m truly sorry. Kindly keep two and three to yourself.” I wanted to hug him. I just kept my eyes glued on my painting.

“You are such an arsehole,” He promptly turned around and we didn’t speak again for the next half hour.

I suppose I shouldn’t have thought that I’d get another hour without him speaking to me. Merlin, I didn’t even get another half hour. He’s standing a bit closer now so I can feel the steady thrum of his white hot magic pulse the air around me. I lean a bit back from the painting (and toward Snow. No surprise, there) so that I can study it. I have the sun at the top of the canvas, its red and orange flames licking the sky around it. The clouds near it are aflame just from being a tad bit too close to the sun. On the bottom half of the canvas is the night sky with a moon in the middle. It radiates light, but not nearly as much as the sun. It looks as if it’s aching to escape from it’s prison with the stars just to join the sun in all its flaming glory in the morning.

But of course, if the moon were to actually touch the sun, it would end in flames. Because every bloody thing the sun touches (or let’s be honest, even looks at) turns to fire and ash. Simon is so bright. So beautiful. Every fucking part of me aches to join his world; to get closer to him. Touch him. It’s gravity- I’m drawn to him. But of course, the moon and the sun will never actually collide. (Because that would be too bloody much to ask for, now wouldn’t it? To collide with Simon?) In my painting, I tried to portray the longing there. The insurmountable fact that they will never be together no matter how much they may want it, because if it were to happen, the sun would inevitably end up killing the moon in a fiery explosion of tears and smoke.

“What is it called?” Simon startles me from my thoughts. (He does that often. Usually to pick a fight, though.)

“What’s it called?” I ask him, incredulous.

“Yes, Basilton. The painting. What is it called?” As I turn to face him (in all of his fucking shirtless glory), I consider telling him that it’s called Us. Or perhaps, The Story of How I Stupidly Fell In Love With the Sun.

Instead, I say, “Longing,” He furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side.

“Longing?”

“Yes, Snow, Longing. As in the sun and the moon long to be together. Can you get that through your thick skull? Or is there even a brain in there to get to?” I don’t even phase him with my harrassment. He just keeps staring at the painting for a moment before looking back at me.

“I know what longing means, you git. But it’s just that… well it’s just so good.”

“Well I should hope so; I did spend my young years developing a taste for painting.”

“No I mean…” He trails off for a moment thinking. His (extra)ordinary blue eyes feel as though they’re blazing right through me and trying to see into my soul. (If I even have one, that is; it’s an ongoing debate.) “What do you know about longing, Baz?” Ah, Snow. The eternal idiot.

I let out a dry laugh before turning back to the painting. “You’d be surprised, Simon.” I mutter under my breath. From behind me, I hear him take a sharp breath in. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear me say his name. He taps me on the shoulder and when I turn around, he’s looking at the painting closer.

“So the sun is really bright and hot?” He asks me. I scoff but answer is question.

“Yes, Snow,” He crinkles his nose. “That’s generally how the sun works.”

“And the moon wants to be with the sun, but it can’t because otherwise it would burn?” I’m surprised he actually understood. Although I suppose the title might’ve given it away a bit.

“Yes,” I whisper. I stand up so that I have a few inches on him again. It was just simply unnatural seeing him look down at me. “Well, although that was a nice art session, I really must be getting to bed, Snow.” I start walking to my bed, but Simon stops me, looking angry.

“You called me Simon before,” He insists. I roll my eyes at him, trying to move to my bed, but he still doesn’t let me go.

I let out a long disdainful sigh and say, “No, I didn-” I feel his lips pressed against mine hungrily, with urgency, prying my lips open to gain access with his tongue. My mouth happily obliges. He has me by the tie with one hand, his other tangling in my hair. His mouth is as hot as the sun; just as I had suspected. He’s doing this thing with his jaw, and it is absolutely fucking arousing. He pulls back suddenly, but not far. As he speaks, his lips still brush against mine.

“You aren’t burning, are you?” I pull back a little, confused.

“What?” He smiles a bit.

“We just ‘collided’. You were just with me. And, um,” He stutters over his words, back to the normal blushing fool I fell in love with. “Well you didn’t burn, now did you?”

I laugh back a little with him and pull him in for another kiss- this one gentler. Softer. I pull back and pause for a moment, theatrically looking lost in thought. When I look back up at him, his eyes are curious. “No, Simon. I guess I didn’t.” And I pull him back in.

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

About that Carry On Prinxiety AU

For now I laid out a bit of the plot, if you want to share some ideas just hit me up~

This is going to be a LOT to take on my shoulders but I will try and probably fail BUT TRYING IS KEYWORD (i really do believe in myself don't I? Everything under the cut!)

Since they all have their peculiarities, I'm gonna say that yes Virgil might be the Baz and Roman could be the Simon of this story, but I think either would fit for different reasons so they just have the same energy and will keep their own characterization. (If I'm able to not go ooc on this one wish me luck)

If I'm creative enough I'll try making an American school that is located in Florida, so that the characters know nothing much about what's happening in Watford and I can still make references without chronological contradictions.

Thomas could probably be the head mage too. I'm imagining him being very interested in the Normal culture and dressing like a Normal adult instead of the head of a great magical school, his "obsession" (kind of like Arthur Weasley's, if you will) is not really well-liked by most of the mages (especially the Old Fams), some believe that the students should have a better example instead of a man that always seems on the verge of leaving the magic world behind. The students, on the other hand, love him very much thank you. (yes even the ones whose parents insult him)

Oh my god I just had an epiphany: imagine Thomas obviously being in love with Disney and maybe Roman is very close to him so like he's talking about Virgil and Thomas just STRAIGHT UP STARTS SINGING SMTH LIKE THE MUSES' PARTS IN WON'T SAY IM IN LOVE OR LIKE THAT LION KING ONE AAAAAAAA and Roman is like ssss t o p but in the end joins in because he's w e a k (same)

Anyway for the main bois what I was thinking was that, with the prophecies about the Chosen One being there for a long time and them not knowing about Simon or anything, (this is becoming like Skam, there are many Snowbaz in the world) they just so happen to find in Roman an extraordinary amount of magic

Everybody is convinced Roman might be the Greatest Mage, the info flies out into the magical world of America but they decide to not share the info with other states. Roman gets very excited about this and works hard and trains himself in preparation for the big moment where he was going to have his big fight.

Virgil is his roommate (oh my god they were roommates), and of course, they can't stand each other at all. Virgil is definitely fed up with this story about the Chosen One, which Roman brings out in any possible conversation, so he uses it against him to tease him. Just imagine Roman bragging about something and Virgil being like "yeah but for a Greatest Mage you still haven't done anything so Great", or like Roman is having trouble with a spell or a subject? "Aren't you the chosen one?", Virgil only brings it up to make him mad and loves his flustered face. (keyword "loves" *wink*)

As much as I'm hopelessly in love with the idea of Vamp!Virgil (which would fit if he had Baz's role), I just had an angsty idea so I'm saving it for later c:

Hey how about a half-elf Virgil??? Anyone? Sorry I love elves

As for the time they spend together, they do the same thing as Simon and Baz, they avoid each other, spend time out of their room if the other's in there, make up different routines so they don't have to share anything and only really stay in the same room if they have to sleep. (idk why i said "if" like they don't need sleep)

Let me remind you that the beds are very close.

One time Roman woke up in the middle of the night and screamed in fear upon seeing a figure on the window.

It was just Virgil and he almost fell out, he would have probably smacked his head if it wasn't for the roommates' anathema or whatever it is called in english.

Virgil said he just couldn't sleep but he will never admit it was because of a pretty violent nightmare.

Roman does really think that he doesn't sleep at all and just uses his magic to stay awake judging by the dark circles under his eyes.

idk about you but I like the idea of Logan being something similar to Penelope, so Logan is Roman's best friend, they had met in the first year and Logan seemed one of the only ones who didn't approach Roman only because of his fame about being the Chosen One. Logan is simply amazing and brilliant at all subjects and surprises everyone since he's said to come from a family with weak powers.

Roman finds in him a very valid studying companion and he has to admit a lot of his best spells come from practicing/learning them from Logan. Also Logan loves explaining the stuff he's learnt, while Roman has this insatiable will to know everything to be able to defeat whatever bad guy will present in front of him. They basically become inseparable, despite having some friendly fights that are always solved with a snack break.

They !! deeply !! care !! for !! each other !!

Out of the other characters idk if Patton would fit anybody entirely, but I'm going to keep the 3v3 groups, so Pat will most likely be hanging out with Roman and Logan, he's actually very good friends with Virgil (none can escape Patton's friendliness) and tries to reason with Roman when he's mad about something Virge might have said. He's probably the reason why he hasn't killed Virgil yet. Patton doesn't come from a big family and lives with his grandmother when he's out of school. (I still have to develop this)

Forget about Dev and Niall and get ready for Deceit and Remus. I don't wanna give a headcanon name to Deceit bc I don't have one so he's gonna be a mysterious boy and everyone will call him Dee since it's the nickname I use for him. Both of them are two chaotic messes in their own ways. Dee, despite still being composed most of the times, is VERY fixated on his society discourses and arguments, he could come up to you one day out of the blue being like "so about the plan to overthrow the government" and you probably never even heard of it in the first place

JUST GIVE ME PASSIONATE DECEIT

Remus, on the other hand, messes a LOT with spells and you can see him traveling to the weirdest places. One day he was found trying to make the water creatures do a circus bit for him. People don't know how he's able to make his way through tests, but it's actually because he loves bugging Dee since he doesn't give the slightest shit about the weird things he suggests and they often end up studying together.

(I had the wildest thought thinking about Remus as Trixie)

Virgil, Deceit and Remus are what people call the "Untouchable trio", only because they come from the highest and oldest of the Old Families. They had been friends ever since kids since their Families met quite often, they never really fell apart despite being very different from one another. They're actually pretty chill people, it is only their surnames that make some people wary of them. They're not generally approached by anyone.

Idk if I wanna bring Emile and Remy in this, but I am tempted™, I'll think about it

So, Roman, am I right? Forgot to say he comes from a pretty big fam of hunters, they're the types of people that are lovable but won't hesitate to kill a bitch if needed.

But Purp, where's our creativitwins content? Thing is, yes they're actually brothers, but they were separated ever since kids for reasons none really knows? They never talk about it, even if asked to. They were given to two different families. They're aware of each other, but none has ever seen them interact. (I might find some angsty backstory on this just you wait)

Up until here Roman has always believed himself to be destined to the greater good, he's the chosen one, his destiny is the one to be the protagonist of the magic world and its hero.

At least that's what he thought until the fifth year.

One day during the fifth year, Virgil was doing homework on his room's table when Roman bursts in, louder than usual, and throws himself face-first on the bed, uncaring about ruining his hair or his clothes. That was an unusual sight since he never came into the room before evening or even before dinner. Virgil immediately knew something was wrong, but he didn't realize how serious the thing was.

So of course, he teases him a bit trying to get some info from him but only makes the situation worse. When Virgil calls him Greatest Mage as a joke, that's when Roman finally snaps at him in a way that Virge would have never expected. Roman really is enraged, yells at him and throws his pillow across the room since he can't hit him. He storms out of the room when he feels tears forming in his eyes, but can't really hide his sobbing as he goes away.

Virgil is just standing there, aware that he had just made Roman cry for the first time in his life and hated the sight with his whole being.

Roman had just learnt that he wasn't, in fact, the Chosen One, nor the Greatest Mage. Just an ordinary mage, like anybody else, who, in his opinion, had no other destiny than to finish school, find a job and just ... live?

So he's destroyed, all those dreams revealed themselves to be castles built in the air.

School is ending and Roman is just a bit numb, he's not really failing his classes but he's not as bright as ever. He barely leaves his room and doesn't talk to his friends as often, who are very concerned. Even Virgil tries to talk to him at some point. Thomas visits him when he has time and tries to work through the issue with him, but for the rest of the fifth year, there's nothing much to do to cheer him up.

Things seem to go back to normal as years pass and he's not in the spotlight anymore, none really talks about the Greatest Mage anymore and mages just carry on with their studies as they've always done. Everything's fine and normal.

And Roman hates it. But he's working in the shadow, so none notices his discomfort.

It only happens when he reaches the eighth year. It's impossible for Virgil to not recognize that Roman is slipping away at night and only comes back after some hours, either with dirty clothes or things tangled in his hair, he always came back different from when he left, meaning he definitely was wandering off outside.

One night he really can't stop thinking about how worried he is that Roman might get in trouble by himself, while he could probably prevent that, so he decides to follow him. Apparently, Roman is trying to find some kind of important and scary adventure to prove to himself that he's not as useless as he thinks himself to be, but Virgil still doesn't know this.

Virgil doesn't know what to do about the situation and decides to talk to Patton about it, in the end, the two of them decide to make a plan to talk to Roman with Logan, too.

On the other hand, Roman had been seen hanging out with Deceit or Remus, or both at the same time, trying to pry out information from them about how to get to certain forbidden spots of the school if he ever needed to. Surprisingly they don't ask many questions.

Chaos ensues when one night everything goes horribly wrong.

SO YEAH these are a bunch of things that I got right off the bat, I still have to think about the entire plot but don't want to spoil anything, basically the story would begin on the eighth year, just like Carry On, when Roman starts sneaking out. There might be things I need to fix but still I repeat that this is just a draft or a bunch of ideas that I got together somehow.

Tags: @soul-of-a-vixen & @flowersheep who wanted to know more about it~ (I'll write it as soon as I can!!)

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years

Text

Back to Haunt Me

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word count: 12301

Summary: Simon Snow hasn't heard from his former roommate in years. So when he gets a call from him, he's equal parts confused and intrigued. Based on "I called you at 2am because I need you" request from @god-themself

Read on AO3

AN: I'm really sorry for how long these requests are taking, oy. Every time I start writing, the fic ends up getting longer and my stupid body decides to crap out and not work. Anyway, here's the latest fic. Hope you enjoy it :)

———————————————

Simon

I’m sitting upside down on my couch when I get the call.

It’s not something I do too often, just when I’m really, really stuck on something. I say that ideas pool in my feet and this lets them trickle down to my head. Penny thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous. She says it will give me headaches, and it does, but it also helps. I’ve been stuck for an hour on coming up with new lessons. This is my last resort.

So I’m laying upside down on my small couch, legs up in the air, face turning a very bright shade of red. My glasses slipped off a while ago, making me essentially blind to anything more than five feet away. My mind is swimming with new ideas for maths games and art projects, the mental images almost swirling past my blurry vision.

And when I’m deep in contemplation a new history Kahoot, my phone blares out my “Toxic” ringtone. (Britney is amazing and haters can fuck off.) I flip up way too fast, making my vision spin like water in a toilet bowl. I paw at my phone while I wobble back and forth. With the combination of my glasses on the floor and blood rushing from my head, I don’t bother to read the caller ID. Or lack thereof.

“Hello?” I say shakily, still clutching my head.

“Siiiiimon,” a low, slurring, strangely familiar voice says. Is a student prank calling me again? Dammit, I thought I scolded them enough.

“Jeremy, if that’s you, this isn’t funny. This is my personal mobile and you-”

“Aw, did you already forget me, Snow?” the person continues, and my heart suddenly freezes. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Only seven years.”

My jaw drops and I sit ramrod straight. Every vein in my body turns ice cold. Holy. Fucking, Shit. “Baz?!”

“Yes, it is I. Good evening, Snow,” he snorts, but there’s still that weird waver to his voice.

“A-Are you drunk?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner in every category,” he giggles. Fucking giggles. I don’t think I ever heard him let out so much as a chuckle in all the years I lived with him. He must be very drunk.

“Um, how did you get my number?”

“Remember when you got mysterious calls supposedly from the Babadook when we were fifteen? Surprise! That was me! Got your mobile off the school registry.”

My mouth falls open even more. “I knew that was you!”

“Duh!” There’s some shuffling on the other end. “Shush! Yes, I actually have him on the line. I’ll get him to come.” He’s definitely not talking to me. He lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about that, Snow. Super sorry, for everything I did back in school. So please don’t hang up.”

Admittedly, I was going to. But he sounds so pathetic and drunk, so I stay on. “Alright,” I sigh. “I’m still here.”

“Hooray!” There’s a short stretch of silence. He doesn’t continue, so I have to pipe up again.

“Baz,” I say, “not to be rude, but, uh, why are you drunk calling me? We haven’t seen each other in awhile and it’s...” I scramble to grab my glasses, then look at my wall clock. “After two in the morning. Plus, you like, hate me.”

“No,” he slurs out. He sounds well pissed. “I don’t hate you, Snow. You’re too much of a kind brave hero to hate.”

“Um, thank you?”

He laughs loudly. I’ve heard him laugh more in the last five minutes than I did our entire childhoods. “You’re very, very welcome.”

Again with the silence. I can’t believe I’m the one talking more between us. “So... why are you calling? You wanna catch up or something?”

Baz lets out a long, low groan. For some reason, I imagine him slumping against a wall or something. “I bloody wish. Stupid barkeep won’t let me leave until I call someone to get me and my stupid friends and stupid aunt won’t pick up.”

“So you decided to call me?!”

“You’re the only other person I know who lives in London.”

“Who told you I lived in London?”

“Aggie. Said you had a cute little flat and a cute little cat.” He giggles, and I can almost picture a dopey smile on his usually frowning face. It looks so weird and wrong. “Hey, that rhymes.”

I sit even more upright. “Wait, Aggie? As in Agatha?! Are you two dating now?!”

He scoffs. Now that really reminds me of our school days. “No, Snow, I’m not dating your ex. She’s not my type.”

“That’s rude. Agatha is very pretty.”

“I mean that she’s not a man, Snow.”

My face immediately turns scarlet, and this time not from being upside down. “O-Oh. You’re gay?”

“Once again, duh!”

“Fuck off, you flirted with her all the time!”

“Nuh-uh.” He sounds like a bloody obnoxious American. “Not really. Just did that to piss you off.”

“I’m hanging up,” I growl.

“Wait!” Baz shouts as I move the phone off my ear. “Please don’t hang up, Simon. Fucking hell, I need you.”

I seriously debate actually hanging up. But there’s something in his voice that tugs at my chest. It’s weird and explainable, but it’s there. I slowly bring the phone back to my ear. “You need me?”

“Yeah,” he groans. “I’m drunk as fuck and uh...yeah, I’m still bleeding.”

My pulse goes wild instantly. “Bleeding?! Are you hurt?!”

“Yeah, but you should see the other bloke,” he laughs proudly. “Bartender says if someone doesn’t pick me up and take me home, she’s calling the police to come get me. Doesn’t trust me with an Uber or something.” Baz makes a weird yet familiar sound. Is...is Baz Pitch sticking his tongue out at someone? What the fuck has happened in the last seven years?

“Alright,” I sigh. “Where are you?”

“Yay! I am...” He takes a long pause, which gives me time to rub my aching temple. “Hey, where am I?”

There’s more rustling and some muffled yelling. “He’s at XOYO,” a stern woman’s voice says. “32-37 Cowper St, second floor. We’re closing in an hour so get here soon.”

Before I can say anything else, the phone clicks off. I stay frozen for a moment. My brain is still playing a bit of catch up. So, Baz bloody Pitch has called me out of the blue after seven years, drunk off his arrogant arse, apparently gay, and needs me to pick him up. And now he’s sorry for being a dick to me through our entire time in school? That’s nice. Few years too late if you ask me, but better late than never I suppose.

I look down at all my notes, the ones I have to finish in a few weeks before the new school year. If I were a worse person, I would forget about Baz, finish my lessons, and just go to bed. He’s my former bully, I shouldn’t care. But when I think about Baz, drunk, bleeding, sitting there alone at a bar waiting for me but I never show up, my stomach plummets to the centre of the Earth.

Godammit.

I march towards the door, grab my keys, and set out to fulfill a bad idea.

Turns out this bar is right in the middle of bloody Shoreditch. Which means at this time of night (or morning), there’s lots of closing nightclubs and stumbling drunk people being sick on the sidewalk. Glad I didn’t take the tube.

XOYO is a mostly nondescript red brick building with some black panelling and a neon red sign. I park as close as I can, which is not that close. The stairs up to the club are steep and leave me panting by the end. Bloody hell, I need to get back to the gym. Chasing ten years old is not enough exercise apparently. The bar is one of those hipster places with wooden tables and old Victorian chairs and candles. There’s a few people passed out on tables, snoring with their beer glasses.

“Simon!” a familiar voice shouts from the bar. “Simon, over here!”

I turn to my left too look at the bar, and...wow. After seven years, Baz looks so different, yet so the same. Same sharp cheekbones, same long-ish raven hair, same deep sea grey eyes. He’s broader though, shoulders filling out his blood stained grey dress shirt. Far less gaunt and gangly and vampiric looking than he was in school. The shirt has the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. Weird. Baz always had his uniform buttoned to collar in school. Then I have to do a double take, because...Baz Pitch is wearing jeans? They’re dark and expensive looking, hugging his legs, which still have a footballer’s strong muscles. He has a big, dopey, drunk grin, which is offset by the small black eye and blood trickling from his nose. It’s unfortunate this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile.

I walk towards him, hands in my pockets, shoulders nervously hunched in. Why is my heart beating so fast? Bloody hell, calm down, Simon, it’s just Baz. You know him, probably better than most people. He’s an arsehole, not evil. And we haven’t had a physical fight since we were thirteen. Plus it’s been seven years, we’re adults now. He won’t bite. Hopefully.

“Hi Baz,” I say, trying to hide my nerves. “Uh, nice to see you.”

Baz squints at me, and a pang of panic shoots through me. Is there something wrong with my face? Bloody hell, what a cruel twist of fate it would be, to see my childhood enemy after years and have pizza sauce on my cheek.

“Um, Baz, you there?” I weakly wave a hand in front of him.

“Since when do you wear spectacles?” he asks, still slurring his words.

I instinctively touch my wireframe glasses, immediately self conscious. “Oh. Since first year uni. Turns out one of the reasons school Watford so hard for me was that I couldn’t read the board a lot.”

I chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. I expect Baz to laugh or mock me like he used to. But instead he grins again, leaning his cheek on his bruised hand. “They look good.”

Why are my cheeks heating up? Must be bad air conditioning. “Um, thanks, Baz.”

He keeps grinning, showing off his sharp bright white teeth. (There’s a good reason I thought he was a vampire.) “Welcome.”

It goes silent again, with me standing awkwardly and Baz grinning. Christ, this is so weird. I assumed I’d never see Baz ever again, let alone drunk and bloodied in designer jeans. I have less of an idea what to do than usual.

“Ugh, finally!” a woman’s voice says to the side. I whip my head around to see who must obviously be the bartender. She’s got a deep scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “You’re Simon Snow?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” I reply.

“Good. Please take this arsehole off my hands.”

Baz blows a raspberry at her like a toddler. Bloody hell, he is a weird drunk. The bartender glares and flips him off.

“I’ll get him out of here,” I say.

“Thank you.” She digs under the bar and takes out a sleek black iPhone. “Here’s his phone. Took it from him after he almost dropped it in a beer glass.”

“Alright.” My brow furrows in confusion. “Do you have Baz’s keys? Or does he still have them?”

“He never had them. Searched all his pockets, nothing there.”

“Worst feel up ever,” Baz grumbles.

I rub my aching temple. “Baz, did you really forget your keys?”

He frowns and scratches his head with a bloodied hand. “Hm, yes, I think I did. I left my flat pretty fast. Maybe the super will let me in if he’s awake.”

“Where do you live?”

His brows pull together, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. Now that is certainly an expression I remember from school. It’s his thinking face. I used to glare at him while he studied all the time. “Somewhere...posh, and silver.”

I groan and drag a hand over my face. “Alright then. Well...I guess I’ll bring you to my flat.”

Baz’s jaw drops open and he shakes his head, making his black hair fan out in a strangely majestic way. “No no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out-”

“No, Baz, you won’t, you’re too pissed to think right now. I’m taking you to my place, no questions.”

He frowns. I can’t tell if he’s sad or angry. “I don’t wanna im-”

“We lived together for years, arsehole. One more night won’t kill you. Come on, get up.”

I grab his bicep and haul him to his feet. Bloody hell, does he work out a lot or something? He’s made of fucking rock. Baz wobbles back and forth and ends up leaning on me. I struggle to keep him upright.

“Baz,” I grumble, “you’re too heavy, I can’t hold you up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sort of heaves himself upwards, still wobbling on his feet, but at least he’s standing. That’s something I guess.

“You good?”

Baz sticks out his arms like he’s on a tightrope. “Yeah, I’m alright. Mostly.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.” I look over at the still very annoyed bartender. “Uh, thanks for taking care of him.”

“If you’re really thankful,” she spits, “make sure he doesn’t come back.”

She marches off into the back. Baz flips her off before I quickly pull down his hand. “Enough,” I grumble. “Let’s get you out of here before she smacks you.”

“Kinky,” he chuckles. God, drunk Baz is fucking weird.

Getting down the stairs takes far longer than it should. Baz has to watch his every step so he doesn’t go tumbling down. He’s like a shaky newborn fawn. It would be cute if it weren't so frustrating. Finally, we get to the bottom and I lead Baz by the sleeve towards my car. He laughs loudly when we reach it. I immediately scowl and whip around to face him.

“What?!” I snap, assuming he’s making fun of my old beat up beetle. But instead he has his head tilted upwards, laughing at the sky. Neon club signs and yellow street lights light up his smiling face. He’s like a rainbow constellation, colour reaching every crevice. Huh. Baz has always been pretty, but has he always been this pretty?

“Lights in the sky,” he laughs. “Pretty.”

I groan and tug him hard. “Come on, you drunk prat, hurry up.”

Baz stumbles along reluctantly. I shove into the passenger seat and buckle him up like he’s a bloody eight year old, then take my place in the driver’s seat. Baz is slumping, the seat belt digging into his cheek. If we crash his pretty face is going to get cut open. I debate telling him, but Baz rarely ever listens to me, and I doubt that has changed much.

I turn the engine over. Baz lets out a whoop so loud I jolt. “Allons-y,” he shouts like some deranged adventurer.

“Silence, s’il vous plait,” I reply as I turn on to the road.

“Oo, you speak French now, Snow?”

“Yes. I lived in France for a year, I learned pretty well.”

“Very nice.” For a moment I think he’s mocking me, but his smile is completely genuine, if not a bit drunken. Is it weird that I like drunk adult Baz better than sober teen Baz?

I drive through Shoreditch slowly, making sure not to hit any wayward club leavers. Baz grumbles about the slowness, but I tell him to shut up or I’ll drive us into a pole. That makes him quiet for a little while, thank god. When we hit the main drag, he decides to pipe up again.

“So what have you been up to, Snow?” he asks.

My eyes briefly flick over to him, catching his grin and glazed eyes. I scoff and look back at the road. “Really? We’re going to chit chat about life after Watford?”

“You just want us to sit in silence the whole time?”

“Maybe.”

“Boring,” he groans. “Come on, Snow, it’s been a while. Let’s catch up.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Yes, I would love to catch up with my plastered childhood bully.”

Baz lets out a pathetic sort of whining sigh. Suddenly, something brushes my shoulder. I jolt away and briefly look over, realising it’s Baz’s hand. He’s pouting in the way his mouth is perfectly made for.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About all the shit I did. I was a messed up prick at Watford. I’m really sorry I took that all out on you.”

I raise an extremely suspicious eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?!”

“It’s been seven years, Snow. Am I not allowed to learn from my mistakes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course. I just didn’t expect it from you...”

“I’m a changed man, Snow,” he declares proudly. “No more picking on other people to avoid dealing with my emotional and family problems.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Wow, you sound like a therapist.”

“That’s because I am a therapist.”

We stop at a red light, giving me a chance to whip my head around in shock. My jaw is firmly on the ground. “You’re a therapist?!”

“Sort of.” Baz grins pointed ear to pointed ear. He offers his hand, though it’s a bit limp. “Dr. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, psychiatrist in training at University College Hospital. Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t take my hands off the wheel, so I don’t take his, but I smile instead. Baz chuckles as his hand falls, so I think he gets the picture.

“Wow,” I sigh. “You, a psychiatrist. I never would have thought.”

“Me neither, until I took a psychology course in year 10. Then I decided I liked, y’know, mind stuff and shit. It was interesting and challenging. And I could help people with it.”

I scoff, but with a smile. “And you used to call me the overly noble hero.”

“Well, I decided to follow in your golden footsteps, golden boy.” He turns towards me, cheeks squished against the seat. He’s really going to die if we crash. “So really, what have you been up to since Watford, Mr. Hero? Storming castles? Saving damsels in distress? Travelling the world?”

That makes me laugh louder. “You have a way overinflated sense of my heroism.”

He snorts, but it’s not unkind like it used to be. Just sort of amused. “Alright. Then what do you do?”

“I’m, uh, actually a primary teacher. Year six, to be exact.”

“Oh,” Baz breathes out, sounding genuinely amazed. “That’s cool. That makes sense, yeah.”

“Makes sense?”

“You were always helping out the kids in younger years at Watford.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Yeah, guess you’ve got a point.”

“Is it fun? Teaching children?”

“Yeah. I like finding fun ways to teach them stuff. Though it’s not great they get in fights or stuck lego bricks up their noses.”

Baz lets out a barking laugh. It’s a fun, sudden sound. I’ve never heard it before, yet it works well for Baz. “Is that what people mean by ‘the joys of children?’”

“Something like that. Is psychiatry fun?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “But time consuming. Doctors aren’t supposed to have damn lives apparently.”

“Well, good thing you found time to go to a hipster bar”

Everything suddenly gets very, very quiet. It reminds me of when we would study. Backs to each other, no noise, plenty of tension. Did I say something wrong? I used to do that a lot, but I thought I’d gotten better. I’ve learned to chew my words better over the years. But when we stop at a roundabout, I turn to see that Baz is gazing ahead, mouth a thin line and grey eyes lost in the distance.

“Pretty lights,” he whispers in awe, like a child. I guess alcohol does turn adults into children. His nose is still letting out a small trickle of dark red blood. I sigh and shake my head.

“Glove box,” I say.

Baz turns his head to me. “Huh?”

“There’s tissues in the glove box. Your nose is still bleeding a bit.”

“Oh.” He paws at the latch in front of him, floppy drunk fingers struggling to just bloody lift it. I sigh and reach over, lifting it for him. Baz takes out the little packet and flashes me that dopey smile. Why does my chest feel funny? I must be overtired.

“Thanks,” he says, then presses the tissue to his nose. It’s weirdly comforting in its familiarity. I still remember sitting in the headmaster’s office after our fights, covered in bruises and blood, glaring at each other. This is better though. We’re not fighting, in fact we’re being nice. Maybe this is how we could’ve been at Watford. Maybe we could’ve been...friends.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride. But it’s a comfortable silence, no tension. I like it. A lot. I like all of this better than fighting.

———————————————

I pull into my spot in front of my apartment. Dragging Baz out of the car is a bit of a problem, but luckily my place has a lift, so no more stair problems. He starts leaning on me as we go up to my floor. I use one finger to push him back, and he slumps against the wall. I need to strap him to a dolly.

We go into my apartment, and I instinctively prepare for a snide comment from Baz. Something about it’s size, it’s clutter, the decor. But he says nothing derogatory. In fact, he smiles, brushing his hand against my Van Gogh print and old dining room table.

“You, uh, like it?” I ask. Wait, why does it matter what Baz thinks of my place? I don’t need his approval.

“Yeah,” Baz replies. “It’s very nice.”

There’s a thump from my room, followed by the familiar pitter-patter of tiny paws. Cherry prances into the room, all fluffy tailed and cute. She blinks up at Baz with big green eyes. Baz makes a tiny gasp and gets on his knees, holding his hand out to Cherry.

“Hello, pretty kitty,” he says softly. “Aren’t you an adorable little thing.”

Cherry sniffs his fingers, then immediately nuzzles against his hand. Baz looks absolutely elated, a big childish grin on his face.

“You like cats, huh?”

Baz nods vigorously. “I would have one if my building allowed pets.” He scratches behind Charry’s ear with glee. “What’s this little one’s name?”

“Her name is Cherry.”

“You did love those scones,” he chuckles.

I chuckle as well, fiddling with my shirt sleeve. “Still do. Though none are as good as Cook Pritchard’s.”

“Very true.” He stands up, pulling away from Cherry, and wobbles his way into the sitting room. He stands between my coffee table and ratty old couch. “So may I sleep on that couch?”

I scramble in after him and start piling up my curriculum papers. I don’t want Baz shouting at me for the mess. “Uh, yeah, just lemme fix it up a bit.”

“It’s alright-”

“No, I’ll fix it. And...maybe you should clean up a bit first?”

Baz turns to me with a confused expression. “What?” I sigh and point at is blood spattered shirt. He pulls it in front of himself, like a child who’s spilled food. “Oh, right.”

“There’s stuff on you face too...”

Baz drags a long finger over his cheek, and rubs the dried blood between his fingers. “Good point.

“You wanna take a shower maybe?”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Uh, yeah. But be warned, I don’t have any of your fancy French soaps.”

He lets out a loud short laugh, like a happy little firecracker going off. “Wouldn’t expect you to, Snow. I doubt you’ve changed that much.”

“Heh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, which is getting very hot for some reason. I think I need to fix my fan.

Baz wobbles back towards me. He stands a bit too close, and now that things are calm, I notice how he smells. It’s a mix of liquor, irony blood, and the very faint, familiar scent of cedar and bergamot. Seven years later and I can’t forget that smell. I guess it’s burned into my brain forever. I’m not sure that I mind.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, snapping me out of my olfactory induced daze.

“Oh, uh, down the hall and to your left. There’s towels in the cupboard.”

“Alright.” He sticks his hands in his trouser pockets, a very shy gesture I’m not used to seeing from him. “Thank you. Again. I’m saying that a lot tonight, wow.”

I chuckle and shrug. “I guess so. Now go wash off that awful blood please.”

“Aye aye, Mr.Snow.” He does a mocking little American salute with two fingers. I watch as he half skips his way to the bathroom, trying not to giggle at his ridiculous gait.

The bathroom door shuts, and I let out a long breath. My brain is still playing catch up. I need to sit, relax, just process all this shit. Once I organize my papers into semi-neat piles and close my laptop, I grab a cherry granola bar from the counter and collapse on the couch. I hear the shower turn on. I glance over at the clock. Bloody hell, it’s past 3am, and my enemy is taking a shower in my flat. Well, former enemy, I guess. We’re not fighting anymore. In fact, Baz is being really nice. It’s pretty damn great. I hope we can keep this up.

Cherry jumps onto the couch, startling me from my daze. She immediately curls up on my lap, purring happily. I chuckle as I pet her. Penny jokes that Cherry is my emotional support service cat. Honestly, she’s not wrong. I don’t know what I would do without her.

“Wanna watch Dr. Who, darling?” I coo, scratching behind her ear. “Yes, yes you do.”

I grab the remote and turn on Netflix, going to one of my favourite episodes. We sit there in peaceful silence through the show. I try not to listen to the shower down the hall. I can’t help but worry. What if he slips and hits his head? What if he falls asleep and drowns? What if he tries to eat the bloody soap? All are strong possibilities. But he’s still Baz. He’s too smart and stubborn to die.

As I near the end of the episode, I realise it’s been half an hour since Baz went in. My heart beats double time, every fear racing through my head. (As well as concern for my water bill.) But the sound of water shuts off, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear Baz’s unsteady feet pad around the tiled floor. But then there’s rattling and muffled swearing, and I’m on my feet immediately. Cherry meows unhappily and scuttles away.

“Sorry, girl,” I say as I speed walk to the bathroom. I knock on the wooden door. “Baz? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” his muffled voice replies, but that’s followed by a loud bang. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“I’m coming in.”

“Snow, wait-”

I push the door open and immediately freeze. All the blood in my body goes straight to my face, turning it tomato red. Because Baz Pitch is standing in front of my medicine cabinet with nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair is soaked and messy, falling adorably in front his shocked face. His legs look strong enough to crush someone. Thin rivulets of water drip down his broad, bare chest. I watch them for a few long, drawn out seconds, completely frozen. In our time living together, Baz and I made a point to never see each other without clothes on. Did he even look close to this back at school? Did I just never notice?

“Um...” Baz says, breaking me out of my daze. I whip around, hand cupped over my eyes.

“Bloody hell, Baz!” I shout. “Give a guy some warning.”

“I would have if you hadn’t come bursting in!”

“Well, you took awhile in the shower, then I heard swearing. Excuse me for being concerned.”

“I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Hero, though not for your usual brashness.”

“Just put some clothes on, please.”

“Very well.”

I listen to Baz shuffle and grumble as I assume he gets dressed. I resist the urge to turn around and check if he can get his legs into his trousers. I’m not sure how drunk he still is.

“You can turn around now, Snow.”

I slowly turn, and my face turns scarlet again. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

“Because mine is covered in blood,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which I guess it is, but still he’s not wearing a shirt. Why are my hands so clammy?

Baz starts sorting through the medicine cabinet. I frown in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for bandages.” He lifts his left hand, showing off his bruised, still slightly bleeding knuckles. “You got any?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get it, sit down on the toilet.”

Baz stumbles over and does what he’s told (for once). I grab the first aid kit from under the sink and sit next to him on the edge of the tub.

“Gimme your hand,” I say. Baz holds out his arm, fingers limp. I try not to look freaked out. His skin is black and blue and there are many cuts, still bleeding slowly. “Why are you still bleeding? It’s been like, an hour.”

“My blood alcohol content is high,” Baz replies. “Booze is a blood thinner. Means I’ll bleed more.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Thanks, Mr. Doctor.”

Baz chuckles, a soft smile playing on his mouth. “Dr. Grimm-Pitch will do.”

I laugh as well. I take a towel off the rack and pat his hand dry, then get the antiseptic.

“I just had a shower,” Baz protests.

“Don’t care. We need to make sure you don’t get an infection.”

“I’m fine.”

I pour the clear liquid on a sterile pad. “Still doing it.”

“I’m the doctor here, dammit.”

“The doctor who is still drunk off his arse after a bloody bar fight. So shut up.”

Baz frowns, but doesn’t protest. I lightly pat his cuts. He inhales sharply through his teeth and tries to pull away, but I grab his wrist, holding still.

“Don’t move,” I say.

“It hurts,” he whines like a toddler.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what you get for getting in a bar fight, idiot.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t move again either. Once I’m satisfied all the cuts are clean, I use another pad to get them dry, then take out the bandages.

“You get injured a lot, Snow?” He’s smirking playfully, not a hint of malice. It’s much nicer than his smug arsehole face.

“No,” I chuckle. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Especially if your former enemy shows up drunk and bleeding.”

Thoughts start racing through my head. Horrible, nervous thoughts. I stop wrapping his hand for a moment, but quickly start again. Unfortunately, Baz notices.

“Something on your mind, Snow?” he asks.

I chew on my bottom lip as I secure the bandage. I gesture for Baz to give me his other hand, and he does. I slowly pat on the antiseptic and he doesn’t move at all. Slowly, I look up, and I meet Baz’s deep sea eyes. He doesn’t look mad or annoyed, just concerned. So am I.

“Baz,” I sigh, “you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And considering you’re a bloody doctor now, I doubt that’s changed. So I’m absolutely astounded at how you could get so drunk and end up in a bar fight.”

Baz’s thin lips press together, and I watch his throat bob in a gulp. He leans his elbow on the sink, propping his cheek on his fist. “Snow,” he says slowly, “what do you know about my mother?”

My blood turns ice cold. I stop with the bandage completely, just looking at Baz. “Uh, not much. I know she died a long time ago. And...it was at Watford...”

Baz nods slowly. “Yes, that’s what everyone knows. But what most people don’t know is that I was there.”

And now my heart completely stops. My mouth falls open slightly. Baz’s face stays completely neutral. “You...you were there?”

“Yeah.” He leans harder on his fist. “I was sitting with the rest of the kids in the Watford nursery. Suddenly a group of men with knives burst in. They started to come after the nannies and the children. But that’s when my mother showed up with her hunting rifle. My father insisted she have it for protection when he wasn’t there. She got all of the men immediately, including the one holding me. She hit him in the shoulder so he dropped me. Another man charged her while she was distracted, and she shot him in the chest, but not before...” Baz rubs his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like I do when I have a headache. “Not before he stabbed her in the neck. She bled to death in seconds.” He drags his hand down his face. “I fell unconscious after that. When I woke up, my father and aunt were tending to my wounds, and my mother was gone. I was young, it’s all a bit hazy, but I remember enough.”

I’m left in stunned silence. Baz doesn’t say anything either, just rubbing his head. He’s not crying, but he looks on the verge of tears. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it, can’t believe Baz went through that and no one ever knew. It’s just terrible.

“Wow,” I finally say, “that’s...wow.”

Baz chuckles quietly. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I never knew that happened...”

“No one did, Snow. All the gruesome little details were kept under wraps. It would’ve been terrible if anyone found out Natasha Grimm-Pitch died in such an undignified way that traumatized her heir.”

His voice is mockingly scathing, even with his slightly slurred speech. He’s a mix between furious and mournful. I don’t understand how he feels, but I don’t think I ever could. I may never have had parents, but that’s a far cry from watching your’s die.

“I don’t know how much it means, but I’m sorry that happened to you Baz.”

The corner of his lip quirks up into a small half smile. “Thanks, Snow.”

I start wrapping his hand again, and my brow furrows. “So, uh, what does this have to do with you getting drunk and fighting? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Baz takes a deep inhale through his nose, and lets out the air through his mouth. “My mother was killed twenty years ago today.”

“O-oh. That...yeah, that makes sense.”

“Mhm. I’ve lived with it for most of my life, but this anniversary hit me harder than I expected. I had my first day off in months, so after some mindless telly, I went to that bar. Gave the bartender my card and told her to keep the tequila coming. First mistake.”

“Second one was getting in a fight?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He flexes his bandaged hand. “It was just some arsehole looking for trouble. He kept prodding at me and shoving my shoulder until I snapped. I don’t even remember what he said. I was just so angry and sad and drunk. And that arsehole was right there” He groans loudly and rubs his head. “One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”

“Probably. But you made one good choice.”

“Oh?”

I finish bandaging his other hand and smile at his mopey face. “You called me.”

His mopeyness melts away as he lets out a breathy laugh. Our eyes meet, and his are glinting in a way I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, I guess that was a good idea.”

We smile at each other. Something tugs in my chest, something I don’t fully understand. I’ve never felt anything like this. Maybe I’m just overtired.

Baz flexes his bandaged hands. I put the first aid kit under the sink again. Baz stands and presses a hand to his bruised eye. hissing between his teeth. “Got any ice packs, Snow?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply. “It’s in the kitchen, c’mon.”

We walk towards the kitchen. I open the freezer and pull out my reusable ice pack. Teaching a bunch of children can result in some bad headaches. I wrap it in a napkin and hand it to Baz. He presses it to his eye with clenched teeth. As he leans back against the counter, I remember he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Uh,” I say, “those jeans don’t look comfortable. I’ve got some spare pyjamas. Want me to get them?”

Baz nods. “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”

“Alright, stay here.”

I go to my bedroom, wading through the laundry I have to do tomorrow to get to the dresser. It takes awhile for me to find something that will probably fit Baz. Damn his extra four inches, always so infuriating. I eventually pick out some trackies and a long Chicago Cubs shirt. It’s all I’ve got. I go back to the kitchen, and come upon a strange scene.

“Baz,” I say slowly, “what are you doing?

Baz looks up from the messy, cutlery covered counter, still pressing the ice pack to his eye. He lifts a plate with two pieces of bread, both half covered in marmite. “Making a marmite and cheese sandwich. You want half?”

His expression is so innocent, not a hint of the old malice I used to know. I let out a sigh. “Sure. Let me get the cheese.”

He grins and goes back to slathering on marmite. I pull my sliced sandwich cheese from the fridge. Hope Baz doesn’t mind cheap Tesco brand swiss. I bring the package to the counter, and Baz takes out a slice without even looking. Guess he’s not as snobbish about food as he used to be. He cuts the sandwich into two slightly lopsided triangles and swans out to my dining room. I follow behind with the pyjamas.

Baz sits in a chair, leaning back with his legs spread out. I sit across from him, placing the clothes on the table. Baz snatches it. It unfolds and his brows pull together.

“You a baseball fan now, Snow?” he asks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah. Micah definitely is though.”

“Who?”

“Remember that American exchange student from fourth year?”

“The short nerd with large glasses?” His voice is muffled as he struggles to put on the shirt. Drunk Baz doesn’t get along with t-shirt holes.

“Yeah, that’s one way to describe him I guess. He and Penny started dating then and have been together ever since. She lives in America with him now.”

Baz’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How is Bunce? I miss facing off with her in debate club.”

“She’s doing well. She’s got a job as an assistant professor in Chicago and loves American food. I just saw her a few weeks ago on vacation.”

“Marvelous. Tell her I say hello next time you speak to her.”

“Will do.” We both take one half of the marmite-cheese sandwich. Baz takes a huge bite, followed by a happy groan. I can’t tell if he’s drunk hungry or actually hungry. Probably somewhere in between. I take a bite as well. There’s far too much marmite, but it’s four in the morning. Right now anything tastes good.

Thinking of Penny makes me think of Watford. And something else, or more accurately someone else, pops into my head.

“Hey,” I say through the marmite, “you said you talked to Agatha earlier. How are you two still in contact? She cut off almost everyone after Watford. I didn’t start talking to her again until a year ago.”

Baz quickly chews and swallows. “Funny story there. I did a semester abroad in California and ended up in the same biology class as Agatha. It was extremely awkward at first. But once we sat down over coffee and sorted stuff out, we bonded very quickly. Similar upper class British family problems and expectations.”

“Oh. That’s makes sense I guess. It’s nice you guys talk.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He chuckles, mouth gummed with marmite. “The weirdest part was telling her I’m gay. I apologised for leading her on, and you know what she did?”

I lean over the table, genuinely enraptured. “What?”

“Laughed her fucking arse off for ten minutes straight.”

I snort so hard I nearly shoot sandwich out my nose. Baz throws his head back laughing. He’s so loud he might disturb my neighbours, but I don’t care. His laugh is too incredible.

“Just like that,” he giggles, calming down.

“So she wasn’t mad?” I ask.

“No, not at all. She admitted she wasn’t really into me. She was just rebelling against her parents. We both sympathised on that front.” He sighs and leans back even more. “That’s all I wanted at Watford, really. I was under so much pressure to be the perfect son. I seriously considered yelling ‘fuck it’ and doing whatever I wanted.”

I sigh too, putting my cheek against my palm. “Yeah, I understand that. Mr. Mage put a lot of pressure on me. He wanted to prove to the Watford board that scholarship students were worthwhile, and since I was Watford’s very first scholarship kid, I had to be perfect. Every time I got a low grade he would yell at me for an hour.”

“What a prick,” Baz grumbles.

I chuckle as I nod slowly. “Yeah, total prick. Watford wasn’t an easy place to be.”

Baz slowly lowers his sandwich, looking pointedly at the plate, and therefore not me. My heart speeds up. Did I say something wrong? Did I piss him off by accident? I do that a lot. And I definitely used to do that to Baz.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t mean to pry,” he says carefully. “And maybe this is me still being pretty drunk. But...I saw something in your medicine cabinet.”

I squint, trying to think what could be so concerning. “Saw what?”

He fiddles with his still damp hair. It’s an old nervous habit I recognise from finals studying. “A bottle of citalopram. I’m a future psychiatrist, I know what that medication is usually for...”

My stomach drops out. I freeze with the sandwich still in my hand. “Oh,” I squeak.

“Yeah.” He leans closer, eyes round and sympathetic. “I’m sorry I looked. And...I’m sorry if I had any part in your need for it-”

“No no, Baz.” I shake my head, leaning forward as well. “You don’t have to. It’s not your fault, it’s not anyone’s in particular, really. It’s stupid chemicals misfiring in my brain. You’re a doctor, you know that.”

“Yes, of course I know that, Snow. But I also know my incessant arsehole behaviour for seven years probably didn’t help.”

I shrug, leaning back again. “Probably. And I bet me insulting you and punching you in the face all the time didn’t help your mental health either.”

He smiles and laughs again. He looks better when he laughs. “Okay, good point.”

“Exactly. So let’s agree neither of us need to apologise. We’ll let the past be the past, move on from here.”

“So you mean a truce?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I reach out my hand. “Truce.”

Baz smiles and clasps his hand with mine. His skin is just as rough and cold as I remember it being back at school. But even after we pull apart, my skin still feels warm.

“Just so we’re even,” Baz says with his mouthful, “my favourite antidepressant was cipralex. I went off it a few months ago because it started making me too drowsy, but it worked well for years. Citalopram made me far too ill. When I first tried it, I ended up vomiting in a bloody bedpan.”

I burst out laughing. And Baz’s grin outshines the sun.

We finish our sandwiches together. Baz complains that his mouth tastes like a rubbage heap. Apparently the combination of old tequila, Tesco cheese, and marmite creates a truly awful flavour. I give him an unused toothbrush from the dentist. He goes into the bathroom and soon emerges with clean teeth and wearing my trackies. I’m back on the couch with Cherry in my lap.

“You tired?” I ask.

“Not really,” Baz replies. “Late hospital shifts have turned me into an insomniac.”

“Wanna watch some Dr. Who?”

He throws himself down next to me, long arm stretched out over the back of the couch behind me. “Sure.”

I switch to a new episode. It’s a standalone, so Baz won’t be too confused. But he still asks incessant questions. Who’s this, what’s that, how the everloving fuck can they do that and survive? No wonder he’s a doctor. He’s perfect at looking for answers, no matter how annoying he is. Eventually I have to threaten to duct tape his mouth to get him to shut up. He huffs, crosses his arms, and sinks down further.. His head ends up on my shoulder. Despite my shorter neck length and Baz’s naturally long face, his head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. Like it was made to be there. Wait, where did that thought come from?

The credits roll, and I notice a quiet whistling noise. I turn my head to the side. Oh. Baz is asleep. His eyes are softly closed and his lips are slightly parted. I’ve seen Baz sleep before of course, but this is different. Baz had nightmares throughout our entire time at Watford. (So did I.) I don’t think he’s having one now though. There’s no thrashing or whimpers. I’ve never seen Baz look so...peaceful.

“Baz,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond at all. “Baz,” I say louder, jerking my shoulder a bit.

“Ugh,” he groans, “let me sleep in, Daphne, it’s summer.”

“I’m not your step-mum, Baz.”

He cracks one eye open. “No, you’re really not, Snow.”

“Yeah. You wanna go to bed?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“Okay.” I slowly get up, easing Baz off my shoulder. I gently lower him onto the couch. The bottom half of his face hangs off the arm. Yeah, he’s going to need a pillow. I go to my bedroom and grab a pillow and blanket. I also make a stop by the bathroom for some aspirin and make another at the kitchen for some water and a bowl, in case he’s sick. I would prefer not to clean vomit out of my carpet.

Baz is still awkwardly pressed against the sofa arm, drooling slightly. Who would’ve thought I’d see the day Baz Pitch drooled in his sleep? I wouldn’t have. Not in a million years. But apparently tonight is a time for new things.

I place the bowl, water, and aspirin on my coffee table. Slowly and carefully, I lift Baz’s head and fit a pillow under it. I drape the blanket over his annoyingly tall body. His arm hangs like a limp noodle off the side. I sigh, kneeling down to tuck it back in.

Out of nowhere, I feel long, rough fingers touching my cheek. My whole body locks up in shock. Slowly, I raise my head, and I meet Baz’s half open grey eyes and soft smile.

“Uh, Baz?” I say, not sure what else I can.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispers. My eyes widen and every nerve in my body is filled with...something? Fear, nerves, an absolute sense of what the fuck? I can’t tell.

“W-What?”

Baz’s hand moves lower. His thumb traces just under my bottom lip. Why does my skin feels like it’s fire? “Your face, it’s still really pretty.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I guess you’d know. You punched it enough.”

He laughs softly. His hand falls, pulling back under the blanket, and his eyes slip shut. “Wish I had kissed it instead.”

I don’t even have time to respond to that, because Baz is asleep in an instant, snoring quietly once again. I’m frozen in place. My jaw is slack. Baz would tell me I’m going to catch flies. Baz, who’s sleeping right in front of me, who wished he had kissed me? My brain can’t process this. I’m like a computer with an eternal blue screen. This does not compute, cannot compute, fuck fuck fuck.

There’s only one thing I can think to do.

I grab my phone, rush to my room, and close the door. Cherry is already curled up on her side. The second I’m sitting on the mattress, I click Penny’s contact.

“Hello?” Her voice immediately calms me down.

“Hi, Pen,” I say.

“Simon?! Bloody hell, isn’t it like four in the morning in London?”

I look over at my clock. “Uh, yup, just about.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why are calling me at four AM?”

I sigh and flop backwards. “Pen, you’re not going to believe who is sleeping in my living room right now.”

“Who? The Doctor? Boris Johnson? The Queen of England>

A laugh bubbles from my mouth. “Nah, even weirder.”

I can almost hear Penny’s face pinching together in confusion. “Who?”

“Baz Pitch.”

She gasps loudly. “What?! As in Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? That Baz Pitch?!”

“You think there’s another Baz Pitch in existence?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “good point. So why is your arsehole former roommate sleeping on your couch?”

I rub the bridge of my nose. It doesn’t help. I’m not sure anything can help now. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I sigh, and start spinning my insane tale. From the call to the bar to my flat, how Baz and I talked and became friendly and made a weird truce over cheese and marmite. I try to say everything quickly yet accurately. Penny barely makes a noise as I talk. I can’t tell if she’s shocked or contemplative. Probably both, honestly. I can’t blame her. The more I talk, the more completely nuts it all sounds. I’m living in a bloody sitcom.

“And then,” I say, “he held my face, said I was beautiful, and that he wished he had kissed me instead of punching me!”

“Wow,” Penny gasps. “That’s...a lot.”

“I know right? I’m so confused and I have no idea what the fuck to do!”

“Okay. What do you want to do though?”

I rub my very aching brow. “I don’t know, Pen. It’s so weird. Like, is this something he’s just realised or has Baz always felt this way?”

“Probably the second one.”

I bolt upright, brows knitted together. “Wait, really? You think so?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“But why?!”

“Well, Baz has always been very obsessed with you. He would go out of his way to be around you.”

“Yeah, to torment me,” I grumble.

Penny lets out a sigh. “Yes, he did. But as you told me, Baz said he picked on you because he couldn’t deal with his emotional issues. One of those issues certainly could have been romantic feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t he just say something?!”

“Because he was the gay son of a conservative upper class British family, which probably wasn’t easy to deal with. Plus, his father and aunt hated the idea of scholarship students, also known as you.”

My righteous anger fizzles out like a dying campfire, shoulders slumping as I fall back against the headboard. “Oh. Yeah, that’s a good point. Still shouldn’t have been a snob and a bully.

“No he shouldn’t have. It was probably half poor coping and half trying to get your attention.”

“Like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails?”

“I guess.”

“That’s a stupid and sexist way to handle a crush. I tell my students that all the time.”

Penny sighs. “Yeah, of course it is. But I’m pretty sure Baz knows that, at least now. He’s sorry for what he did. It seems like he’s gotten a lot better.”

“Yeah.” A smile creeps across my face without thinking. It just feels natural. “He’s gotten a lot nicer. He’s not the perfect, pretty, unfeeling arsehole I thought he was. And he’s funny, at least when he’s drunk. We had a pretty great time .”

I laugh quietly, but Penny’s is far louder. She sounds like she’s muffling her giggles. I frown a bit. “What’s so funny, Pen?”

“Oh,” she keeps giggling, “I think I’ve just realised something, and it’s hilarious.”

“Realised what?”

She takes a few deep calming breaths while my anxiety just climbs. “Simon,” she says kindly. This is the way she used to speak while explaining our complicated maths homework. “Hear me out, but I don’t think Baz is the only one who feels something.”

“Huh?”

“I think you have at least a few romantic feelings for Baz.”

“What?!” I shout far too loudly, and I worry I’m going to wake up Baz. I crouch inward, like I’m hiding, but I’m not really sure what. Baz? Penny? Myself?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hiss.

“Hear me out,” Penny says. “I’m saying that based on the evidence, you may have latent romantic feelings for Baz Pitch.”

“What evidence?!”

Penny lets out a low chuckle, like a super villain who’s plan has come to fruition. “Let’s see. Number one: back at Watford, you spent 99% of your time thinking about, talking about, or being with Baz. I had to put a limit on how much you were allowed to talk about Baz, remember?”

“Yeah, because he was bugging me,” I mumble.

“Number two: when you talked about Baz, it was always about how annoyingly pretty, smart, and graceful he was. You hated him, yet you had so many nice things to say.”

“Well he was perfect and it was annoying!”

“Number three: During the entire time you dated Agatha, you paid far more attention to Baz than you ever did to her.”

“T-That’s not true!” Though, looking back...fucking hell, it might actually be true.

“Number four: even though you hadn’t seen him in seven years, you dropped everything at two AM to go pick up his drunk arse from a bar.”

“It was the right thing to do!”

“Number five: you just gushed about how much you like Baz now and that he’s fun to be around. And I bet you were smiling.”

“No.” I think my cheeks are turning red.

I hear some rustling, and I think Penny is leaning forward in her chair. I can almost see her kind face in front of me. “Simon, I don’t want to push anything on you, but I also want you to really think about this. I know you hate to analyse things but it’s necessary right now. Maybe it could lead to something good.”

I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself. “I don’t know about that, Pen.”

“I know. Doesn’t even have to be romantic, maybe a good friendship. You could use more friends. And I’m not saying you have to jump his bones tomorrow.”

“Penny!” Now I’m definitely blushing.

She laughs uncontrollably, snorting every once in awhile. I cover my blushing face and groan. “Oh, I’m only joking, Si,” she says. “But I’m serious, don’t shut it down. Think about it. Baz is nice now, maybe it could work.”

“Why are you so desperate to set me up with my former enemy?”

“Because you haven’t been on a date or made new friends since first year uni. And I haven’t heard you this happy about being around someone in years.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I’ve had more fun with Baz in one night than I have in ages. I enjoyed talking to him. I enjoyed laughing with him. I’m glad he’s asleep in the next room, where I can make sure he’s okay.

“You may have a point,” I say.

“Of course I do.”

I roll my eyes, just like she does. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve always known you’re smarter than me.”

“Mhm. And in my smart opinion, you need to go to bed.”

“Will do.” I flop backwards. The pillow feels heavenly on my head. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You better. Night, Si.”

I smile, and I hope she can hear my love and gratitude over the phone. “Night, Pen.”

The phone clicks off. I let it fall to the side. I am 0.2 seconds from passing out, even with so much still on my mind. I plug in my phone and turn on my side. I pull Cherry close to me. She curls around my hand like usual. When I close my eyes, all I see is raven hair, deep sea grey eyes, and a smile I never knew was there before.

———————————————

“Bloody fucking shit!”

I wake up with a start, clutching my sheet. Late morning sunlight is bleeding through the gap in my curtains. There’s muffled banging on the other side of my door. It’s like a very clumsy little rhino is moving through my flat. But I know exactly who it is.

I grab my glasses and slowly walk down the hall, peeking around the corner. It’s weird to sneak around my own apartment. I see a familiar long, lithe back, bent over as he struggles to get his struggles to get his oxfords on. He keeps wavering side to side like a branch in the wind.

“Good morning,” I say nonchalantly.

Baz whips around so fast he nearly topples over, stumbling to the side. He looks even more disheveled than last night, hair extremely tangled from sleeping on it wet, bruise worsening under his eyes, and bloodstained shirt buttoned wrong. He looks absolutely shocked to see me, which is odd, considering this is my flat.

“Um,” he says, shakiness in my voice, “good morning, Snow.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose.”

I lean against the wall with my arms crossed. “So you were going to go and what? Leave me a thank you note like some bad teen movie?”

He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I see him crumple up and shove something in his back pocket. “No. I-I would’ve texted you my thanks.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

Baz looks down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. It’s just...I didn’t want to make things awkward after last night. I’m truly sorry for the way I acted and imposing on you.”

“It’s okay.” I walk forward, hands in my trackie pockets. “I know you were pretty drunk, but, what do you remember from last night?”

Baz looks up, but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “I remember, being upset, going to the bar, getting in the fight, and the bartender screaming colourful obscenities at me.” That makes him laugh a little. It still sounds so nice. “Then I called you, you came and you had glasses. We drove to your place. I had a shower. You tended to my wounds like some war nurse.”

I giggle, nodding in complete agreement. “Yeah, I definitely did do that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Then uh, we ate sandwiches, watched Doctor Who, and I assume I fell asleep.”

“Okay.” I draw out the last syllable on purpose, making my doubt extremely clear. “That’s most of it, but you’re missing a few key parts.”

“Am I?” He’s trying to sound confident, but I know Baz, and I can hear a waver in his voice.

I start walking closer. “Mhm. You’re missing the parts where you apologized for being a prick in school, called my flat was good, liked my cat, said you drank because it was the anniversary of your mother’s horrible death, talked about your experience with antidepressants.” I’m only a few feet away from him now, looking him right in his pretty. “And, the part where you said that you wished you had kissed me back at school instead of punching me.”

With his complexion, it’s hard to tell when Baz is blushing. But I can see it. Scarlet creeps down from his cheeks to his long neck, eyes locked on me in stun.

“Oh,” he squeaks. “I see.”

“You really don’t remember all that?”

He rubs his brow. “Well, maybe, it’s just...fuzzy.”

“But was it true? Did you like me back at Watford?”

He visibly gulps, then looks at the floor again. He looks incredibly embarrassed and ashamed. “Yes,” he says, like he has to force himself to say it. “Yes, it’s true.”

I let out a long breath, half from relief, half to calm myself down. Okay. It’s true. Baz had feelings for me. All through school, all that time, Baz was pining after me from afar. And I never knew. Not a bit. But I think that was the idea.

“Alright,” I say.

Baz lifts his eyes slightly, cocking one eyebrow. “Alright? Is that all you have to say?”

I shrug high then drop my shoulders low. “I don’t know what else to say. That’s all. It changes a lot of things I assumed in school.”

“I bloody well hope so.” His voice is lighter, trying to lift the mood, trying to make this even slightly less than horribly awkward.

“So,” I say drawing out the o, “when, uh, did it start? You feeling like...that.”

If Baz’s blush could get any worse, I think it just did. He plays with his sleeves, his buttons, his hair, obviously looking for a distraction. “I realised it when I was 15. But I think, it started almost since we met.”

That hits me hard. The first year we met, I wore ratty old clothes and was essentially nonverbal. Baz saw me like that, a dirty silent little orphan kid, and he already liked me. He didn’t show it, but only because he couldn’t. He cared about me, even then. Even when so few truly did.

“Huh,” I say stupidly. “That’s a long time.”

He lets out a scoffing chuckle. “No shit, Snow.”

“That makes me feel even more sorry for being a prick to you in school.”

Baz shakes his head very quickly. “No, no, don’t apologize. I was a prick to you first. I just...” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “In my family, I wasn’t supposed to be gay, let alone have feelings for someone they hated. I lashed out and hurt you because I was hurting. It was wrong.”

He sighs and sits down heavily on the couch. He looks so forlorn and ashamed, head hanging forward, his hair like a curtain. All the guilt seems to be pushing down on his shoulders, making him slump. Penny was right, as usual. But to hear it from Baz, to see him like this, it tugs on my heart. Like that time I caught him drunk in front of his mother’s grave when we were fifteen, or twice last night. He’s grown a lot and gotten happier, but a small part of Baz is still that sad kid, I guess.

Slowly, I walk towards him and sit down. Before I can think too much, I reach out and touch his hand. Baz’s head snaps up, completely terrified and shocked. Yet, he doesn’t pull away. One by one, I slip my fingers between his. Baz’s skin is such a strange contrast. My palm touches the smooth back of his hand, while fingers trace tiny rough ridges. It feels...really good.

“Hey,” I say quietly. “I know it’s been awhile, but what do you think about me now?”

I look him in the eye. I can see the way his lips shift, feel how his hand twitches. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking right now. He stays silent, so I decide to jump in.

“Well, let me start. I know what I think about you. I think,” I move closer, “that you’re kind, funny, smart, and still annoyingly gorgeous.” That makes his eyes widen ever so slightly. “And now I also know that you’re incredibly strong. That you struggled and mourned and came out okay. I mean, you’re a bloody doctor who’s going to help people work through their own problems. That’s amazing.”

Baz looks so shocked, probably both at my words and my coherency. I’ve gotten a lot better at speaking over the years. I’m so glad for that right now. “You really think all that, Snow?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always found you annoyingly amazing. Now it’s just not so annoying anymore.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Is it so hard to believe?”

Baz presses his lips together for a split second. “Honestly, yes. We hated each other for years, fought like cats and dogs. I assumed I had ruined any chance of that changing.”

“Well,” I move even closer so our thighs press together, “you didn’t. Because I like this.”

“What is this?”

“This!” I gesture wildly between us. “What we’re doing right now. I like this, I like you.”

He looks so shocked, yet there’s a twinkle of happiness too. “Like me how? As...a friend?”

And he calls me oblivious. I squeeze his hand again. “That depends. I know it’s been a long time, so have your...feelings about me gone away?”

Baz stares at me, studying my face. I just watch his eyes roam over me again and again. Then he reaches forward and delicately places his hand on my cheek, just like last night. Except it feels more purposeful. And so much better.

“No,” he says quietly, “they haven’t gone away. I don’t think they ever could.”

My body feels so light and happy and indescribably full. I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. It’s hit me so suddenly, yet it feels so right. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Okay,” I say. “I feel the same.”

Baz’s hand falls, touching my arm. He raises a perplexed eyebrow. “Okay, but since when?”

I shrug, which makes Baz roll his eyes. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I do. That’s what really matters, right?”

He sighs. His hand moves up and down my arm. I can’t tell if he’s studying me or trying to hold on. “I suppose, yes.”

“Exactly. So why don’t we give it a shot?”

“What are you saying, Snow?”

“I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend.” Baz’s lips falls open and hand slips slightly down my arm. I hold onto him tighter. “Like, fair warning, I’m not a great boyfriend. I forget things, I’m super clumsy, and I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Agatha, so my experience is limited. But I like you. And I’m not asking for something serious right now, I just want to give this a try. Do you maybe want to?”

Baz’s face is such strange, confusing mixture. His brows are tense and pulled together. They scream worry and doubt. His thin beautiful lips hang open is absolute disbelief. But his eyes, a mix of dark blue and dark green, are filled to the brim with hope.

“I’m a doctor,” he blurts out.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

He shakes his head violently. “No, you don’t understand. I’m a medical resident. I’m at the hospital almost every day. I have barely any free time, and if I do I use it to sleep. And I don’t have much experience either. I’ve had two semi serious relationships that both ended in flames. I’m terrible at everything relationship related, probably even more than you, Snow.”

Baz looks so frantic and scared, but he’s hanging on to my hand. In spite of harsh realities, he doesn’t want to let go. I think he’s expecting me to admit defeat and walk away. But what he doesn’t seem to get, is that I don’t want to let go either.

I move closer, and cup his face this time. Baz instinctively leans into it. “You called me Simon before.”

He lets out a bursting laugh, sudden and unwanted. He immediately calms down, but there’s a little smile there. “Really? That’s what you care about?”

“Yeah. Because I like hearing you say it, and I like this. So,” I squeeze his hand again, “I want to try, no matter the risks. We’ll just deal with the rest later.”

He gives me a doubtful expression. “That’s your solution? Put off thinking about the problems we may face?”

“Yup. Because I want this, you want this, and that’s all that matters.”

“I guess...”

Stupid bastard still overthinks everything. I don’t want his mind far away, I want it right here with me. I brush my thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. “Plus, I’d rather focus on other things right now.”

“Oh? What things?”

“Well, more a question.” I deliberately move my hand lower, tracing under his bottom lip. “You said you wished you had kissed me when we were in school.”

He gulps. I watch his Adam’s apple bob slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“So, do you still want to kiss me?”

His eyes flick down, just for a moment. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “Yes.”

I smile, leaning close so our noses brush. “Then do it.”

Baz doesn’t ask for anymore assurance. He just leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine. And my mind completely implodes.

His lips are colder than Agatha’s, than anyone’s really. It’s like kissing a soft autumn breeze. Just chilly enough to send shivers over your skin. Yet when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, I melt completely, leaning closer and wrapping my arms around his neck. He clutches my sides, hanging on with a death grip. Like he never wants to let me go. (I wouldn’t mind that.) It’s an awkward position, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I run my hand through his hair. It’s soft and slips through my fingers, just like I thought it would. I clench my fist and push his face into mine. I more feel him groan than hear it. He bunches my shirt in his own fists. I like him here, under my hands, not off being sad or drunk, where I know he’s okay. I’ve got you know, Baz, I’m not letting go.

From that first press of our lips, I know I want this. Baz feels perfect and wonderful. I want to kiss him forever. It’s strange, to have something you never knew you wanted before, and suddenly need to hang onto it forever.

We both pull apart at relatively the same time, flushed and out of breath. Baz’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are blown incredibly huge, and his lips are swollen and pink. I think mine are too, at least it feels like they are. I’ve never felt so elated from just one kiss. I’m sure I never will again.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

Baz lets out a breathy laugh, so quiet and sweet. “Very eloquent.”

I chuckle too, twisting a strand of his hair. “Yeah, well, that’s all I can manage right now. I think you broke my brain.”

“Don’t stroke my ego too much, Snow. I’ll get a big head.”

“You mean a bigger one?”

Baz glares, but when I flash one grin, his entire face melts. My heart melts too. It’s in a goddamn puddle on the floor forever.

Baz presses one hand to his temple, eyes squinting shut. “Bloody hell, all the drinking and excitement is too much for my head.”

“Did you take the aspirin I left?”

“Yes, but apparently that only does so much. I want coffee.”

“I’ve got some. Probably not very fancy, but it’s good enough. That alright?”

He flashes a lopsided grin. It’s incredibly sweet, making me smile in return. “That would be wonderful, Simon.”

God, I want to hear him say my name like that a thousand times.

We reluctantly untangle ourselves, but our hands stay linked. I lead Baz to my tiny dining room table. He sits on the far side, facing the open space of my kitchenette. My hand drags across his as we reluctantly let go. I walk into the room and flip on my ancient coffee machine.

“How do you take your coffee?” I say over my shoulder. “Black?”

“Actually, I like a lot of cream and sugar.”

I laugh loudly and smile at him. “Still have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course. I still remember how you would steal my mint aeros.”

“You have no proof of that, Snow,” he singsongs.

His voice is light and joking. I look over my shoulder, and see his soft smile. I want to see that smile all the time. I want to find out every little happy expression he has, the ones I never got to see when we were kids.

“I’ll find some,” I reply..

“It’ll take a lot of coaxing.”

I lean against the counter, looking at him. Really looking at him. Baz Pitch, the former arsehole bully, now the mostly well adjusted altruistic doctor, still someone who can occupy most of my thoughts. This is all new yet so familiar.

“Good thing we’ve got time,” I say.

Baz leans his cheek on his palm. From his calm, happy expression, I know he agrees. We’ve got time to not just catch up, but start something strange and beautiful and new.

And I’ve never been so excited in my life.

———————————————

AN: Is this a bit unrealistic? Yes. Is this super adorable? Also yes. Hope you guys thought the same. I def enjoy writing drunk Baz and switching it up so Simon has glasses this time. And I like Simon's total obliviousness to his own feelings. He's a dumb romantic little shit lol. Thanks for reading, see y'all next time :D

PS: XOYO is a real bar. Hopefully they don't have to deal with drunk traumatized psychiatry residents too much lol.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #normal au #reunion #enemies to friends to lovers #getting together #mysnowbazfic

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snowkatze · 5 years

Text

Are you in the mood?

Genre: angst Word Count: 1647 Warnings: kinda graphic imagery (in a metaphor), depressive thoughts Summary: Baz is tired of doing what’s expected.

_________________ Sadness had made itself a home in Baz' chest. It had hollowed out the space just beneath his rip-cage and settled there. It was there to stay – was growing violet flowers next to his heart, was playing music in the middle of the night. Sadness was the worst kind of subtenant. Sometimes, Baz became more aware to its presence. Days like these, when memory was more real than the present, it felt like sadness was trying to climb out, cutting of his air, making it hard to swallow. Sadness had been a subtenant for a very long time – and he hadn't let it go out – but sometimes he remembered the time before it had moved in. The anniversary of her death was one of these days.

Baz was down in the catacombs, because where else would he go, and his head was spinning. He wasn't drunk, didn't want to be, because he knew that sadness was a resident and not easily dismissed. He let a flame dance between his fingers and thought about all the things he could set on fire down here. There were the skulls, the bones, the metal on the walls, the pieces of wood on the floor, but it was damp in here. Most flammable was, of course, the vampire, but Baz tried not to think about that. (Baz couldn't help thinking about that. Sadness down there was ordering pizza, making cocktails and putting together an angry playlist of Metallica songs – ready to throw a fucking party.)

When he heard the footsteps, his instinct was to get up and saunter onwards without leaving a trace, but then he took a moment of inward reflection and discovered that actually, he really didn't care enough. Not tonight, anyway.

Hadn't he been on the run long enough? This was the way the world turned, of course. In the end, justice would catch up to him anyway. At least that's the way it was supposed to go. So he stayed put as the footsteps grew louder, didn't even bother to put on a mocking smile. He was sick of playing the game. Just for a bit, he allowed himself indulging the impossibility of leaving the game without giving up, without losing it. (It, the game, or it, his mind – same difference.)

When Simon Snow stepped into the room, Baz didn't lift his head and smirk. He didn't make a cutting remark. He didn't scoff and cross his arms. He didn't walk over and touched him, either. He didn't card his fingers through Simon's curls. He didn't dip his head and lean in for a kiss. But Simon Snow didn't spit in his face and punch him, so. You win some, you lose some.

Baz saw an angry expression, or more precisely, the angry expression on Simon's face, the one he always wore when he found Baz in the catacombs. Oh great, he thought, here we go again. Usually, he'd make up some bullshit excuse, something like taking a midnight walk or following a cat. Something he'd make up something that hit a little too close to home, like, hey, I'm visiting my dead mom. Sometimes he made a sarcastic comment that Simon took entirely serious, like, just looking for a good spot to put your skull. Still trying to work out the intricate technicalities of hiding in plain sight.

Suddenly, when Simon took one step further, his shadow shifted. The tall candles in front of the burning torch cast huge shadows above Simon's head. They started to look like giant horns. The sword that Simon had lifted near his head cast a shadow like a sizzling demon tongue. It looked like a monster's shadow. Despite himself, a shiver went down Baz' spine.

“Oh. Well,” he sighed, seemingly unbothered. “If it isn't Simon Snow. The Chosen One. Saviour of the World of Mages. Did you come to save me?”

Baz softly bit his lip, something dark flickering through his eyes.

“No... So what are you in the mood for today?” he finished.

“What are you doing here?” Simon snarled back.

“Sucking the blood of the most pure and innocent rats, what else?” Baz deadpanned, careful to make himself sound sarcastic.

He gave his own shadow a glance. Just a harmless boy's shadow. Talk about role-reversal.

“I know you're up to something,” Simon says, eyes narrowed.

“Right. I'm up to no good.”

I don't think he even knows how much of a cliché he's being.

“And this is the part where I say 'The only thing I'm up to is planning how to make your life miserable for the next three years' and you'll say something like 'Oh Baz, you're such a horrible person'. Is that it? Is that what you're in the mood for? 'How could you, Baz?', is that the one? 'I'm watching you', that's a good one.”

“Stop trying to distract me. I'll -”

“- figure out your devious plan?” Baz asked tiredly. Simon stared at him, stunned. “Yeah. The script's getting predictable.”

Simon scooted closer. He was clearly irritated, going by the frown on his face. Baz' gaze fell on Simon's shadow again. He could see how the monster would attack him. Already had attacked him. Simon Snow ripped him open, like his knuckles when he punched the walls in the catacombs. And it all came falling out – the truth – the pain – every part of him that was broken – which was – every part of him. Simon Snow didn't need to be a monster to bust him open. The opposite, in fact. He just needed to smile his sunshine smile, radiate the energy of a Golden Retriever, and it was over for Baz.

What are you gonna do with the pieces, Simon Snow, once you've picked me apart?

“Why don't we skip the pleasantries?” Baz drawled. “Get to the good part right away. You in the mood for a fight? Is that what you want?”

There was a dangerous, nearly mad gleam in his eyes. His thoughts kept going in spirals – the things he should do intertwining with the things he wanted to do. He was too worn out to keep them separated.

Baz expected Simon to get riled up and throw an insult at him, because usually it was so easy, but instead Simon's face softened and he asked: “Baz... What's going on?”

Somehow, that was worse. Of course it was. Those were the weapons Simon Snow fought with; kind words and soft smiles. The bugger didn't even know it.

Baz' eyes flickered away and he huffed out a breath at the audacity of it.“I'm tired, Snow. What else is new?”

“It's 2 am.”

“Damn right it is.”

Snow seemed unsure how to act. He tried to approach Baz with the same care you would dismantle a bomb with.

“Are you in the mood for a feast, then? There's gotta be some... dead rats... lying around here somewhere. Or are you in the mood to strike?”

Baz nodded to the sword.

“Today you might be in for a lucky shot.”

He broke into a manic fit of giggles. Pain broke through the confused expression on Simon's face. He walked closer, wanting to reach out, not knowing what to do with his hands. Slowly, he lowered himself next to Baz.

“What are you talking about?” he whispered, shock evident in his voice. He let the sword disappear, surprised that he was even still holding it.

What are you gonna do, Simon Snow, once you've pulled out my heart? Are you in the mood for a casserole dish? How about you put it on a skewer?

Sadness in the basement started blasting “Honey I'm Good” from the speakers. Then it began smashing the furniture with a baseball bat, making a riot. Baz felt tears well up in his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He didn't kick Snow that day. He didn't step up to dance with him. He didn't put his hand on his lower back. He didn't hurt him. He didn't touch him. Sadness grabbed a ladder in his heart, knocked on the door, wanted out - then – suddenly – something touched his shoulder – he flinched back and opened his eyes. Snow was looming over him, his eyes wide in concern. Baz let out a barely audible gasp. A soothing touch – this was how Simon Snow fought. Baz felt mortally wounded. He swallowed hard.

“Come on, Snow. Why don't you go for the kill?” Baz said with a raspy voice.

There was real fear in his eyes, he was certain that Simon could see it. But the same fear seemed to be in Simon's eyes. He leaned closer. Baz was unable to move. With a light touch, Simon pushed a curl behind Baz' ear. Then he went for the kill – the kiss.

This was how Simon Snow won an argument. Baz lightly pulled at Simon's hair, we should be fighting. Simon softly moved his thumb across Baz' chin, let's just do this instead. Simon leaned back slightly, leaving his head near Baz'. Baz let out a shuddering breath. His eyes skimmed over Simon's face, trying to find something there, whether he was a boy or a monster. But it was just Simon Snow.

“Why are you doing this?” Baz breathed, scared of the answer.

“I don't know,” Simon replied, appearing stunned. “I think that's just... what I'm in the mood for. Is that okay?”

He put his hand on Baz'.

“Can we do that?”

He was just Simon Snow, and he shot Baz a tentative smile. That was all it took. Baz could only nod and turn his hand over, gripping Simon's tightly, finding something akin to hope in his eyes.

Sadness, he thought. You're fucking evicted.

#carry on fanfiction #carry on #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fic

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cultgambles · 5 years

Text

The Boy With the Letter(2/3)

Chapter Two: Their Stares Melt into Oblivion

Masterlist | Requests? open

WordCount: 1121

part one / part two / part 3

S I M O N

I hear the lunch bell toll and stand up, grabbing Baz’s hand. It’s soft in mine, and his fingers are long.

B A Z

Simon Snow’s hand is rough with callouses. I might just die here.

S I M O N

“Ready for gov?” I say, tugging Baz along.

I feel people’s stares on us, much more than usual now. Instead of us sitting as far away as possible, we sit together, right in the middle of the classroom.

Penny in front of us coughs and I see her nod her head towards the door. Agatha is standing there, staring at us. I feel Baz rest his head on my shoulder, and I lean towards him too.

Other than the occasional bump to the side Baz is on, nothing eventful happens. Miss Posslibef drones on, and I jot down next to nothing, except a few words and doodles on a separate page.

The lecture ends soon enough, and I walk Baz to his next class. He’s being oddly quiet.

“You alright, love?” I ask, rubbing my thumb on the back of his hand. Baz sputters for a second and then regains composer as if nothing ever happened. “What was that? Am I that bad at the whole romance thing?”

“No, it just caught me by surprise. I’ll see you at dinner then, Snow.”

“Alright,” I nod, and catch up to Penny I see a ways away. “Pen!”

“Hey Si! I can’t believe your plan is actually working. A lotta people came up to me to ask what was going on, actually.” Penny and I slip into an easy rhythm as we walk to physics.

“Baz has been really quiet, and so I asked him what was up and he, like, choked on his own spit. It was weird.”

“Probably because you’ve never said anything like that to him,” she shrugs nonchalantly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What are you gonna say when Agatha asks?”

“Dunno. That we’re in love now?”

Penny glances backward. “Well, there’s your chance now.”

“Simon,” Agatha says, prettily as ever. “What’s with you and Baz?”

“Oh...well we’re together now.”

“How? You hate each other.”

“I thought so too, but I mistook love for hatred,” I shrug. Agatha looks at me like she can’t believe what she’s hearing and shakes her head.

“Don’t pull Baz in your mess like you did to me,” she says finally.

“Is that how you feel?”

“Yes. I don’t want him to get hurt because of your recklessness.”

“I’d never let anything happen to him!”

“You let something happen to me,” she sighs, and walks into the classroom.

By dinner time, at least everyone knows that Baz and I are together. He sits at our table, and I hand him a folded square of paper. “Good job,” I say, “Aggie looks like she’s seething.”

B A Z

Something in me is excited to hear Snow tell me that I’m doing a good job. But then a small, evil part of me reminds me that it’s all fake, and I frown at the thought. Snow nudges my side.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” he shrugs in response, and goes back to devouring his meal.

I flip Snow’s folded note between my fingers. Knowing him, he probably drew a smiley face on it or something of the nature. I shove it in my pocket and actually look around the dining hall for once. While no one is staring at us any more, I see occasional glances and hear hushed whispers. Wellbelove catches my eye, sitting the farthest away from anyone. She raises a slim brow and stares at me with a look I cannot read. I press my side into Snow’s and I feel him wrap an arm around my waist.

And of course, I try not to melt. I debate whether telling him to piss off, but I’m too happy to care.

“You guys are actually quite cute together,” Penny remarks, “I wonder how long this will last, hmm?”

I look at Snow for an answer, but he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he tells Bunce he’s gonna tuck in early and drags me up with him.

“What’s the deal, Snow, I was going to finish my meal you know.”

“We both know you weren’t going to,” he chuckles. “I didn’t want Agatha to be eyeing up my man’s s’all.”

I nod, like I hear it every day, and our walk back to Mummer’s House is silent. He had let go of my hand a while ago, and I miss the warmth next to my coldness.

At the room, he falls asleep early. The open window tonight brings a chill to the room. I turn on my side, and I can see Snow’s chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. My mind wanders back to Bunce’s earlier question, and I wonder the same. How long will we last? How long will I, as a gay vampire, last?

It’s a question for another day, I ultimately decide, and fall asleep.

S I M O N

It’s hard to believe that our little facade has been going on for a few months now.

“I think it’s ought to be time to end this wouldn’t you say, Snow?”

“What? Don’t we still have to go to your family's party?”

“I think Wellbelove is plenty jealous,” I say, not noting if it was for me or him. “Besides, the old families pretty much know now.”

“I think you’re just scared, Baz,” I scoff.

Baz shoves past me. To the catacombs maybe.

I don’t see him again until dinnertime. This time, however, he’s with Agatha, and I feel a suspicious burn in the pit of my stomach.

She’s twirling a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger and looking up at him with those grey-blue doe like eyes. Baz nods, and gives her a smile. I stab a fork into my mashed potatoes and ignore him when he sits down next to me.

“Uh oh, a couple fight already?” Penny chortles.

“No, not really. We just can’t seem to agree on the time we should go to the party the old families are hosting,” he says.

“Yeah I want to be on time, and he wants to be 15 minutes late. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“It’s called being fashionably late, Snow.”

“We can all come together, if it makes you feel better,” Penny says. “Our family was invited for some reason, and my plus one is Agatha. Since I miss one of my best friends and all.”

My eyes widen a bit. “That sounds good. Do you agree, Baz?”

“It’s fine.”

#carry on #snowbaz #wayward son #fanfic #fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #writing #author #short

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

Link

Chapter 5 of the Simon and Baz Travel AU is here! Link to read at AO3.

Chapter Five

Simon

I’d be happy to stay here on the floor all night, like this.

It isn’t the most comfortable but I’ve slept in worse so I’ll not complain. Baz has to drive again tomorrow though. I want him to get a good night’s rest and I’m sure he won’t manage that on this hard floor.

I should suggest we go upstairs but I don’t.

I’ve no idea what time it is. My watch is on the arm that’s curled around Baz at the moment and I’m not about to check it.

He’s not moving either. I don’t think he’s asleep. I know what his breathing is like when he sleeps.

I should make him go upstairs.

The shrill ringtone of my mobile eventually breaks the silence and Baz scoots away from me in an instant. It’s suddenly colder without him there.

I dig my mobile out of my pocket.

It’s Penny.

“Simon!”

“Hey, Pen.”

“Are you home yet? You didn’t call and I was worried. Micah said the whole east coast is shut down. Did your flight get out alright?”

Shit.

I’d completely forgotten to call Penny. Slipped my mind, what with running into Baz and the storm and all.

“I’m fine. My flight got cancelled.”

“Where are you, Simon? Did they put you up in a hotel?”

Baz has pulled his blanket off my legs and is standing up. I wave my arm at him, motioning him to sit back down. He shakes his head and points at my mobile.

Bloody git. It’s not like this is a private conversation. It’s Penny.

“Sit down,” I hiss at him, covering the speaker. “You don’t have to go. It’s just Penny.”

He blinks at me for a moment and then curls up under his blanket in the armchair across from me.

It feels too far away.

“Who are you talking to?”Penny’s voice comes through the speaker. “Simon, where in the blazes are you?”

“I’m fine. Don’t fuss. The flight got cancelled and we’ve been trying to get to another airport to catch a flight but they’re all shut down. Hoping to get a flight home tomorrow.” I scoot across the floor until my back is against Baz’s armchair. That’s better.

“Get to another airport where? In this weather? Did they bus you somewhere?”She’s peppering me with questions. Penny’s like that sometimes. Most times. “Who’s with you?”

“We tried to get to Washington. I’m at an inn somewhere in . . .” I turn around to look at Baz questioningly. “Where are we?” I whisper.

He rolls his eyes at me but there’s no sign of the disdain he usually infuses into that look. “Delaware.”

“Delaware,” I tell Penny.

“Simon, who are you talking to?”

“It’s Baz.”

“Baz?”

“Yeah, Baz. Baz Pitch.”

Her voice is testy when she replies. “I know who Baz is, Simon. What on earth are you doing with him?”

“Ran into him at the airport.”

“And now you’re in Delaware with him?”

“Told you. We were trying to get to another open airport.”

An exasperated huff comes through the line. “Honestly, Simon. Baz thought it was a good idea to go driving in this weather? And you went along with it?”

“It’s a Range Rover.” I hear a muffled snort from Baz.

Penny goes on for a bit. I just listen. It’s best to not interrupt when she’s in the middle of one of her lectures.

I close my eyes and lean my head back, bumping into something that’s definitely not the chair. I think it’s Baz’s knee. I’m instantly shifting myself away but then I feel the cool touch of his fingers in my hair.

And I freeze.

“It’s alright.” It’s barely a whisper but I tune out Penny’s voice as I strain to hear Baz. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

I tentatively rest my head back on his knee. There’s a featherlight touch of fingers running through my hair again and I can’t help but lean into it.

Penny’s louder now. “Simon. Simon, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t answer. I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, Pen.” I shrug. “I’m tired, I guess.”

Her voice instantly softens. “Please be careful. And take care of yourself.”She pauses and then adds “Say hello to Baz for me.”

“I will.” “And don’t you dare forget to call me when you get home!”She’s back to her scolding tone now.

“I won’t, promise.”

I hang up and stay where I am, leaning against Baz and letting his fingers wander through my messy hair.

“We should get to bed.” Baz’s voice is velvety, soft and smooth and rich. It washes over me and I want to hear it again. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to spoil this moment.

I shrug.

“You can’t be comfortable on the floor.” He’s still hushed, voice low.

“I’m fine.”

Baz

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I could have stayed here all night, leaning into the warmth of Simon. I can see why he never complains about being cold, his body radiates heat like a furnace. It was a wrench to pull myself away when his mobile went off.

I should have left, gone upstairs, let him talk to Bunce in private.

Except he didn’t want me to. And then he moved across the room to sit near me.

I was completely undone when he let his head fall back onto my knee. Those bright, bronze curls, so close, so inviting.

So soft.

He’s letting me do this. Letting me run my fingers through his hair. I’ve dreamed of this.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know what we’re doing.

Are we doing something? What does this even mean? I can’t think right now.

I can’t think when he’s so close to me.

Simon

It’s taking all my self-control to keep myself from turning around to look at Baz. I want to. I want to see his face.

But I want him to keep running his fingers through my hair. So I stay still.

Baz

It could be moments or hours later. I’ve no idea. Time’s stopped for me, here with Simon.

My fingers are still slowly winding through his curls. It’s surreal to watch my hand bury itself in the bronze glory of Simon’s hair.

I’m sure it’s late.

We should go upstairs. We should get to bed.

The thought of sharing a bed with Simon again is intoxicating. Having him so close, sharing the same space, it’s a heady sensation.

It takes great effort but I finally drag my fingers from his hair and force myself to stand up. I don’t know if the room is truly warmer or if it’s me, my face flushed, my skin tingling from the awareness of Simon’s proximity. I’m burning up with it.

He looks up, eyebrows drawing together in a perplexed expression.

“Come on. Let’s go up. It should be warm enough by now.”

Simon doesn’t move. He’s still looking at me, the mesmerizing blue of his eyes rooting me to the spot. I feel slow and sluggish, my tongue heavy as I try to make words form.

In the end I just reach out my hand and he takes it, warm fingers closing around mine. I pull and he comes to a stand. He ends up much closer than I expect, his gaze never straying, and the air is electric between us.

It’s almost too much for me. I’m not adequately prepared for my teenage dreams to suddenly come to life before my very eyes.

I turn away from the entrancing sight of him and start to move towards the stairs. His grip on my hand doesn’t let up.

“Wait. We should take the blankets.” Simon pulls his own from the floor, never letting go of me.

I clutch my blanket to my chest with my free arm and somehow we manage to awkwardly climb up the narrow stairs, still hand in hand.

He doesn’t let go until we’re by the bed.

The incandescent heat of the moments before is muted now. We pile the blankets on the comforter, the vast width of the bed separating us.

“I don’t think there’ll be much hot water, with the power outage.”

I’ve no idea why I said that.

Simon blinks at me. “What?”

“I don’t think it would be wise to shower tonight. With the power outage. The water is bound to be cold.”

Christ, what am I doing?

He blinks again. “Oh. Right.”

I’ve got Simon Snow across the bed from me and I’m blathering on about the water. “I’ll go get changed.” I escape to the privacy of the bathroom.

I splash cold water on my heated face and stare into the mirror. I’m not sure how to process this. My second chance is taking a surprising detour. One that I’ve been longing for but the possibility of it becoming reality has me dazed.

This rapport with Simon, it’s so delicate, so new, so fragile.

I’m not sure I know how to navigate this.

It’s unknown territory.

Simon

If you’d asked me two days ago, how I felt about Baz Pitch, I’d have said he’s an arrogant tosser and maddeningly fit.

I’ve not changed my mind on the fit part.

Or the maddening part.

I think Baz just did a runner for the bathroom and I’m not sure why. It was all so good just now, downstairs.

So much more than I’d expected when I’d asked him to sit by me. More than I’d dared to hope for, when he pressed himself against me. When his head was resting on my shoulder. When his fingers trailed against my scalp, soft and electric.

It was heady, I’ll not argue that point. Every nerve was alight.

I pace for a bit.

He doesn’t come out right away.

I pace for a bit more and then do what I always did back at Watford. I knock on the door. “Oi. Baz. You going to be all night?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I keep standing in front of the door and when it finally opens Baz almost walks into me. There’s an amused look on his face. “Stop lurking.”

“I’m not lurking.”

We’re standing chest to chest and that electric sensation is back.

His fingers brush my shoulder and then he slides by me. “All yours, Simon.”

Baz

I dive under the covers. Bloody hell. These sheets are freezing. I tuck the blankets around me and curl up on the edge of the mattress. Now that I’m in the bed my uncertainties overwhelm me.

What do I do when he comes to bed? Do I move near him? Do I stay on the edge, like I did last night? I’m at a loss.

I can’t even trust myself to talk to him right now and not say something remarkably stupid.

I don’t know how to be with him like this.

I’ll stay where I am. It will be enough knowing he’s there, just an arm’s reach away.

Simon

I don’t think I’ve ever taken a piss that quickly.

Baz is tucked under the mound of blankets when I come out. All I can see is his dark mane of hair peeking out.

I burrow between the cold sheets and switch off the table lamp.

Baz is all the way on the other side, practically hugging the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t need to do that. He’s being an absolute prat. There’s plenty of room. It’s not like we weren’t in this exact situation last night.

Except there wasn’t that undercurrent of something else last night, I remind myself.

I don’t care. He was closer to me just a half hour ago. He was literally running his fingers through my hair. He’s being an absolute pillock.

Something changed tonight. And I’m not going to let him pretend it didn’t. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and act as if nothing happened. Something did. Something I never expected to want this much.

I lay on my back. It’s cold. Even with all the blankets. I typically run hot but not tonight, not right now.

I curl up on my side. My back is cold so close to the edge of the bed so I shift over a bit.

That’s not the only reason I shift over. I don’t like him being so far away. Not now that I know the touch of him.

Baz moves closer to his edge.

“Baz.”

“What?”

“Stop being a pillock.”

“I’m not being a pillock.”

I wriggle closer. “Yes, you are. I know you’re freezing over there.”

“I’m fine.”

I groan. “Listen, I’m trying to help.”

“I’m fine.”

I tug on the blankets, pulling them more to my side of the bed. That gets a reaction. “What the fuck are you doing? You can’t have all the blankets, Simon.”

“Stop clutching the edge of the bed, Baz. It’s warmer in the middle.”

“I’m not clutching the edge of the bed.”

“You’re clutching it like a Victorian virgin on her wedding night.” That should do it.

He’s whipped around in an instant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means? Stop being a prat.” I pat the mattress in front of me. “Come on. Scoot over. It’s warmer the closer you get to the middle.”

He wiggles an inch away from the edge and I snort. “Come on, Baz.”

He scoots over a little more.

I wait a moment. “Better?”

He grumbles inaudibly and then I hear a “Yes” from under the pile of blankets.

I roll on my back and shift until I’m almost in the middle of the bed. He’s mere inches away from me.

I wait. The mattress dips a little and then he’s closer. He rolls on his back too.

I slide over until my shoulder barely brushes his. Our arms are next to each other. He doesn’t move away.

In the dark my hand finds his. His cold fingers lace between my own. I tilt my head towards him.

He mirrors the motion.

The scent of his hair washes over me. I wait a moment and then turn my head in his direction. His fingers grip mine tightly and then he turns his head towards me.

“Hey.”

I bring our joined hands up to my lips and press a kiss to his knuckles. There’s a fluttering in my chest as I hear him sigh.

I want this. With Baz.

I roll on my side, facing him, our linked hands on the pillow between us.

Baz

The sensation of his lips brushing my skin makes me shiver. It’s nothing to do with the cold. It’s everything to do with the fact that he’s here, in this bed with me, holding my hand so tenderly.

I mirror his position, so I’m facing Simon, hands still linked. All I can see is the silhouette of him in the dim light but I can imagine what he looks like right now.

I’ve seen him in my dreams enough times.

I could kiss him.

I could lean forward and kiss him.

Simon

I can barely make out the shape of him in the dark. I shift a bit closer and reach out to brush his hair away from his face with my free hand. I let it linger there, reluctant to pull away but I don’t want to overstep.

Baz turns his face into my hand so I end up cupping his cheek. He shifts even closer to me and I’m holding my breath as my fingers slide up into the smooth strands of his hair.

I hear him sigh again. I can feel his breath on my skin this time.

I run my thumb along his cheekbone. And then I lean in.

Closer.

And do what I’ve wanted to do all night.

It’s a soft brush of lips, no more than that.

One kiss.

But in that moment, it’s everything.

Baz

I’m pressed up against the heat of Simon’s body, his arm curled around me and his fingers gently tangling in my hair.

He’s warm and solid, gentle and comforting.

I’m thrumming with elation but immobilized by sheer astonishment.

Simon Snow kissed me.

I kissed Simon Snow.

I keep repeating that astounding revelation in my head as I tentatively slide my arm around his waist and I feel him pull me closer when I do.

My eyes close and Simon’s steady heartbeat eventually lulls me to sleep.

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