#baz pitch is in my veins at this point

[int0themist]

so... ive been reading WAY too much snowbaz recently right. and.. echolalia. so I just be picking up speech mannerisms, so im basically half british by now. so i had to ask my friends if i could platonically call them all "love" cause . neurodivergency. but JUST NOW have i realized that i ONLY call my friends love when im being lovingly condescending . and its.. its brilliant

[forabeatofadrum]

There’s nothing ironic about show choir (23/30)

AO3

–

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

–

SIMON

Penny’s been telling me that the end is near. I am graduating, after all. This shouldn’t affect me, because Miss Possibelf and I are apparently leaving at the same time. It’d be rougher if I had to get used to a new director.

Then why am I so upset? I am fucking crying over this. I am sat on the grass, in the cold snow, and I am sniffing and sobbing like the mess that I am.

“Salisbury?”

Baz.

I wipe my tears away, but he’s a vampire, so he’s probably heard me crying.

I want to tell him to bugger off, because even though I am nice to him, he’s still not nice to me and the last thing I need is him making fun of me, but Baz spells a blanket and sits next to me.

“This sucks, doesn’t it?” he says.

I laugh, but that turns into another sob.

“This does suck,” I say back.

“Look, Salisbury. Simon. What I said earlier about you and Rutaceae… sorry for that. You are more than the lead soloist of Rutaceae, you know that right?” You are great outside of choir.”

“I want to believe that, but Ruta is all I have.”

Baz shakes his head.

“No, that’s not true. You are a great guy. You have a loving family, biological and not. And you have friends. Penny. Agatha. I’m pretty certain you’d still have that even if you didn’t have Rutaceae.”

I lie back in the snow and I frown. Baz does have a point, but in my head, that’s all connected with Ruta. I am who I am because of Ruta. I got to have all of that because of Ruta.

Baz looks down at me.

“And you have me.”

“Baz-”

“I know what it’s like to think choir is everything you need, but ever since you said that about my mother-”

“I am still so sorry.”

“- I realised you have a point. Agatha also told me. Vitis is a connection I have with my mother, but it’s ending, and even when I graduate I am still my mother’s son.”

He nods to himself when he says that, as if he’s also convincing himself to believe it. I believe it, though. He doesn’t need choir to be Natasha Pitch’s legacy.

Well. Fuck. In the same vein I suppose I don’t need Ruta to be loved.

“… Did we fuck up?” I ask.

“What?”

“By revolving our entire lives and beings around choir?”

To my surprise, Baz lies down next to me.

“… I think so.”

“I’m still sad, though,” I point out. This epiphany doesn’t make me feel less sad about everything ending.

“Same. But I guess it means it’s time to look at life after choir. After Watford. Our directors did it, so maybe we should do it as well.”

I hum in agreement.

[nonbaznary]

Carry On Countdown - Day 10: Crossover

(Not posting on AO3)

Keep reading on Tumblr below the cut!

Words: 2401

I’m a bit late with other prompts BUT for today, I edited a Cemetery Boys scene (no spoilers, really, it’s in the beginning and the plot/summary of the book basically gives this scene away), because I couldn’t help but see similarities about Snowbaz and Yadrian, both canon and headcanon. Anyways, I love my transmasc awkward heroes and their undead nobinary gay boyfriends who may seem scary but are total sweethearts. I also changed some elements of the original story so it sounded more like Carry On, so it’s kind of a Cemetery Boys remix, or something. Anyways LOL happy COC day 10!! Hope y’all like this <3 Also thank you Aiden Thomas your gays gave new meaning to my life

Cemetery Boys AU

Simon could feel energy swarming below him.

“Do you feel that, too?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s way stronger in here.” he said. Whatever spirit that led them here was close.

Simon took a step back, and his shoe slipped. He’d stepped on a piece of cloth.

Penny moved in. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s a scarf.” Simon muttered, pointing his lantern to it. The scarf was pale blue. He bent down and carefully picked it up. As soon as his fingers made contact with the fabric, a shiver ran through his body. Electricity flooded through his veins, and he took a sharp breath. Something pulsed under his feet, synchronized with his own heartbeat.

“I think- It’s a tether.” he said, a spike of adrenaline making him feel light-headed.

When a spirit attached itself to a tether, they had to stay near it. That was why haunted houses existed, but not many cities haunted by a single ghost – spirits couldn’t venture far from their tethers. And mages could only release them and help them pass peacefully to their eternal rest once they were free of their earthly bindings.

Simon had never actually held a spirit’s tether before. They were incredibly powerful. Some of the mages claimed that mishandling a spirit’s tether would get you cursed. But Simon had never heard of anyone actually getting possessed, and he had no intention of disrespecting this tether.

“But it’s not Ebb’s. She didn’t own any silk blue scarfs, that I’m sure of.” Penelope said, reaching out as if to touch it before thinking better.

“It could be Ebb’s.” Simon tried to reason, his hope of finding his friend fighting against logic. He squeezed the scarf in his hand. Warmth spread through his palm and up his arm. He turned to Penny with a smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Penelope gave him a skeptical look, and Simon shrugged.

“I have to try – What if Ebb’s spirit got tethered to this instead of her staff?” he said, twisting the scarf between his fingers.

“It could be attached to someone who’s gone malefic.” Penelope said, casting a pointed look around the dilapidated church.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got a sword now, innit?” Simon said. Penny raised her eyebrows, but then grinned.

“All right, Greatest Mage, work your magic.”

The rush of excitement made Simon feel giddy as he knelt.

He held his hand over his hip, calling for the Sword of Mages. "In justice. In courage. In defense of the weak. In the face of the mighty. Through magic and wisdom and good." The hilt materializes in his grip, and he swings the sword up to his shoulder. Maybe it was the feel of the blade in his hand or the magic he knew flowed through his veins, but Simon felt recklessly brave.

He stood up again and tried to take a deep breath, but he was too excited, practically buzzing. His palms were sweaty. He looked over to Penelope, who gave him an enthusiastic and encouraging nod.

Simon had seen his mentor, Davy, summon spirits before. It wasn’t exactly general knowledge for mages, but he knew what to do and how to do it. It was one of the few incantations that Simon believed he could get right, like with the Sword of Mages, because those weren’t like other spells. They didn’t come so easily to other mages as regular incantations did. Magic words are tricky, and Simon had never been good with words. You have to have a good vocabulary to do magic. You have to be able to think on your feet and be brave enough to speak up. And you have to actually understand what you’re saying, how the words translate into magic.

None of that came naturally to Simon. And his magic... He was powerful, he knew that, but his magic behaved differently than everyone else’s. His magic was immediate and literal. Sometimes, it acted when he didn’t even mean to make it do anything. It just… happened.

And that was exactly what he needed right now.

He felt the magic inside him, strong and infinite. He called it to the surface, his skin suddenly warmer, and held out his arm, the scarf looped around his hand. Simon cleared his throat, trying to breathe around the lump that had formed.

“I summon you, spirit!”

For a terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, an explosion of heat and golden light. Simon sprang back, choking on the smoke.

There was a person in front of him, doubled over their hand and knees, clutching their chest.

Simon could hardly believe his eyes. “It worked!”

The spirit’s face was screwed up tight in a grimace, their fingers knotted into the material of his shirt, a beautiful floral, white with blue and purple flowers and fat striped bumblebees.

“That’s not Ebb.” Penelope tried to whisper, but she’d never had a very good inside voice.

Simon groaned and dragged a hand over his face. On the bright side, he had actually summoned a real-life spirit

On the not-so-bright side, he had summoned the wrong one.

“Obviously.” Simon growled back, unable to look away from the spirit as they gasped for breath, the muscles in their neck straining. They had that translucent quality around the edges, like all spirits, Their eyes swung to Simon and Penny, with a handsome but very angry face, their grimace now more of a sneer.

“Well, at least it’s not a malefic spirit?” Penny offered.

The person staggered to their feet, upright but unsteady. “Who the hell are you?”, they snarled, dark grey eyes blazing, sharp as obsidian.

“Uhh” was Simon’s unhelpful reply, suddenly back to being capable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Where am I?” the person’s voice coming out of them in a tight roar, head tilting back as they took in their surroundings. “Am I in a church?” their attention swung back to Simon and Penelope with an accusing glare. “Who let me in a church?”

Familiarity prickled at the back of Simon’s mind, racing to place their sharp edges, posh look, and the irritated, cold tone in their voice.

“Uh- well- you see,” Simon stammered, not really sure how to explain their situation, but he wasn’t given the chance to finish. The person’s eyes snagged on the scarf still dangling from Simon’s hand.

“Hey!” Simon saw their anger swell, hunching their shoulders, and propelling them forward. The spirit stomped up to him, fire in their eyes. “That’s mine.”

They reached out to snatch the scarf, but their hand went right through it. They frowned and tried again, and when their hand slid through it a second time, they froze, blinked their eyes, and slowly waved it back and forth.

Their eyes went wide, and they stumbled back. “What the hell is this?” they demanded to know, looking between their hand and the scarf and Simon and Penelope.

“Wow, this is really awkward.” Simon said, scratching at the back of his neck. Penelope seemed less worried.

“Well, there’s no denying you’re an actual mage now.” she said, circling the spirit with keen interest. They scowled at her.

“Who are you, and what are you doing with my scarf?” they demanded, looking to Simon for answers.

“Well, uh, I used it to summon you.” he tried.

The spirit crossed their arms, arching a thick eyebrow.

“Yeah, we thought it might have belonged to Ebb.” What was the gentlest way to tell someone they were dead?

“Ebeneza. Our friend.” Penelope specified.

The spirit didn’t seem at all interested in who Ebb was. “It’s mine.” they insisted with a growl. “It belonged to my mother. It’s got our last name on it see?” their fingers curling in demand.

Simon turned the fabric over to find that a name had indeed been recorded in a tip. He blinked. “Oh.” The delicate cursive letters read PITCH. “Oh.”

The Pitch family was well known, and also magickal. They didn’t do any death-related magic, though, not like Davy or the Bunces – they were magickal authorities. Royalty, aristocrats, leaders. Researchers, linguists. They knew spells like no other magickal families. They were fire magicians, brilliant with fire. But they weren’t involved with action, not like the mages Simon and Penelope grew with. The Pitches didn’t know about death magick, not like them.

Simon knew the Pitch’s heir, Baz Pitch, or rather knew of them. They went to highschool together, and Baz had a bit of a... reputation. They used to be a top student, and when they were roaming the halls it was hard to not notice them. They had the sort of presence that demanded everyone’s attention without needing to ask. They were hard to miss.

Until they got expelled.

“Do you know how you got here?” Simon questioned them. Baz glared.

“No. All I remember is walking down the street with my friends. Then something- someone-” they frowned. “I just remember getting knocked over.” They unconsciously rubbed at the same point on their chest, near their heart. “Then the next thing I knew, I was in a church with you two.”

Three beats passed before Baz’s eyes went wide. “I died, didn’t I?” Simon and Penelope looked at each other. “Am I dead?”

Simon gave a small nod. Baz stumbled back a step, their body wavering in and out of existence for a moment. “Oh, Crowley. My aunt is going to kill me.” They pressed both hands against their face and groaned against their palms.

“Looks like someone already beat her to it.” Penelope pointed out.

“So I’m a spirit now.” Baz scowled, ignoring the girl. They didn’t sound angry or dismayed, just… annoyed. As if this were just an inconvenience. “And you’re also mages, I suppose. So you can send spirits to the afterlife, right?”

“Yes- Well, no-” Simon fumbled, trying to explain himself. “I should be able to- er, I guess- I haven’t done the releasing part yet-”

“Great. So I’m stuck with two shitty witches.”

Annoyance flared in Simon. “Look, this is my first time, okay?” Baz blinked slowly at him, unimpressed. “You- You’re attached to a tether, your scarf. So I just need to destroy the-”

“No, no way!” Baz shook their head. “That’s my mother’s scarf, you are not destroying it.” They tried to snatch it from Simon, but, again, they were left with a fistful of empty air. Penelope chuckled.

“No, just listen-” Simon gripped his blade, raising it.

Baz scoffed, which was not how Simon thought any sane person should react to getting a sword pointed at them.

“What are you going to do, stab me?” Baz’s laughter was flat and sharp. “Already dead, remember?”

“I’m not going to stab you!” No matter how tempting it is, Simon thought. Penelope cut in.

“He can use this to destroy the tie keeping you here.” Baz opened their mouth to argue, but Penny pressed on. “Not the scarf, just the tie anchoring you to the scarf. Then you can go to the afterlife and be at peace, okay?”

Baz smirked. “Yeah, no. He’s not doing that.”

Simon groaned. Of course the first spirit he summoned was a git that wouldn’t just be released willingly. No, he had to get stuck with the one who had an attitude problem.

“I’m doing this. Right now.” Simon said. “We still need to find Ebb, and, besides, if you stay here like this for too long, you’ll turn all dark and violent and start hurting people.”

Baz crossed their arms over their chest. “No.” Simon looked at Penelope for help, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

“You’re leaving me no choice.” Simon pushed his jaw forward to stand his ground. A thick eyebrow quirked. Simon called for his magic, squeezing the scarf in his hand. “Show me the bond!”

The Sword of Mages and the scarf glowed bright, filling the church with a warm blaze that made all three of them squint. A golden thread sparked to life in the air, starting from the blue fabric and ending at the center of Baz’s chest.

Simon inhaled a deep breath. “I set you free for the next life!” he sliced his sword through the air, aiming directly for the golden thread. Instead of severing it, the edge of the blade caught on the line. The Sword of Mages vibrated in his hand, and small sparks flew from where they met.

Baz relaxed, but Simon wasn’t giving up just yet. He tried slicing through it again, then tried sawing at it, but all it did was send more sparks flying and make his shoulder hurt.

Simon turned over to see an obnoxious smirk on Baz’s face.

“Wow. You really suck at this.” they said, looking pleased with themselves. Simon turned to Penelope.

His heart hammered in his ears, and his throat felt like it was closing up on him. The sudden aching in his chest (surely not helped by his tight binder) threatened to swallow him whole. Penny was immediately at his side, her voice calm and soothing as she gripped his arms.

“Don’t worry about this! This isn’t your fault, Si.” she jerked her head in Baz’s direction. “They’re probably too bull-headed to cross over.”

“Hey!”

Penelope ignored their protest. “Just like my great-aunt, remember?”

“Maybe.” Simon mumbled. He didn’t want to think about it. Shame burned hot on his cheeks.

“Look.” Baz called. “I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Simon and Penny turned to them.

“I’ve got unfinished business.” Baz said, brow furrowed. “And I need to check on my friends. They were with me when I died, I need to make sure they’re okay.” their face twisted between annoyance and something that could’ve been worry. “And maybe they know who got me. That could be connected-” They shook their head, interrupting themselves. “If you help me on a personal project, and let me find my friends and make sure they’re okay, I will willingly let you do what you need to do and send me to the afterlife.”

Simon looked at Penelope, who shrugged. “I don’t think we have much of a choice here.”

“Okay.” Simon took a step forward. “Wait. What’s this ‘personal project’ you’re talking about?”

Baz’s features got rigid. They stepped closer to Simon.

“My mother’s killer walks. You are going to help me find out who he is, and avenge her, and bring her peace.”

[my other works for the countdown]

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

CHAPTER UPDATE FOR NEVER TEAR US APART

Meddling siblings, lavender biscuits, encounters with Malcolm, and a sunset in Hampshire. Back to the world of Never Tear Us Apart! 

Sorry for the months long hiatus but hello, I'm back to Never Tear Us Apart! It’s been outlined and plotted since I wrote the first chapter but I hit a major wall this summer when real life hit me very hard.  It took me awhile to find my way to writing again and when I did return I realized I had so much to process with Wayward Son. It was particularly hard return to writing this particular fic. Much as I loved WS, it definitely put a pause on this fic, which was my version of a sequel to Carry On. I had to decide how I wanted to think about it--did I want to keep going with the story the way I had planned it out or did i somehow want to bring it in line with the canonical story line of WS?  In the end I decided to keep to my original ideas, to stay the course.  To regard this now as an non-canonical AU that is very much set in the post-Carry On world but not the Wayward Son one. I think I found their voices again. I hope those of you that have followed this fic enjoy this update. And for those of you that are new to it--it’s going to keep going. i can’t promise you a set update schedule but i am going to tell this story to the end. Accompanying playlists can be found on spotify under tbazzsnow. 

Here’s a bit of chapter 12:

Baz

Simon looks so fucking beautiful right now. His hair is a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, curls tumbled down over his face. He’s flushed from the dancing, finally letting himself succumb to the music—he throws his head back as I watch him, his arms and hips moving sinuously to the beat.

I follow a bead of sweat as it trickles from his forehead, down his jaw, to trace a line along his neck.

I want to lick it off.

That would lead to a whole host of other things I want to do to Simon and no amount of sound-proofing or door-locking spells would prove adequate at keeping my siblings from somehow encroaching on us during daylight hours. They are persistent and undeterrable.

And this next step of intimacy we’ve reached is so new, so precious to me, that I don’t want anything to intrude on it.

The song switches over to “Never Gonna Give You Up” and the mood shifts as Simon opens his eyes and huffs a laugh at me. “I can’t believe you, of all people, have this song on your playlist.”

“It’s Fiona’s playlist.”

“That she made for you.” He’s grinning now and I’m perfectly content to take any amount of shit from him about my musical preferences because the playlist fucking did its job and made him smile again.

Points to Rick Astley. And Fiona, I suppose.

And to me, for not taking this song off the list.

I’m never taking this song off the playlist.

Simon shuffles his way over to me, singing along with the song as he does.

“Never gonna give you up

Never gonna let you down

Never gonna run around and desert you”

We’re both singing along by the time he puts his arms on my shoulders and I slide mine around his waist.

“Never gonna make you cry  

Never gonna say goodbye

Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you”

It’s just a stupid pop song but I mean every word I’m saying right now. I’d put magic into the lyrics if I dared.

If I thought I needed to.

Simon’s lips find mine as the chorus fades into the next song. His fingers slide up to tangle in my hair and he pulls me closer. “That song is going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day, thanks to you.”

We sway to the music as I trail my lips up his jaw to his ear and whisper “I meant every word of it.”

Simon pulls back to look at me, his blue eyes wide and questioning. “What?”

I lean down to press our foreheads together. “Every word of that ridiculous chorus.” All I see is that brilliant blue, the bronze glint of Simon’s eyelashes, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

He’s smiling up at me. So close that I can feel his breath on my lips when he speaks. “I’ll never give up on you, Baz Pitch. I told you that once. I’ve never turned my back on you and I never will.”

This kiss is searing. His mouth is hot. Everything is hot. He’s pushing against me and I’m pushing back with everything I have, my grip tightening on his hips, his chest pressed up against mine, fingers clenched into my hair, the heat of him radiating into my every pore.

His mouth is dissipating every thought but the ones of him.

I’ll never give up on you, Simon Snow. I don’t know what the world would be like without you.  

His hands are under my shirt, his fingertips leaving blazing trails against my skin. My own drift to his waistband, sliding up to brush his belly, relishing the way he shivers at my touch.

Crowley, I wish we were back in London.

“I wish we were back home.” The words slip out as I mouth at that spot behind Simon’s ear. That makes him shiver too.

“You are home,” Simon says, tilting his head back as my lips trail down to his neck. He slides his leg between mine and presses closer.

“You know what I mean.” I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe him in. He’s brown butter and cinnamon today, with that underlying tangy scent that’s all his own.

I feel his breath in my hair, stirring the strands, his voice just a whisper but I can hear it.  “Home is wherever I’m with you, Baz.”

My heart thumps in my chest. When he says things like that, when he puts words to my own thoughts, when he speaks without stumbling over those words--those are the moments when I truly believe that Simon Snow loves me.

It’s a heady sensation.

A blaze flaring up in my heart, searing its way through my veins.

He’s in my arms, in my heart, in my lungs, he’s made his way into every part of me, pouring warmth and love and life into my very soul.

My mouth finds his. “I love you, Simon Snow.”

I can feel his smile against my lips. “I’ll never get tired of you saying that.”

“Then I’ll never stop saying it.” I kiss him again and I can’t help but smile myself. “I love you, Simon Snow.”

I kiss the mole on his cheek I’ve loved since I was twelve. “I love you, Simon Snow.” I kiss his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, repeating the words every time.

He’s trembling. Eyes closed, head thrown back, the glorious line of his neck exposed to my lips.

His hands rake down my back.

I should pull back . . . I should take a moment . . . I should . . .

Simon opens his eyes to pin me with a look. Pupils blown wide, face flushed, lips parted. “Why’d you stop? I was kind of liking that, yeah.”

His mouth curves up in a bit of a smirk and he’s so fucking delectable I would snog him to oblivion if I could.

Fuck. I’d do more than that.

“We’re here, not home.” It sounds as pathetic out loud as it did in my head.

“That didn’t stop us last night.”

“But . . .” Why the fuck did I stop? “Well, it’s the middle of the day . . . they’re all . . . well, you know. My siblings are . . . they’re devious little goblins.” Crowley, I sound an absolute tit.

Simon raises an eyebrow but he’s absolute shit at it so he ends up looking surprised rather than superior. It’s fucking adorable.

“They’re not even home.”

“What?”

“They’re not even here. Daphne took them to some children’s play centre for the day.”

“What?” Crowley, I’m repeating myself like an idiot.“How do you know that?”

“Vera told me. When I went for crisps.”

There is no situation that Simon feels cannot be improved with snacks. There are two packets of Walkers on my nightstand.

It’s not salt and vinegar crisps I’m craving at this moment.

“Come here, you stupid git.” Simon pulls me to him by my belt loops. It’s far sexier than it has any right to be. “Soundproof the room, if you’re that worried about it. Magick the door.”

Where the fuck is my wand?

Simon

I’m the first to get embarrassed around Baz’s family but it’s happened to me so many times now that I can’t summon up the will to worry about it at the moment. They’ve assumed we’ve been shagging for ages so I’m not fussed.

Particularly when the house is practically empty and Baz is looking like this.

He fed early this morning so he’s got a bit of a flush in his cheeks. And he’s got that look, that look I always used to think meant he was about to attack me. I mean, it is the look he gets when he’s about to attack me, but it’s all about a snogging me senseless type of attack. I like those. I like those a lot.

I like everything about Baz right now. The flush, the brightness of his eyes, how his lips are parted, barely brushed with pink. The way his shirt’s hiked up and his pupils are wide and dark, set against the grey of his eyes.

I pull him closer, fingers hooked in his belt loops and I like the way his breath catches when I do it.

He’s flustered, can hardly get the words out, and Merlin, I love it when he’s just as much of a mess as me.

I know exactly where his wand is. I move my hands to his perfect arse and squeeze. That makes him jump a bit so I yank his wand out of his back pocket and wave it in his face.

“Come on. Drop a “sound of silence” and stop being such a fussbudget.”

He draws back, wand in the air, eyebrows pulled together. “I am not a fussbudget.”

“Fine, then you’re a prig. Merlin, Baz, I’m starting to think you don’t want to have a good shag.”

He grabs my shirt in his grip and pulls me to him and I love the controlled power emanating from him, coiled and ready to unleash.

My tail wraps around his leg and he shivers. Baz will never admit it but he’s definitely got a thing for my tail.

I may have a bit of a thing for this too. I can hold him to me, wrap myself around him in every way.

It’s the last bit of magic left in me, I think. Not anything I can use or tap into or really even feel anymore. But I can still touch him with magic, when I do this. And imagine it’s enough.

read the rest of this chapter on ao3! 

full fic here!

spotify playlists at tbazzsnow 

[cultgambles]

The Boy with the Letter (3/3)

What I Want

UMM TELL ME WHY I WAS GOING THROUGH MY ARCHIVES AND COULDN’T FIND PART 3 YET IT’S POSTED TO AO3?? What is my brain. Basically a year later but here u go...

word count: 1674

Masterlist | Requests? open

part one / part two / part 3

B A Z

Bunce’s mom decides to shove us all in a van for unknown reasons. She also chooses the seating arrangement for unknown reasons. I’m up at the front with her, Bunce is next to her brother, and Simon is squished in the very back with Wellbelove. I guess Snow got what he wanted in the end. 

This is going to be a long ride. 

I can see them laughing in the vanity mirror. Snow tries to catch my eye, but I turn to look out the window like a sad girl in a music video with a lot of rain. 

As soon as we get there, Snow attacks the buffet table and my aunt pulls me aside. 

We’re doing face masks. 

“So you guys have been faking this entire time?” Fiona gives me a look. 

I just broke Rule Two. Oh well. “You have to promise not to tell.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Father? For example,” I snort. 

“Oh you’re right. He could care about that. He didn’t much like the vampire part, did he?”

“He didn’t.”

“I know you’ve had a thing for the Chosen One for a while now. Why can’t you admit it to him? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“You’ve only just met toda--Have you been spying on us?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it spying. More like, observing carefully.”

“So spying,” I deadpan. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. He likes you. I can tell.”

“OK, how. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“He doesn’t really get you, but he’s having fun trying to figure it out.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s still so obsessed with his ex girlfriend.”

“Let’s look at the facts, shall we? One, the whole fake relationship thing was his idea. You came up with the no kissing rule, and he’s still writing you love notes three months in. I bet he’s waiting for you in the pool, while you’re in here with your Aunt.” Of course he would go swim at night, the numpty. He’s like a space heater.

“You think he’s waiting for me?”

“Duh. If anyone fell for you and thought his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated it would be him.”

I raise a brow and casually get up. Fiona snickers, but lets me go anyway. 

None of the families are out at this time, but I can vaguely make out a mess of bronze curls in the distance.

He’s getting out of the pool, shaking his hair. The water glistens off his skin and he settles down into the hot tub. I watch him put his arms on the edge and stare up at the stars. 

“Snow,” I say, making my way in front of him. He continues to look away from me. “Oh, ignoring me, are we? How mature of you.”

“I’m not the one who ditched his boyfriend to hang out with someone else,” he growls. Isn’t that what you wanted? To be seen together? To prove a point?”

I shug. “Yeah, that was the whole point of this, wasn’t it?”

“I looked like a fool when everyone came up to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“Oh? The great Baz Pitch apologizing?” he smirks slightly.

I look down into his eyes. I can’t make anything out, which is strange, because I can usually read him like an open book. 

“You sat with Wellbelove. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wish Penny’s mom sat us together instead.”

“What?”

“You’re so smart, Baz, but you’re so dumb. I asked your sister what your favorite snacks were, and I brought a blanket for us to cuddle under since I know you’re always cold.”

I pull my jacket off and shrug my slacks off. Hesitantly, which is a first for me, I dip my toes into the water. Next, I lower myself in so my thighs are in.

“You’re getting in...in your boxers?” 

I stand in front of Snow, so we’re at mostly eye level. “Hi, Simon.”

“You’re impossible,” he smiles softly, pulling my leg over him.

I’m straddling my crush of seven years. 

I’ll die. 

He brushes a stand of hair out of my face, and his hands make their way to my waist like they did so many weeks ago. I can feel his hands ghost over my torso. 

Simon is the sun, and I’m crashing into him. This kiss is much more messy, much more needy, teeth knocking against each other, hands roaming everywhere. My fingers brush against the nape of his neck and I feel him shiver. Snow pulls away for a second, and his lips are as swollen as mine probably are. However, there’s a bit of blood. I run my tongue along my now sharp teeth.

“That’s new,” is all he says, before attacking my neck. 

After trading kisses for a while, he leans his forehead against mine. “We kiss like we are fighting,” he says, with a small laugh.

“Would you want it any other way?” I raise a brow.

“Of course not.”

We walk back to the hotel hand in hand, and we stop too suddenly at my door. (I don’t know why we couldn’t share a room, afterall we share at Watford.) He spins me slightly and wishes me a good night. I lean down and I feel him reach my lips with his.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Snow.”

“What, after all that and you’re still calling me by my last name?”

“Fine. Simon.” He looks at me like a puppy and turns to go into his own room.

I can barely sleep that night. He’s got me all hot and bothered. I could feel his blood coursing through his veins. I drew some, to top it all off. I’m a bit embarrassed, but nothing stops my excitement for the next day. 

Unfortunately, Agatha confronts me. “Baz, I just wanted to let you know it’s cool of you to be okay with Simon looking after me too.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Yeah, he came to my room last night.”

“Is that true, Snow?” I side step out of his arm.

“Yes but--”

“The deal’s off, Snow.”

“Wait! Baz Wait!”

I’m a fool. No way the Chosen One could have actually been mine. I go home for the weekend instead of the dorms.  It’s nearing Sunday and I’m dreading going back. 

Daphne calls my name and says I have a visitor. Reluctantly, I make my way down the stairs and find Snow in the foyer. He’s covered in mud and out of breath.

“Get out.”

“No,” he says, stubbornly as ever, a pout on his lips. “Hear me out.”

“You have ten seconds.” 

“I didn’t go to Aggie’s room that night to do anything other than to tell her it’s over. It’s you. You’re the one that I want, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

“Out,” I say. Snow sighs, and closes the door behind him. Of course the mess doesn’t leave with him, so I spell it clean. 

Mordelia tugs on my sleeve. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

She takes out a familiar looking box. The pieces instantly click together. “You,” I snarl, “You sent that letter out.”

“But look,” she says, opening the lid. Snow’s 20-something letters I’ve received from him are all intact. 

“How did you even get these?” I say, taking a small scrap out and unfolding it. 

“Aunt Fi helped,” she smiles coyly.

“Of course she did.” I take the letters out, one by one, and read them out loud.

Baz. You have such beautiful eyes. 

Baz, everyone was impressed by your spell against the dragon, but especially me. We made such a great team that day, didn’t we?

It’s funny to me how we can fight so easily but fall into place together just the same. 

Baz, am I gay? Maybe I’m bi...I don’t know.

The last one makes me laugh. 

“What more of a reason do you need to know the Chosen One feels at least something for you?”

I take a deep breath and sprint out the door. I hail a taxi and make my way back to Watford. 

I can see Simon sitting on a ledge, staring at his Sword of Mages.

And I call out to him, because I’m weak.

He perks up, and catches my eye. 

“NO! Don’t jump off! Simon!” It’s too late, and he’s surprisingly landed well.

“Hey,” he says.

“I have something to tell you.”

He walks closer to me. “Okay.”

“I got here without magic.”

“Really? That’s great...congrats…”

“Thanks,” I say, nerves getting the best of me.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Was that all you came back to say? Whatcha got there?” he questions, gesturing to the letter in my hand. 

“It’s nothing,” I retort as he makes a grab for it. “You already have one of my letters.” Snow unfolds it and scans over it.

“No, this is something you have give me if you want me to read it.”

“Can you turn around?” I ask. I can’t look at him in his blue blue eyes. 

Simon shrugs, but does what I’ve asked. 

I take a deep breath. “Simon Snow, the Chosen One, we’ve fought for many years, but it’s only this year that…” I tap him on the shoulder and he spins back around.

“It’s only this year that we haven’t fought, and I quite like that. Simon Snow, I’ve been in love with you since fifth year, and I mean it. Not in the fake way at all. And that’s what I came here to say.”

All the fiber in my being is telling me to run away, but I stand with my head held high. 

“Baz, I’m hopelessly in love with you. And I don’t know if that means I’m into boys now, or if I’ve always been like this, but I know I’m into you. And that’s what matters to me,” he gives me a smile that I absolutely must kiss, but he brings me down to his level by my tie instead. 

I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow. Alister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life. 

[sorbriquette]

Cutting In (Dancing)

Supp fam, this is my last countdown fic which is fun. So imma be working on chaptered shit from now on but this has been fun and oneshots aren’t as awful as I thought! Why am I writing this? I do not know, I’m tired. But thanks for reading and shit <3

Word Count:  3518

AO3

Simon

"Can I cut in?"

I don't need to look up from Agatha to know who's speaking. Because I recognise that voice. Because I knew he'd do this. Because I haven't been looking at Agatha, I've been scanning the room to figure out where he is.

Baz Pitch puts on a charming smile and extends a hand towards my girlfriend.

I'd say she stops dancing with me but I'm not really sure you can call this dancing. I'm not allowed to move my feet because I step on her toes when I do, so we've just kind of been swaying on the spot.

We do stop though. And Agatha reaches out a hand to take Baz's.

In that moment, it seems like the only solution. Merlin, it actually seems like a good one because I know Agatha will get annoyed if I tell Baz to fuck off.

Instead, I say, "sure," and drop my hand into his awaiting palm before Agatha can reach it.

They both turn to look at me. Agatha looks annoyed. I expect Baz to look annoyed too but his brow is furrowed more in confusion than anger.

Agatha looks expectantly at Baz, like she's waiting for him to tell me he was talking to her, I'm waiting for it too. It doesn't come though.

Baz narrows his eyes at me for but a moment before he says, "alright, Snow." He steps into my space and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to step back or maybe deck him.

He's calling my bluff in a way I suppose, waiting for me to back down so he can make off with Agatha. So, I don't back down.

I clasp his hand more tightly. It's much colder than Agatha's was but that's probably better because it'll make things less clammy. His fingers are longer too, they reach further onto the back of my hand, enveloping it.

Baz's hand falls to my shoulder and mine to his, his muscles tensing under my touch, though I'm sure I'm doing the same.

I don't even see Agatha go, I'm too busy glaring daggers up at Baz who still looks smug, like he's somehow winning. When I glance up, she's gone, disappeared into the crowd, with more than a few of them giving us confused or concerned looks.

Apparently, me and Baz are looking at each other with enough distaste that they don't actually seem to think anything of it beyond our usual antics though.

Baz isn't stupid though and he very quickly realises that I cannot for the life of me, dance.

"Finished embarrassing yourself?" he asks, still smirking, as he examines something over my shoulder in what might be his first time taking his eyes off me.

He's been smirking the whole time. I should know I've been very close and glaring at him, only glancing down when I accidentally step on him. He's been watching me right back, not so much as flinching when I make a mistake though his eyes narrow a little each time. They're nice eyes, particularly up close when I can see more than just the grey they appear from afar. I'm close enough to see green and blue shifting as we move and the light hits him differently. His pupils are wide but it's not that dim in here. It makes him look softer though, less threatening.

I wonder if Agatha would have noticed his eyes. I can't not notice, being this close so I'm sure she would have too.

"Fuck off," I mutter, considering shoving him away and maybe socking him in the jaw for good measure.

His grip loosens on my hand and I almost let go of it before we turn and I realise what, or rather who, he's been looking at.

So I hold his hand tighter in mine and use the hand on his shoulder to pull him closer. "Absolutely not."

"What, are you just going to keep dancing with me until Wellbelove gives up and leaves?" he asks, sneer on his features renewed though he doesn't look surprised by my actions in the slightest.

I square my shoulders and straighten up, affixing him with a scowl again. "If I have to."

"Then you'll never get to dance with her yourself."

I shrug but it doesn't even dissuade his hand let along dislodge it from its resting place. "She doesn't like dancing with me anyway."

"That's probably because you're abysmal at it."

He's right. I'm awful. I always held out a little hope for it being a by-product of me leading but I think technically Baz is leading right now.

"We don't really dance," I say with a shrug because he technically is right, "we just kind of sway. It's just nice to be close to someone, you know?"

I regret it as soon as I say it but it would only be worse if I took it back. I suppose I should be madder that he's right. I am a little. He could probably make Agatha happy, dance a waltz or whatever perfectly. But he's not dancing with Agatha, he's dancing with me, so I count that as a victory.

"I suppose," he says and I'm close enough to see the dusting of pink settle across his cheeks. I want to run my fingertips over it, to see if it warms under the rush of blood the same way his skin warms under mine. But he composes himself quickly and for once I'm grateful because it stops me following that thought to fruition. "I guess she just doesn't like being that close to you then."

"You think she'd like it more with you?"

Maybe she would. He seems to like the idea of it with her. Actually, genuinely, like it, if the blush that graced his features moments ago is anything to go by. But it's already fading and I've lost my window to call him out on it. Not that I could find anything particularly devastating to say.

"Perhaps."

It takes me a moment to realise we're just swaying. I'm not sure when we stopped. Probably when I pulled him closer to keep him from running off after Agatha.

I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

He's taller than Agatha, he holds me differently and he smells different. So, I can't just pretend it's her instead.

But I don't hate it.

It's not exactly nice though. But in a way it is, I suppose. It's not like we've ever gotten this close before without punches and curses being thrown at each other.

As long as we're silent it seems we can get along.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, withdrawing my hand from his, my arm tired from holding it out. He makes to step away and I probably should let him but before I even realise what he's doing I have both arms draped over his shoulders.

He moves back into my arms and lets his hands settle around my waist, ever the perfect gentleman, even with me, careful to keep his touch light and as far from intimate as he can manage. I wonder if he'd be so cautious with Agatha.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why are you still here with me? Just because I asked you to? You could walk over to Agatha right now and she wouldn't let me stop you." I don't look at him throughout my words and it might be the longest we've looked away from each other all night.

I feel the laugh he huffs out under my skin, under my fingertips and his body shifts. "It doesn't matter, either way, you're not with Wellbelove so I win."

My gaze flicks back up to him and he's still very much looking at me, resolute and piercing. "So, what, you just want me to be miserable?"

"I suppose."

I heave a sigh, "well joke's on you because I'm not."

"What?" He asks, blank expression falling away to confusion for the first time since we've started dancing.

I don't respond and he doesn't press me.

I use this opportunity to get a better look at him. To tear my eyes from his own stupidly gorgeous ones and scan his features for imperfections.

The bend in his nose where I broke it. That's imperfect.

I wonder if his eyebrows are actually perfect or if he spends some of that time in our bathroom every morning plucking them.

The only real imperfection about his lips is the lack of colour. Grey like the rest of him. But soft and gently curved and turned down ever so slightly at the edges in a way that always makes him look a little displeased. But still pretty much perfect.

It takes me a moment to realise my tongue has slipped out to wet my own lips and I quickly stow it and move on.

He's not entirely devoid of colour. There's a light flush settling across his cheeks again. Not as severe as the ones he gets after a football game but still notable when I'm this close. But it's still gentle and only serves to make his dark features more attractive. So, I move on.

His hair was slicked back. I never liked it slicked back so I suppose that's a point in my favour. It's not now though. It's fallen forward to frame his face, a couple of strands going as far as to brush across his cheek. I've half a mind to push it out of his face. I might if I keep looking at him.

So, I break his gaze again and look up. I meet Agatha's instead, glowering at me across the room and her eyes filling with longing as they flicker to Baz.

I don't think he's even noticed.

I shoot her a sheepish look and a shrug.

Baz notices that and inclines his head to follow my line of sight. It's not until he does it that I realise what had been missing from this equation. Jealousy. I feel it course through my veins now but it's not making me want to march over there and take Agatha by the waist. Instead, it makes me tighten my grip on Baz.

He looks back to me with a raised eyebrow and something settles in my stomach. Dread quickly replacing jealousy.

So, I shove it away and settle back in because Baz hasn't pushed me away yet. If I can just keep my mouth shut maybe he won’t at all.

Eventually, I get tired. So tired. Even from just swaying. So, I curl one arm around his waist and lean my head forward until it tips onto his shoulder.

"Tired, Snow?" he more sneers than asks.

We haven't spoken much, save to toss the occasional banter back and forth. Then I stopped engaging because Baz kept winning.

I open my mouth to tell him no and a yawn comes out instead.

"Come on, let’s get you back to our room." He sounds almost sympathetic for a moment.

I shake my head, forehead brushing over the far too soft material of his suit. I let him take more of my weight, leaning into him properly though I'm not sure if it's because I want to or because I need to at this point.

"Relax, you can stop. Wellbelove left an hour ago."

It takes me a moment to realise what he's saying. To remember what he's even talking about.

"And yet, you're still here," I observe looking up and around. A lot of other people have left already too. I'm not sure how long has passed, long enough that only a few people are still on the dancefloor and fewer are around snack tables.

"Like you said, I'm trying to make you miserable."

"Try harder."

Baz

Snow's head settles back onto my shoulder and I'm not entirely sure what to do about this situation.

Why is he still here? Wellbelove is gone. Probably back to the cloisters so it's not like I could figure out how to get in. Not that I'd want to. All I really want is this.

Simon Snow, here in my arms, nestling into the crook of my neck, one arm thrown haphazardly over my shoulder and the other at my hip toying with the creases created by my tucked shirt.

His is tucked his in too, for once. I wonder if it was Wellbelove or Bunce who dressed him. It doesn't matter, he looks dashing though I'm not sure a blue suit is what I'd have picked for him.

He leans further into me and my grip on his waist tightens some. I don't know how he does it, just so casually pulls me closer or puts his hands on me. Probably because he doesn't feel what I do. If I did it, it would feel predatory, like I'm taking advantage of the situation.

It's enough though, just this. The taut skin of his back moving under my hands when he shifts, the weight of his chest against mine. The way his curls tickle under my chin.

I don't know why he's still here. I also know I can't bring myself to leave if he doesn't first. The sun will rise before I willingly depart from his embrace.

"Keep this up for much longer and people will talk," I mutter, a half-hearted attempt at sabotaging the peace I've found in this moment.

Snow snorts and it draws attention to the way his breath drifts across my throat. Slow and gentle and enough to set my skin alight. "I stalked you for a year, I doubt it can get much worse."

He makes a decent point, that and I'm sure people are already talking and have been all night.

I laugh a little because I'm tired too. It's well into the night and the time Snow would be asleep and I'd have free reign to take him in. I've been doing that all night though and it hasn't helped prevent the way my walls are growing unsteady.

I feel him smile against me, not his lips, they are thankfully not pressed to my skin. But I feel the way his cheeks bunch when he smiles, pushing into my neck in a way that makes me long for his lips instead and wonder if this isn’t somehow worse for me.

"Why are you still here?" I ask because I enjoy few things in life more than suffering, apparently.

"Why are you?" he asks in return.

I don't have an answer, so I don't say anything.

A few moments later Snow's arms unwind from around me and I pull my own back as quickly as I can.

I don't want him to leave and I'm halfway making up some comment about going to find Wellbelove before he's taking my hand and pulling me from the room.

I go with him, feeling stupidly compliant but he's still holding my hand so I figure I can put up with that feeling just a little longer.

Wellbelove it seems, has been waiting for us outside. Which one of us though I can't say. And I suppose I'll never find out because Snow drops my hand.

"Agatha, I need to talk to you," he says, striding away from me and towards her.

It's not that I wasn't expecting it, or that I didn't know it would end. It's just that I can't help but think that maybe I could have had a few more minutes of bliss if she'd just fucked off.

"Likewise." She levels her gaze at Snow, glancing at me for but a moment.

I don't bother meeting her eyes. Instead, I stuff my hands into my pockets, protecting what little warmth Snow's graced me with from the night air as it strips away the rest till my neck and chest are cold again as I march back to our room.

I'm dressed and ready for bed before Snow renters our room. He doesn't say anything, just crosses it in an instant. I'm waiting for the anathema to kick in and whisk him away the second he hits me because I've caused a minor bump in his perfect relationship.

He doesn't hit me, though, or disappear.

His arm snakes around the back of my neck and the other comes to rest on my hip where it had been only minutes before.

"Snow?" there's a hesitance to my voice but I don't pull away from him. I don't want to.

He doesn't respond in kind, just a soft, quiet, "can I kiss you?"

I almost think I've heard him wrong or that I'm imagining things, but I've waited much too long for this and I'm saying, "yes," before I can fully comprehend what it means.

But then I don't have to, because his lips capture mine. It's not as hesitant as his words. He's still tired, I can tell by the way he leans into me. But his lips are firm against mine and not at all soft. They're chapped and rough as they graze mine but I can't really find it in me to mind because Simon Snow is kissing me and it's everything I've ever wanted.

I let my hands fall into his hair like I've wanted to all night, pressing his face closer to mine even though I can already feel his nose digging into my cheek and when he tilts his head the right way his chin bumps my jaw.

It's messy and disastrous and so terribly Simon .

He pulls back too soon, panting and staring at me like he has been all night. Lips parted and eyes wide. Except he's not glaring now, his features have softened and his lips are wet and he stares up at me.

"Wellbelove?" I somehow manage because being Snow's enemy feels easier than being his side piece.

He shakes his head, "Nah, we're not- we just-" I'm not sure if he can't spit it out because he's nervous or just because he's panting. But I get the gist of it and don't protest when his lips collide with mine again.

Gasping breaths interrupt us every few moments as one of us pulls back for air but it never lasts more than a few moments. His fingers find their way under my pyjama shirt, not with any particularly racy purpose in mind apparently, because his hand just nestles into the curve of my back. Warm and comforting and pulling my body into his.

I'm not sure when his suit jacket comes off and his tie gets loosened, I didn't do it and the hand that isn't planted on my back seems intent on flitting about my torso so it's hard to tell. But when I notice I'm not sure if I should mourn the loss of Snow suited up completely or just enjoy the intimacy of the gesture. So I do a little of both.

I struggle to push things between us. Or for me at least I suppose, Snow already has a hand under my shirt.

I'm slower to progress. Maybe because I'm scared or maybe just because I've spent so long dreaming of what it would be like to tangle my hands in his hair that I want to draw it out. I'm not sure which option is more embarrassing.

I do though, eventually, move my hands from his hair. Sliding them down to rest against his neck, I can practically feel his pulse quicken as I swipe my thumb over it. For once though, I'm not hungry for blood. I'm not hungry at all really. I'm sated. Happy.

Mostly.

When Snow pulls back panting again, I seize the opportunity to press my lips to the mole on his cheek. And he doesn't protest, so I drag my finger back through his hair, pulling it away from his face so I can kiss the ones on his brow. His skin tastes salty and I'm not surprised, but I still don't care. I'm not sure how I'll bring myself to care about anything ever again after this.

When I pull back, he doesn't instigate another kiss just raises a hand to my face and brushes a few strands of hair to the side, knuckles grazing lightly over my cheek as he does so.

I snap out of my haze long enough to see how tired he still looks. It's late and even as frantic as his kisses are there's no disguising that.

"You should go to bed," I tell him and for some reason it makes him smile.

He gives a small hum and agrees, "yeah."

It makes my stomach sink some but before he pulls away, he leans up and presses a kiss to my cheek, tender and slow and lasting for a few seconds longer than I'd expect.

His hands leave me at the same time his lips finally do and he slips off into the bathroom to change.

All that remains of Snow is the warmth dancing across my skin and the promise that maybe this isn't over yet.

[nox-feratu]

A hungry boy and a caring boy

Carry On Countdown 22nd December- Dance

Hope you will like it. Baz is a softie and Simon is extra wow. Amazing. Word Count: 2775

S i m o n

"I can't believe you brought my to a dance party at my arch nemesis house."

"C'mon, Si, stop being such a drama queen. It's free booze, and you get the chance to dance with all these pretty girls and guys that are too drunk to realize how big of a mess you are."

I look over at Agatha in the front mirror and scoff. Of course she was going to make fun of me and my incapability to flirt, especially after our attempt of a relationship from a few years ago.

"And.. I think we are here." says Penny from the pasager seat, phone in her hand. She assumed the role of co-pilot very seriously, even though she could have simply casted a spell on the car.

The house we park in front of is huge. It's so big, I think I could get lost and starve before finding any kitchen.. thinking of food makes my stomach growl. I need to eat something before drowning myself in that sweet, sweet booze.

I need to stop myself from opening my mouth in awe every five seconds viewing the beautiful scenery Baz's mansion has, such as the private forest or the numerous statues of Greek figures. When Agatha knocks on the door, dark and scary, yet mysterious and intriguing, such as the rest of the land, I do not expect to be in more shock than I was while seeing the house.

"Baz." I say, before being able to stop myself. "You're wearing jeans."

From the doorway, the light reflecting in his hair and making him look like a shiny angel, Baz sneers. There goes the charm. What was I even doing, thinking that... even though he may look like one of those statues, his personality and desire to kill me may be an inconvenience to our friendship. "Surprisingly, I do not own only tuxedos, Snow. Bunce, Wellbelove, I'm glad you made it. I hope you have a good time tonight-"

"Woah woah woah. Stop right there. You invited both of them? And are being.. polite... almost... nice. What are you plotting, Basilton?" I say before I think once again.

He looks at me, his grey eyes fixing themselves onto mine and I am not sure whether  he wants to punch me, roll his eyes or smile. I look at Penny to see what she thinks, but her eyes are shining and a smile is playing on her lips. I scoff. Probably the jeans got to her too. I try to calm my stomach, trying to convince myself the weird feeling is hunger, not jealousy.

"Just. Go inside. Please."

Penny and Agatha follow the pointing hand immediately, but I glare at him on my way inside. He wears a pair of slim, black jeans and a white shirt, not much different from the one wear for school, but seems much softer to touch.. a few of his buttons are opened, and I can't help but stare at his chest.

"What are you doing, Snow?" he asks, his voice soft. Too soft. I snap out of my trace in a second.

"I am watching you." saying this, I go inside and follow Penny's purple hair until I reach a huge kitchen, with a table longer than me two times. It is all filled with alcohol."

"Now that's what I call a party!" shouts Agatha, covering the music which was blazing from dozens of speakers from everywhere.

Surprisingly, it was not the posh, classical music I would have expected from a party held by Baz Pitch, but electro and rock one, that makes my fingers twitch and shoulders move.

"Easy there, Agatha. You are still driving." Penny says, even though she was pouring some strong alcohol in a glass herself.

"To hell I am." shouts Agatha, giggling, and I smile. She never handled her drinks well.

Food. I need to find some food. A lot of familiar faces are  coming to say hi, but all of them are leaving as soon as I salute back. It was always like this, I was just the face you say hi to, but don't care to actually stay for a chat.

The fridge was, as expected, filled with all the wonders in the world. I found myself in face of one of the hardest choices I ever had to make: steak or potato salad.

Before I get the chance to reach my hand towards the salad bowl, the fridge door shuts, only a few centimeters away my fingers, and I feel myself being dragged by a tanned hand in the living room.

Penny's hair is puffy and she is smiling, so I smile too. We were in the middle of an improvised dance floor, sweaty bodies all around us, moving in a crowd of lascivious movements and screaming voices. Penny was not that good of a dancer, and neither was I, but we moved on the music like nothing really mattered. And it really didn't.

I am in my arch nemesis' house, who was looking and acting extremely different and concerningly better than what I know, and I am having fun. Who would have thought this would ever happen to me?

B a z

Seeing Simon Snow do anything was like watching a show. The way he was dancing like a toddler who just learned how to walk, the way his eyes lit up whenever he bent his head towards Bunce so she can tell him something, the way the shirt was barely fitting his chest.. it made me love him so much more than I already did.

But what can't be fixed with alcohol and bad choices is not something worth trying, right? I pour myself another two shots in different glasses and drink them at the same time. I have so much experience that my shirt doesn't get dirty at all.

Without my intention, I remember how he looked at my chest when he came in. For a moment, I swear I saw a blush covering his cheeks, but it might have been the dim lights or the alcohol already fuzzing through my veins. Tonight was maybe my only chance to tell him my feelings, now that the girls managed to bring him to the party. I can't screw it up.

"Hey, Baz." said a loud, yet calming voice next to me. Wellbelove was laying on the wall next to me, a cup in her hand. I wonder if she could even stand up straight. It didn't seem like it. "Why dontchu go talk to him? He wants to but he no say cause he doesn't know yet. "

"Agatha." I am surprised that I even know her name. "You've been here for an hour. How did you manage to get so drunk already?"

She just shrugged, and I rolled my eyes and took her hand. "Come on. We are going to my room so you can catch some sleep."

"But I don't wannaaaa. I wanna partyyyyyy. I haven't even danced yet."

"You'll get to do that later, after you wake up. Now come on."

S i m o n

Baz is taking Agatha upstairs. Baz is taking a drunk Agatha upstairs. Anger starts burning up in the back of my neck, thinking about the two of them and how he might take advantage of her. I cannot believe I thought he seemed more human just an hour ago.

It's not like I have feelings for Agatha, not anymore anyway. I just don't want him to get close to her when she is like this. Or in general. That boy is no good.

And so I leave Penny alone on the dance floor. I ignore her calls for me and make my way up the stairs, three at a time, and I only catch a glimpse of Baz's black hair before they both go in a room on the other end of the hallway.

I don't hesitate before bursting the door wide open. I see Agatha on the bed, fast asleep, and Baz by her side, putting a blanket over her.

"Wh-what is this?" I stutter, and Baz turns his face towards me. His eyes are wide.

"Simon. What are you doing here?"

"What did you just call me?"

This night was one surprise after another. Baz blinked in surprise, then leaned his head a little to the side. "Snow. How else could I have called you?"

That bastard. "Nevermind. What are you doing in here with Agatha? Alone?"

He looked over at her, like he forgot about her existence entirely. "She was drunk and I didn't want any of my persian carpets to be covered in her puke, so I took her upstairs where she can lie down for a bit."

"It's fine Siii" I heard from the bed, and exhaled. She was okay, not asleep. Or drugged. "Just enjoy yourself. And Baz too. He is nice. He covered me."

My eyes dart over to him again. Just like before, he is beautifully painted in the light, this time by the moonshine that was coming through the window. I gulp. "Yeah. I guess he is."

Baz straightened his back, seeming emotionless. I pretend to not notice the blush from his cheeks. "Back to the party then, Snow?"

I look over to Agatha one more time and hear her snoring softly. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

B a z

It was almost midnight, and I don't think I have ever been this drunk in my entire life. The room was bright, too bright, even for me, and everybody morphed into one being, laying on the ground or moving tiredly on the dance floor.

Except him. He was probably the most glamorous, alive being at the party, all laughs and moles and sun and I was drowning myself into him. Because he was so beautiful, and I would give everything I have to be part of that wonderness he carries around himself..

"Hey. Would you like to have a dance?"

I almost said no. Almost. Then I took a better look at the person's face, and almost had a heart attack. Simon Snow was asking me to dance.

Instead of saying no, I say "Thank you", which makes Simon have a little crust between his eyebrows that I instantly want to kiss. I don't. Maybe after the dance, and luckily the confession.

"So... is that a yes or a no?"

He is so confused. I love that. I chuckle, and that seems to scare him, so I laugh, and he smiles. Crowley, I love his smile. "Yes. Yes."

I pick myself up from the leather couch on which I was sitting and extend my hand towards Simon, who takes it hesitantly. I wrap my other hand around his waist to keep our bodies a little apart, and he puts his other hand on my hip too. I don't want to scare him away. It may be my only chance to have him so close, while I still have the courage from the booze in my veins.

"So.. did Penny tell you?" I ask, because I am weak and I have always wondered how it was like to hear him this close.

"Tell me what?"

"Why I invited you here, silly." I chuckled. He is so clueless. And adorable. And beautiful. And he is shining..

"No? She didn't. Why did you?"

Oww. I hoped she did. That was the only reason why he would dance with me.. unless... "I wanted to have a chance to talk to you."

Simon looks puzzled. I want to lay my chin on the top of his head and kiss away the worries. It's okay Simon. I will not hurt you.

"About what?"

"Why did you want me to dance with you?"

The hand that was on my hip pulls at my shirt, and I groan, then cough, hoping he hasn't heard. "You were.. alone. And sad."

"And drunk." I laugh.

"That too." he said, chuckling. I want to hear that until I die.

"You don't usually do this, Snow. Don't notice me."

I may be wrong, but Snow walks a little closer to me, so we are swaying closer on the electro music, my breath on his face. "You don't usually take care of drunk people during parties either, Baz."

"No. I don't. But they are your people."

This time, the common blue eyes that made my heart grow so many years pierce mine, and I swallow. He steps even closer, letting his hand out of mine and lacing both of them around my neck. I hope he doesn't feel the burn.

"What did you want to talk about?"

His voice was barely louder than a whisper, and I suddenly felt hot all over. No, this can't be happening. Not like this. I hug him close to me and let my head in his hair.

It's much softer than I imagined. "I like your hair. It's very soft."

"Thanks?" he says, but it's more of a question. "That's the thing you wanted to tell me?"

I wrap my hands stronger around him. He just leans in. "Why are you not backing away?"

"Why would I?" he asks, and I can tell the question surprises him.

"Because we are enemies?"

His hands grip harder around my neck. "You won't remember any of this. You are so drunk, if I punch you, you'll fall, then fall asleep right there on the ground."

"I always remember you."

We are still moving, but the music is much calmer now. I look over to the laptop that's connected to the speakers, and Penny thumbs up at me. I am so glad Simon has such good friends, that help me to talk to my crush even though I have been an arse to all of them for eight years.

"Baz." Simon says, and I try not to moan. I need to realize that he is actually here. "Do you like this?"

"Yes. With all my heart." I don't even wait a second before telling him, and I'm somehow afraid I might scare him, before he pushes his nose in my neck.

I remain still. If he moves only an inch, I might tell him. I might explode. I might kiss him. "Baz. Do you like me?"

I back away a little so I can look him in the eyes. "Yes, Simon. I do."

He is looking through me, and his brows are furrowed again. Like he is trying to understand something. But then he starts to stare at my face. My eyes. My nose. My cheekbones. My lips.

And then he kisses me. His lips are chapped, yet soft, and he is moving his mouth so eagerly, I might fall. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I am sure all Hampshire can hear it, and I can feel Simon's pulse through his shirt, his blood moving so fast it can electrocute me.

When he finally backs away, he licks his lips. It doesn't take a minute before he kisses me again, much softer and, unfortunately, shorter.

"You taste like alcohol."

I laugh at his conclusion. "And you like the steak and potato salad from my fridge."

He smiles. "Touche."

We end up cuddled on the couch, his head on my lap, and he falls asleep almost immediately, just like a cat. When Penny comes to ask me if she can crash at my house for the night, I more than gladly tell her how to get to the room Agatha is sleeping on.

"Hey, Bunce." I say and she stops with her feet above the staircase. "Thank you for bringing Simon with you and Wellbelove tonight."

Penny looks at me, the smile on her face softening her features from the tired, concerned mother to the loving friend in a second. "Thank you for taking care of him." she says, gesturing to the small smile from his face. I cannot stop myself from smiling either. "But if you'll break his heart, I'll break every bone in your body. Twice."

She got back to being a concerned mother again. I smile even wider, and turn my head back to Simon. He crunches his nose, and I awe out loud. "Don't worry. I'll break mine three times before you even get the chance to catch me."

I fall asleep with my head on the backrest of the couch and a fire in  my heart.

[kraken-llamas]

Vacation

Tyrannous Basilton Grimm-Pitch doesn’t know how to fucking relax.

They’re all at a lovely beach, the sun is shining, the water is sparkling, and Baz looks like he’s sitting uncomfortably close to a smelly person on the train. All tense shoulders and legs tucked together, hands clasped in his lap. Even his expression is all scrunched up in more general distaste than usual.

Penny and Micah are swimming out in the water, splashing and laughing and flirting. Simon was hanging out with them, but when he glanced back at the beach, he saw his boyfriend sitting despondently under the umbrella, his shirt and shoes still on, lanky body tucked up onto a towel.

So Simon returns to the shore, shaking water from his bronze curls and coming to stand in front of Baz, purposefully dripping water onto his grey feet.

“You wanna come swim? The water feels great.” He says, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back.

Baz glares at him, scooting out of the splash zone of his sopping boyfriend. “How could I swim when you brought the whole bloody ocean with you, Snow.”

Honestly, most things today are a pro rather than a con for Baz. His snarkiness isn’t totally justified.

The beach is beautiful, and the water does look nice to swim in. And Simon Snow in nothing but swim trunks and a smile is a thing to behold, truly. Tawny skin glowing in the sun, water sprinkled over it like someone placed individual diamonds among his freckles and moles. And Crowley, his eyes and hair are just radiant against the water and in the sun. But that’s the problem.

The sun.

The sun usually only bothers Baz in the mornings, mostly because he doesn’t like mornings. He supposes his eyes are just more sensitive to it than most people. You know, people who don’t have to drink blood to survive.

And that’s just it isn’t it? Baz and the fucking sun. He can wear sunglasses to take care of the eye sensitivity, but there’s just something about his skinny, lifelessly grey body being shown off in this sunny paradise that makes his insides twist and squirm anxiously.

He can see Bunce and her American boyfriend out in the water, their skin vibrant in the sun, two complementing shades of brown. And then there’s Snow, whose name does not match his skin tone at all. Simon looks like sunshine itself is beaming out of him.

Baz looks like a sad black and white film character next to them. He looks like he hasn’t seen the light of day for twelve years. He looks like a fucking vampire.

Which is why he hasn’t left the shade of the umbrella or taken off his shirt since they got here. He didn’t partake in the building of the small sandcastle city a few meters away from the umbrella, and he didn’t help Micah and Penny bury Simon in the sand. (Which had been a hilarious activity, as Simon’s wings and tail and squirming made it twice as more difficult than it should have been.)

The truly sad thing was, they were alone on this particular stretch of beach, and even around his boyfriend, who had giant red dragon wings and a fucking cartoon devil’s tail, Baz felt like the freak. Bunce wouldn’t judge, Baz knew that. And although he didn’t know Micah all that well, he seemed like a nice person. And Simon never cared about it after he realized Baz wasn’t going to drink all his blood and kill him. In fact, Simon thought Baz’s fangs were “wicked” and never seemed to mind his greyness.

Baz is the one holding himself back, and he knows it. But he can’t quite bring himself to push himself out of his own head and just enjoy the holiday at the beach.

Simon plops down on the dry sand beside Baz’s towel, still in the sun. “You okay?” He asks, squinting at Baz in a mixture of concern and the sun in his eyes.

Baz pretends to be totally indifferent. Insecure? Him? Of course not. He’s a Pitch. He has magic and fire running through his veins, he is totally not feeling like he should have just stayed at home.

Reaching around him to grab a water bottle from the cooler, Simon drips more water onto Baz, dampening his shirt a little. He smells like saltwater and sunscreen and that delicious sweet brown scent only Baz can pick up with his enhanced sense of smell.

“Stop dripping on me, Snow.” Baz snaps.

In response, Simon rapidly shakes out his hair like a dog, spraying water everywhere. Baz should have expected that.

“You should come swim.” Simon insists again, cracking open his water bottle and taking a long swig. “Then we could have enough people for chicken fights.”

Baz rolls his eyes and sneers a little. “What are you, twelve years old?”

Simon just shrugs. “I’m on holiday. And so are you. So pull the stick out of your arse and come play.”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass, Snow. I just don’t feel like getting a sunburn.”

Simon tilts his head to the side in thought. “Can vampires get sunburn?”

Baz doesn’t know, he just knows he doesn’t want to leave the safety of his spot under the umbrella. He doesn’t want to see his sickly pale chest in comparison to Simon’s golden one.

“Just put on sunblock and come out for a swim. You can swim, right?”

“Yes, I can fucking swim. I just dont want to.” Baz says, crossing his arms over his chest. He actually does want to swim. Even in the shade the day is warm, and a dip in the cool water would be pleasant.

Simon tugs on the sleeve of his tee shirt, smiling that infuriatingly pretty smile. “C’mon. Before the tide goes out.” He climbs to his feet and takes Baz’s hands, trying to pull him up. Baz makes his body go limp, refusing to move.

Simon let’s go of Baz’s hands after a few more useless attempts at getting him to stand, but in no way does he give up. He’s going to get Baz to enjoy this holiday, whether Baz wants to or not.

He has a vague idea of what’s got Baz all worked up. He knows that sometimes, Baz hesitates taking off his shirt around Simon. But Baz is beautiful and he deserves to have fun, so Simon isn’t going to let his insecurities ruin that.

So it is with the best intentions that Simon walks down to where the waves lap onto the shore and takes a huge glob of wet sand. Baz is too busy brooding to see it coming, and is helpless to stop Simon as he slaps the wet sand onto Baz’s perfect raven hair and scrubs it in like shampoo.

“SNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!” Baz shrieks, swatting Simon’s scheming hands away. He can feel water dripping down his neck and back, feel the grittiness of the sand on his scalp.

Simon dusts sand off his hands and smiles brightly at Baz. “Come swim. I think you have a little sand in your hair.”

Baz’s eye twitches, and that’s the only warning Simon gets before he lunges for him—a snarled “You’re so dead, Snow”—and then Simon is shrieking and running towards the water, Baz hot on his tail (literally).

Simon giggles maniacally as he gallops into the water. Baz is right behind him, swearing and promising to kill Simon as soon as he gets his hands on him.

They reach Penny and Micah, and Simon darts behind his best friend and uses her as a human shield against Baz’s wrath.

“Hey Simon, Baz.” Penny greets them nonchalantly, raising a brow at Baz’s sandy head. She doesn’t need to ask what happened. Micah struggles to hold back from laughing at the situation. He hasn’t seen Baz since third year when he transferred to Watford, and while he doesn’t know exactly how or why he and Simon got together after years of rivalry, he can’t argue that their back and forth as a couple isn’t entertaining.

“Bunce, if you would kindly move aside so I can drown my boyfriend, it would be much appreciated.” Baz says through his teeth, glaring daggers at Simon, who ducks lower behind Penny’s shoulder, still giggling.

Penny shrugs and wades away from Simon, knowing that Baz wouldn’t hurt him for the world. The worst Baz does is splash Simon in the face and curse at him a few more times.

“You are unbelievable, Snow.” Baz grumbles, running his hands through his hair with water to try and get rid of the sand embedded in the dark waves.

“Yeah, but I got you out here.” Simon points out. Baz realizes that he’s waist deep in water, and his annoyance grows.

“And you accuse me of plotting.” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Now that he’s in the water, there’s no point in going back, even if it does let Simon win. At least he still has his shirt on, since his dignity was left on the beach.

Simon floats onto his back and let’s his wings splay our around him, an extra balance. “See, Baz? This is fun!” He says too loudly, water filling his ears.

Out of spite, Baz presses his hand to Simon’s forehead and pushes him underwater. He comes back up sputtering and swearing, but it’s worth letting it happen to see Baz smile for the first time today.

After wiping the water out of his eyes, Simon starts chanting “Chicken fight, chicken fight, chicken fight,” until the others give in.

Micah laughs and kneels in the water to let Penny climb onto his shoulders, and Simon aims his bright smile at Baz until he lets him get on his shoulders.

Simon’s warm, muscular thighs around Baz’s neck make his annoyance at being forced into the water lessen just a little. And he feels a twisted satisfaction when Simon inevitably gets knocked over into the water by Penny (she is relentlessly cunning, even in something as simple as chicken fights).

Eventually, they tire of playing and return to the beach to dry off and eat lunch. Simon devours three sandwiches Penny packed just for him, and he coaxes Baz to eat in front of Penny and Micah.

And Crowley, Baz wants to be pissed at Simon. He wants to exact revenge and put sand in his hair, and make fun of the way seaweed is clinging to his tail. But Simon looks like a sun god, water droplets in his stubby lashes catching the light and skin just glowing in the sun. And he’s smiling and laughing and he’s Simon Snow. Baz just wants to kiss him.

Simon sees Baz looking at him and smiles through the food in his mouth (revolting) and then takes Baz’s hand in his. Simon’s hands are pruney, and gritty sand is pressed between their palms.

Simon doesn’t let go for the rest of the day. They go swimming again, and he holds onto Baz. They have a bonfire on the beach, wrapped in blankets and towels and roasting weiners. Baz uses his magic to start the fire, but his free hand stays in Simon’s.

At some point, Simon bumps his shoulder against Baz’s to get his attention.

“What is it, Snow?” Baz asks softly. The stars are out and the ocean is silvery and soothing. The group is bathed in firelight. Penny is taking about some obscure magical fact with Micah, who hangs off her every word.

“You finally having a fun holiday?” Simon asks, half-smiling at Baz. He earnestly waits for an answer. He’s been desperately trying to get Baz to have fun. Starting swimming races, finding sand dollars and hermit crabs underwater, starting a game of football (which was harder than expected on account of the sand).

Baz is caught off guard, realizing that he stopped being miserable a good while ago. Like always, Snow is a glorious distraction from his own thoughts.

He’s had fun, which he never expected to happen when Simon and Penny said they were all going to the beach. He thought the whole day would be him being miserable under the umbrella, but Snow dragged him out and made him participate and he hasn’t thought about his bitter insecurities since then.

He leans down and presses a short kiss to Simon’s lightly sunburnt cheek, right on a mole there. He pulls back to gaze at the boy he loves, and he can’t help the genuine smile that breaks on his face. Simon grins back, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Crossover Day

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2612

Summary: Baz gets attacked by a raven and meets a strange man.

Read on AO3

Baz

I think I’m reconsidering DC as Snow and my vacation spot. Which is a bit late, since I’m currently standing in the middle of Lincoln Park. We could have gone to Paris or something. But we somehow settled on the American capital, a relatively chilly city with a lot of museums. Not very different from London, where we already live. Yeah, we’ll go to Paris next time.

I’m waiting for Simon now. He’s run off to find some after-lunch before-dinner snack. I’ve decided to wander around this gorgeous park. It’s lovely place, decent sized with trees and a honking huge statue. The sunlight speckles the ground through the leaves. People mill around, laughing and playing. It’s all sort of nice, sort of peaceful.

Then a bird flies straight for my face.

I yell profanities and stumble back, trying to bat the giant raven away from me. It screeches and pecks at my skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Chainsaw!” Some American yells. “Get back here, you little shit!”

The bird yells in my face one more time and flies off. It lands on the arm of a very odd man. He looks about my age, but much...rougher. What with the shaved head, muscle tank, and combat boots. His fashion sense reminds me of Aunt Fiona's. His face is all sharp, hardened lines. Stranger still, there’s a hint of a tattoo crawling up his neck. It hooks viciously on his pale skin.

“Why the fuck did you fly away like that?” He growls at the bird, as if it’ll answer him.

Kerah! It caws, then turns to me, making the rough American turn too. He takes a few steps forward.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “She’s been antsy ever since we got here. We’re from out of town.”

“You brought a bird on a trip to DC?” I blurt out. I’m in too much shock to be polite, sue me.

He scowls, blue eyes burning with angry fire. “Yeah. Great observation, dickhead.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Well, what I’m really asking is why?”

The man pets the raven’s head almost instinctively. “Because she freaks out even more without me. No different than a dog or something.”

My resolve softens slightly. I kind of understand. Especially considering the way he looks at this bird. I sigh. “Alright. Apology accepted.” I offer my hand like the gentleman I am. “Basilton Pitch. Most people call me Baz. Pleased to meet you.”

He looks at my hand a little apprehensively, almost disgusted. I push it forward a bit more.

“C’mon,” I say. “I don’t bite. Not most of the time, anyways. Depends if you piss me off again.”

The man chuckles. A smile spreads across his face, but there’s nothing kind about it. It’s a smile made for war. He takes my hand. His grip is strong and calloused. And the oddest little jolt goes through my veins. It’s not an emotional response, certainly a physical one. It reminds me of the feeling of magic, but it’s foreign. There’s something strange about it.

“Ronan Lynch,” he says. “And I usually bite right off the bat.”

I laugh myself and give his hand a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Mr. Lynch”

We let go, and Ronan immediately falls on the bench. He spreads his arms and legs out like he owns it. Crowley, he looks like he could take over the world with a single sneer. The infernal raven rests on his shoulder. I sit politely next to him, ankles crossed and hands in my lap.

“What’s a Brit like you doing in DC?” He says gruffly.

“Vacation,” I reply. “Had a hard year at school and decided I needed a break.”

He scoffs. “That’s what school does. Melts your brain and calls it learning. It’s all shit.”

“What an eloquent opinion.” I earn a glare for my deadpan response.

“Not everyone needs school.”

“You’re not in uni?”

“Nope,” he says with another evil smile. “Don’t need it.”

“What do you do then?”

“I’m a farmer.”

I let a loud laugh, head falling back against the bench. I expect Ronan to laugh at his joke along with me but he says nothing. When I look back, he’s looking at me blankly, completely unamused.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. I don’t lie, man.”

“Pfft.” I look out towards the park, crossing my arms. “Everyone lies.”

“Not me.”

He doesn’t elaborate and we fall into silence. Birds chirp, people walk past, the wind whistles in the leaves. Ronan doesn’t say anything. He seems to be comfortable without words. Sort of reminds of Simon’s preference not to speak.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask. “Some sort of American bird convention here in DC?”

Ronan scoffs. “I fucking wish. My best friend is back in town and he wanted to come here. He’s a fucking nerd, likes all the museums and shit. I don’t.”

“Hence why you’re sitting in a park.”

“Yes, ‘hence’, you pretentious shit.”

I chuckle. “Sorry my advanced vocabulary is annoying.”

“Bullshit. You’re not sorry.”

I flick my eyes over to him, and see he’s looking back with a sort of cool resignation. A corner of my lip tugs up.

“You’re right. I’m not.”

He scoffs, but he’s smirk slightly too. “Knew it. You’re just like Gansey.”

“Gansey?”

“Nerd friend. He’s a stuck up ass just like you. You’d like him a lot.”

“Hm. Not so sure about that. Us pretentious arses tend to repel each other. We’re like territorial dogs. My boyfriend’s best friend is one and we bicker endlessly.”

His head turns suddenly, sharp face all scrunched up. “Boyfriend?”

Crap. Well, it’s good to know leather jacket wearing punks with ravens can be homophobic too. I raise a singular eyebrow, keeping my composure. “Yes, boyfriend. Got a problem with that, farmer?”

Surprisingly, he grins, but it’s more amused than evil. “No. It’d be weird if I did though. Considering I’ve got one too.”

Both my brows shoot up to my hairline. Ronan laughs maniacally, enough to make his shoulders shake and Chainsaw flap and caw in protest. “Man, your face, dude,” he gets out between sputtering giggles. "Fucking priceless."

“Oh fuck off,” I mutter. “You were shocked first.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look like a goddamn deer in the headlights.”

Bit by bit, Ronan controls his breathing. He flicks a laughing tear from his eye, then tilts his head back to look at the sky.

“So what’s your’s like huh?” He says.

I smile, sorting through the best words to summarise Simon Snow. “Reckless, destructive, idiotic, impulsive. Also one of the bravest, most kind, most compassionate people on the planet. So sometimes I don’t understand why in Merl- God’s name he’s with me.”

Ronan chuckles. “Sounds like a real catch.” With that statement, you’d expect sarcasm. But he actually he seems to mean it. I chuckle as well.

“Yeah, he is. How about your’s?”

Lynch sighs, smiling at the sky. There’s an almost dreamy look in his eyes. I’d point it out, if I didn’t fear he’d kill me in some horrific manner for it.

“Mine, well,” he chuckles. “He’s not reckless but he’s also an idiot. He just thinks it through then does dumb shit, usually for a good reason. Stubborn and prideful as fuck too. But he’s actually really smart, also brave, and a lot nicer than he thinks he is. Gotta keep reminding the dipshit of that.”

I tilt my head back like he has, smiling like him too.“Your’s sounds like a catch too.”

“Hell yeah he fucking is.”

We fall back into silence, both staring the clouds above. They swirl and twist across the bright blue sky. It’s sort of nice. Just easy. I think this Ronan Lynch likes it too.

“I don’t usually talk to strangers,” he mutters. “Don’t really like new people.”

“Me neither,” I reply.

“But you’re okay I guess. Got nothing better to do.”

“You’re alright too.”

“Well if that isn’t the most amazing fucking compliment.”

“Hey, it’s the best you’re going to get, Old Macdonald.”

He lifts his head up, throwing me a narrow eyed glare. “Seriously? Old Macdonald?”

I shrug (I’ve picked up the habit from Snow.) “You told me you were a farmer. The jokes write themselves.”

“Well if you aren’t a-”

“Ronan Niall Lynch! Where have you been?!”

Both our heads snap to the left. A weirdly beautiful man in a Harvard sweatshirt and faded jeans is marching towards us. His eyes are pale blue, deep set in his face above impossibly high cheekbones. He’s got unevenly cropped dusty hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. And he looks ready to kill Mr. Lynch right where he sits.

“Afternoon, Parrish,” Ronan says with a very large shit eating grin. “What’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’ I’ve been looking for you everywhere. All you texted was ‘in lincoln park’. That’s quite a large area. You couldn’t have been more specific? And this all could’ve been avoided if you bothered to pick up your goddamn phone, and Gan-” He suddenly notices me, blinking confused a few times. “Who are you? Is Ronan bothering you? He does that.”

“Good afternoon,” I start. “I’m-”

“A British dickhead,” Ronan mutters with a smile. I glare viciously.

“It’s actually Baz.” I stand and offer my hand to Mr. Parrish. “Baz Pitch. Mr. Lynch’s raven attacked me and we started chatting from there.”

Parrish’s eyes go wider than humanly possibly. She shakes my hand mechanically, and the same spark as before runs through me again. So there’s something strange about both of these Americans.

“You chatted?” Parrish says to Ronan. “Who are you and what have you done with Ronan Lynch?”

Ronan shrugs. “Dude’s a gay asshole like me. We bonded.”

I smile at him, and he smiles back. Parrish turns back to me, shaking my hand more firmly. “Well then, nice to meet you. I’m Adam Parrish. You must be some sort of miracle worker.”

I chuckle. “No no, nothing like that. Like he said, we’re both gay arseholes. Easy to bond.”

“We were talking about you, actually.” Ronan tugs on Adam’s arm, sending the freckled boy tumbling into his lap with a yelp. He wraps his large arms around his waist, keeping him from standing up. “Comparing boyfriends and all.”

Ronan’s eyes acquire the same dreamy look as before. The raven caws, nuzzling against Parrish's head. It obviously shares the same affection as Lynch. Adam’s face goes bright red. Ronan’s grin gets even more shit eating. I just laugh.

“So this is him?” I say. “The stubborn, smart idiot?”

Adam’s embarrassment goes away, trading it for an annoyed look at Ronan. “You been talkin’ shit about me, Lynch?” There’s the faintest hint of a southern accent in his voice, the ‘g’ slipping off and vowels extending.

“I don’t lie, Parrish, you know that.”

Parrish rolls his eyes and hits Ronan’s chest, but he’s smiling. “Yeah yeah, I know. Now let me up.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Ronan loosens his grip, but plants a kiss on Adam’s still slightly red cheek before letting him stand. That only makes his blush worse.

“We’re done with the Glendower exhibit,” Adam says firmly. “Gansey says it inaccurate, unsurprisingly. Blue and Henry won't stop telling him 'I told you so.' They’re all at an ice cream place now.”

“Did you get Opal ice cream?”

“Of course.”

He groans. “It’s the afternoon. She’s going to be up all fucking night now.”

“Hey, you try to tell her ‘no ice cream’ at an ice cream parlour.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. He turns to me, looking exasperated. “Word of advice, Pitch: don’t have kids. They’re amazing but also the worst.”

I blink stupidly. Ronan can't be that much younger than me. And he has a kid? I feel like this leads to a longer conversation we don’t have time for. “Al...right. I’ll remember that.”

“Good.” Ronan jumps to his feet, one hand shoved into his leather jacket pockets, the other around Adam’s middle. “Now it’s been nice talking but we’ve got to-”

“There you are Baz!”

Adam and Ronan peer over my shoulder. I turn around, and a grin spreads on my face. There’s my idiot boyfriend, in his favourite orange coat and blue jeans, walking towards us with a paper bag in hand, no doubt carrying a cherry related pastry within. Simon puts his arm around me and kisses my jaw before realising there are two other people with us. He looks shocked and quite embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, hi. I-I don’t know you.”

I chuckle, putting my arm around him too. “They’re new...acquaintances, love.” I indicate Ronan. “Meet Ronan Lynch,” then Adam, “and Adam Parrish. Lynch, Parrish, this is the aforementioned boyfriend, Simon Snow.”

“Oh! Hi!” Snow enthusiastically shoves his hand out. “Nice to meet you!”

Ronan chuckles, but he still shakes his hand. “You forgot to mention he was so fucking hyper, Pitch.”

Snow’s brow furrows, turning to look at me curiously. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Only good things, love. I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well, only true things.” Ronan flashes me a proud grin.

Simon takes Adam’s hand too. “Hi. Sorry if my boyfriend was an arse to you. He does that. Though I have a feeling you’re used to it.” He tilts his head towards Ronan.

Adam nods. “Oh yeah. I definitely am.”

“We have more in common than appearance than.”

Both Ronan and I go wide eyed. Now that he mentions it, yeah, they do look alike. Tanned skin, lots of freckles, blue eyes, light brown hair, and currently matching amused smiles. Lynch and I look at each other simultaneously.

“I think we may share a type, Lynch,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

Adam and Snow laugh loudly. I flick Snow’s ear, and he sticks his tongue out at me. Lynch pinches his boyfriend’s side, making him convulse. It takes a bit for both of them to calm down.

“We should get back to the others, Lynch,” Adam says when he's fully calm. “Gansey will worry.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Dick is always worrying.”

“Yeah, because you give him a reason to. So let’s get going.” He looks at Simon and I with a kind smile. “Nice meeting you two. Thanks for babysitting my boyfriend, Mr. Pitch.”

“My pleasure. And it’s Baz, please. If you two ever end up in London, feel free to look at us up. Without the bird, preferably.”

“No promises,” Ronan says, flashing another war smile. Though I should be annoyed, I just smirk back. There's something endearing about his annoying stubbornness.

“We should be off too,” Simon interjects. “Enjoy the ice cream!”

Adam nods. “Will do. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

We all simultaneously turn and walk in opposite directions. Simon sighs and leans his head on my shoulder. I pull him closer like always.

“Hey, Baz?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you feel something...weird, when each of them shook your hand? Like magic, but not quite?”

“Actually, yes. You did too?”

He nods vigorously. “Definitely. There’s something, odd about them. I mean, I like them, but there’s something else going on.”

“Agreed.” I turn my head slightly, catching a glimpse of the other two boys walking with their arms around each other. They do look utterly normal at a glance (minus the raven), but I swear there’s something strange. “Maybe we’ll find out, if we see them again.”

“Maybe. Mystery for now, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I say. “They’re definitely more than a bit strange. Nice, but strange.”

Turns out DC was a good vacation pick.

Okay let's pretend this takes place in a universe where Ronan would not just walk away from Baz almost immediately after meeting him. But still, I think Ronan and Baz would get along. They have a lot in common, including their taste in guys :D Also Gansey, Penny, and Baz would get along because they're all nerds and would compare nerd notes.

Fun fact: I actually started the Raven Cycle because I clicked on fan art of Adam thinking it was Simon. Then I found out it wasn't, looked up where it was from, and said, "huh, I should read this series, it sounds cool." Soon I fell down the damaged-boys-and-girl-looking-for-a-Welsh-king rabbit hole :)

Anywho, hope you liked this TRC crossover. Sadly, I don't have time to do WLW, but I probably will publish one on my own later. So stay tuned, Theo will return on December 12th with "stuck together"!

[davysdead]

Not For Me

(Insp by the song of the same name by Bobby Darin)

“I've never known love

Or been shown love, you see

And maybe there is such a thing

But not for me”

(disclaimer: I can’t bring myself to care for Agatha as a character. I’m sorry she’s being used as a plot device in this story, because I know she’s more than that but...eh)

Simon

  I’m just about ready to start a fire. I can feel my magic flying off of me. Saturated sparks and rivulets of motion. I try to push it down, push it back into my veins, but I'm an open wound of power right now. It doesn’t take long until the waves start. Beams of power shoot out of my skin like I’m some kind of laser, and no matter how inappropriate the timing is, the thought of it is positively wicked. I feel like one of the superheroes I used to read about in the comics I stole from the store a block or two away from the second home I lived in. That’s the last thought I have before I black out.

  I’m in my bed when I wake up. They used to take me to the infirmary after I went off but now someone just takes me back to my room if I don’t seem to be hurt. I don’t know how they manage to move me. Levitation spells are iffy, so someone must’ve carried me up here all the times I’ve gone off. I think it might be one of the Mage’s Men. Maybe Premal.

  Baz is sitting at his desk across the room, shrouded in the settings sun’s light. Crowley, I must’ve been out for a long time. I went off in the morning when the Humdrum sent another one of his ‘minions.’ Baz’s typing on his laptop is almost certainly the thing that woke me up. It’s clickety clacking seems deafening in the relative silence of the room.

  “You could try to type a bit quieter you know,” I say, rubbing the sleep out my eyes. My mouth tastes terrible, like smoke.

  “You never seem to have a problem banging around while I’m trying to sleep, Snow, I was just returning the favor.”

  I roll my eyes. Baz is one petty bastard.

  Penny is waiting for me at the dinner table when I go down to eat. Todays one of the serving days, and a group of third years are passing out plates of food. My stomach rumbles, “Damn if I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t find a way to come out of your stupor during lunch. It was rather delicious today. Lots of food.”

  My stomach rumbles, “Penny, don’t tease. I was really out this time.”

  “I know, you didn’t even wriggle when Baz took you up to your room.”

  I turn to face her, shocked, “What?”

  She rolls her eyes, “How else did you think you’ve been getting up there?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head, “I thought maybe one of the Mage’s Men was doing it.”

  “I think they might have more important things to do.”

  “What? Other than helping the chosen one?”

  “Oh please, a lie out on the great lawn won’t cause you any harm.”

  “I might get sunburnt.”

  “We’re in England, Simon. It’s October.”

  “You never know.”

  Penny just shakes her head.

Baz

  The three of them together are just fine. A golden trio. They don’t realise that everyone’s looking at them all of the time. Especially me. They shine, at their table in the corner of the room. But Simon and Agatha take up the whole space with their presence. Agatha is noticed purely for her looks, a sad absurdity. I know how well she’s doing in her classes. She’s a lot more than a pretty face. And Simon…Crowley, he’s all I can think about when he enters a room. I have to think very hard not to stare at him, not to drink him in. Not in a vampire way, no, but in a “need to breathe” way.

  I try to chastise myself when I get like this, It’s needlessly melodramatic. It almost hurts to see myself degraded into a bumbling mess of want. But I can’t help but look over at them and think. It’s devastatingly beautiful how love can be all around us, but is designated for a select few. Because I know there’s such a thing as love, I feel it everyday, but it’s not for me.

  Dev and Niall are rather bored of my moping, but it’s hard not to. Simon and Agatha seem to be spending more time together away from Penny, and I try not to think of the implications of that but they come crowding into my headspace, all fighting to be at the forefront of my mind. I’m getting rather sick of myself as well. I try to bury it in the blood I drink in the catacombs, but when I get back to our room the smell of him, the magic in him, knocks me out of my orbit. It’s funny, really. Him, the sun, the thing in the center of my universe, keeps blowing me off my axis, pushing me away from him, when all I want is to get closer.

  Simon comes barging in after dinner like he always does. He’s like if an elephant stampede got turned into a person. He doesn’t immediately plop face first onto his bed, so I know I’m about to be accused of plotting something. I sigh and look up from my laptop because I know he’s waiting for me to, “Yes, Snow?”

  “Penny told me you've been carrying me up to our room after I go off.”

  “Who else is going to do it? Ms. Possibelf?”

  Simon looks stumped. I always beat him in word games like this. When it comes to fighting, though, I will always let him win, “Is that all?”

  Simon just kicks the side of his bed frame and slouches into the bathroom. I don’t feel any semblance of success as I turn back to my homework.

Simon

  “I swear Baz is up to something, Penny.”

  “You always think he’s up to something.”

  “Sometimes he is.”

  “The operative word there is sometimes. Everybody does a certain thing sometimes, Simon, It doesn’t mean that that’s their main character trait.”

  “I can feel it.”

  “Are your spidey senses tingling?”

  “There’s no reason to tease.”

  “There’s every reason to tease when you’re acting ridiculous, Simon.”

Baz

“He brushed past my chest and my heart stopped

It made me ache

It tore me apart

Because I knew

He was just

Reaching for the pen

He had left

In my fingertips”

  “Very good, Basilton. You may sit now.”

  I sit back down in my chair at the back of the classroom. We’d been asked to write poems in prose in our studies of spells this week and I’d tried to make mine mundane, but I couldn’t not write about Simon. I fill with a sort of anticipatory dread as our teacher calls Simon up to the front to read his poem, and I try not to cringe for him before he starts. Snow has never been the best with words.

“A husk

A piece

A remembrance

Full, then hollow

A sliver

A chunk

A part of me

There, then gone”

  My mind falls silent. Invisible waves crash over me. Relentless. Because I know. I know. I am in love with Simon Snow.

  When we leave the classroom I have a plan. I run back to Mummer’s House and start writing. I try to organize my thought on the page, but it’s just an embarrassing stream of I love you’s. It feels like a letter a twelve year old would write to their grade school crush. Why is now the time I run out of words to say? I skip dinner, thinking. I never eat in there anyway. Cook Pritchard and I have a system. There’s always a bit of food set aside for me in the kitchen after every meal.

  Simon comes back much too early and I’m an embarrassing mess. My hair’s stuck up all over my head, a mix of the hair gel I use and the way I’ve been wringing my hair out trying to come up with a plan. I’m not nearly as good at plotting as Snow thinks I am.

  “You look like you’ve had a rough night,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground.

  I resist the default retort that forms in my mind, “Yeah...I…um. Yeah.”

  Simon looks confused, an entirely warranted expression, “What’s this, then? Baz Pitch at a loss for words?” he says it more appalled than mocking. It takes some of the sting out of the words.

  I can’t do anything but pace, my hands still pulling at my hair. Like if I pull it all the way out the follicles at the end will have the answers to my problems. And I can hear Simon speaking, but his voice is muffled in my ears because all there is in the world is this disembodied voice saying “thinkthinkthink,” and I’m drowning in it. I’m lost, lost in this world where every thought and feeling is stuck. It’s stuck right in my chest and I can’t get it out. And sometimes it’s just little things, like when Daphne has the stereo up too loud at home but I’m too afraid to ask her to turn it down because I’m such a burden already. And then it’s big things, like not being able to talk to my father or being too scared to have a real conversation with the boy I love. Because Crowley do I love him.

  So I start to sink. And I’m on the cold floor of our room. And all I can think is coward...because that’s what I am.

Simon

  “Baz?” he’s not listening and he’s pacing, almost manic, back and forth and I’m really not sure what to do. Because, knowing our history, I don’t think touching him would go over well but my voice doesn’t seem to carry through this barrier he’s built up around himself. And right now, in this moment, I fucking hate us for letting this get to a point where we have to watch each other suffer.

  “Baz,” I say, louder than before. He’s stopped pacing, but that means his sinking down to the floor. He’s collapsing in on himself as I watch. I get down on my knees so I’m right in front of him and, slowly, so slowly, I reach over and touch his shoulder.

Baz

  Simon touches my shoulder and it pulls me out of the haze. But then I remember why it started in the first place. Because of the person in front of me. An absolute parody of trope. The worst chosen one that’s ever been chosen… and I think I might kiss him. And just as the thought forms in my head, his hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my neck. And his face is mere inches from mine. And the air is thick with the scent of him. And then Simon Snow, my enemy, the only boy I’ve ever loved, kisses me. And I can’t help but think… maybe all of the things I never thought I could have, might not be so far out of reach after all.

[well-then-you-burn-blog]

In That Moment

Lil Carry On fanfic of the moment Baz first realizes how he really feels about Simon. I picture them as quite violent kiddos, so there’s that, and there’s also swearing to stay true to character.  

 --- 

I’m glaring daggers into the back of Snow’s head. I can see the power seeping off of him as we sit in class. He’s all worked up over Merlin knows what. It’s such a waste, all that magic, and he can’t even put out a decent spell. If my mum were still around, he wouldn’t even be here. But then again, neither would I…

I shake my head, trying to clear away the dark thoughts, but they bring on a wave of hunger. Maybe I should just put Snow out of his misery. I picture him following me around the catacombs for around the hundredth time, but this time, letting him find me. And then I’d sink my teeth into his throat.

As if reading my mind, Snow turns to face me, scowling as our eyes meet. I tear my eyes away from him, but I can still feel his pulse in my veins like it’s my own, can feel the constant itch that the cross around his neck brings with it. Then I realize why he turned back to look at me, and realize that everyone else is too.

“Mr. Grimm Pitch, how nice of you to join us,” the teacher mutters gruffly as I turn towards him. “Now if you could show an example of a proper cooling spell, please.” I shake off Snow’s magic, and cast the spell, slipping immediately back into a trance seconds later. It isn’t like they could teach us anything in this class that I don’t already know.

Once we’re dismissed, I glare at Snow, who is stuffing his things roughly in his pack. “I see you’re no better at organization than putting out a spell, Snow,” I sneer, walking past him. “Sod off, Baz,” he says, throwing his bag over his shoulder angrily. “Head over heels,” I mutter under my breath, pointing my wand at Snow slyly under arm. As he face plants against the ground, I walk out of the classroom with my head high.

It takes a good minute for Snow to clobber his way out of the classroom, papers spilling out of his bag as he runs towards me. His bronze curls are a mess, and there’s a red spot on his cheek that will definitely bruise. He abandons his bookbag, charging at me with his head down like an angry bull. His head collides with my stomach full force, and I gasp out in pain, both of us falling back onto the rough stone walkway. Neither of us have recovered when we force ourselves up, heaving. We circle each other like wolves, Snow snarling under his breath like an actual wolf.

“Why are you such an arse?” Snow snaps.

“Why are you such a catastrophe?”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

We charge at each other. We’re caught in a wrestling stance, knees bent, and hands clasped on each other’s shoulders, and it’s in that moment I realize that I want to stay this way forever, eyes locked, skin touching, breathing the same air. His face is livid, but I can see my own in the reflection of his eyes, and I just look scared. Scared of hurting him, scared of not, scared of feeling this way at all. He sees the terror in my eyes, and a flash of triumph flits across his own as his fist collides with my stomach. He backs up, and I fall to the ground, clutching my stomach. Because I am an embarrassment to magic, and a disappointment to myself, I look up at him, and I blush. I actually blush. 

I grit my teeth, and jump up, tackling him to the ground, straddling his stomach. He can’t do this to me. He doesn’t get to take the whole fucking world of mages from me, and then my school, and then… me. He doesn’t get to do that and walk away. I can’t be the only one that loses. All I do is lose. I punch him once in the cheek, once in the shoulder, and then I’m just throwing punches blindly. He throws his hands up, and I punch them, too. I can feel my fist colliding with stone as I miss him repeatedly. The skin on my knuckles rubs raw and splits, and I’ve got burns from contact with his cross, but I can hardly feel the pain. Snow doesn’t get to walk away. He doesn’t get to walk away. I know I’m crying, but I don’t care. Someone grabs onto my arm, but I rip myself free, and keep swinging.

When two professors manage to wrench me off of him, still kicking and screaming, I finally actually see his face, which is a bloody pulp, and the massive weight of guilt lays on me, and all I want to do is kiss him, or bite him. His curls are matted with blood, but his eyes are so blue. How can he do this to me? How can I feel this way about him? Simon fucking Snow. Why him? Anyone but him. And in that moment, I hate him more than anything.

And in that moment, I love him more than anything.

[beselten-pitch]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Alternate last year at Watford fic, written by the previous owner of simon-and-basilton

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen/ Epilogue

Chapter Four

BAZ

He pulled his hand from Simon’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way his limbs were tingling. There were sparks in his veins just starting to fizzle out, and there were pins and needles in his legs, like he’d been sitting with his feet curled under him for hours.

Simon continued to stare, jaw partially open, before whispering, “What, I mean, I don’t—Baz? I just. What was…I just...”

Baz wanted to say, ‘It’s okay, Simon.’ Baz wanted to say, ‘Shh, don’t worry about it.’

Baz gritted his teeth and said, “Spit it out, Snow.”

He cursed himself for saying it, for making the usual wariness and suspicion return to Simon’s eyes. For a moment, Snow had stared at him without any hatred tinging his gaze. And with those three words, it was back.

Baz cursed Simon’s stupid gorgeous eyes and hair and face. He cursed his stupid hand that had to reach out to Simon’s stupid shoulder, he cursed his stupid lips which had been so close to kissing Simon stupid, he cursed his stupid lips for not doing it.

There was an odd bridge between them now, a gaping curiosity of How did it happen and Why and Crowley, he’s gorgeous. Although that last one was mostly just from Baz’s perspective.

“What just happened?”

So you’ve finally managed to formulate a sentence, I see.

Baz smirked at him, as though it was nothing unusual to borrow another mage’s magic, or whatever the hell had just happened. He smiled as though his blood wasn’t still on fire.

“I think I just saved Watford from another one of your fuck ups. Or, what is it you say? You ‘go off’?”

Simon’s face twisted from confusion to anger, and maybe a bit of disappointment.

Baz cursed himself again, because what if that had been his chance? What if Simon would have forgiven the past seven years of fighting and arguing and pushing down stairs, what if it could’ve changed?

But that wasn’t a possibility. Baz would do as his family told him, and what his family told him would end with the death of Simon Snow. Almost certainly—unless Baz died first.

“Whatever, Baz. If you don’t want to know what the hell that was, then whatever.”

Baz sighed, clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch Simon’s shoulder again. “Fine, Snow. I’ll admit it—that was��weird.”

“Weird?”

“Maybe more than weird.”

Baz met Simon’s eyes and gave him a tiny smile. A tiny, genuine smile. It was out of character, and it was a risk, but he couldn’t resist. Just for one second, just for the briefest fraction of a heartbeat, he was smiling.

Simon stared at him, frozen. He quirked a single eyebrow questioningly. And then, miracle of miracles, he smiled back.

Baz probably would’ve died right then, just combusted right in place, if Bunce hadn’t showed up.

 *

SIMON

Baz was still staring at him like that, in that infuriatingly nice way, when Penny arrived.

Thank snakes. Another second, and…

Simon wasn’t sure what would’ve happened if he’d kept staring at Baz, smiling at Baz. He was startled by how close Baz’s face was, though—he was only inches away. If Simon lost balance, they would’ve bumped noses.

But the sound of Penny’s voice was enough to make Simon break eye contact—gray, thunder-and-lightning gray, wet concrete gray—enough to make the smile fall from his face. He noticed that Baz’s tiny grin was gone, too, replaced by the sour look of someone who smelled something they didn’t like.

“Simon! What happened? Agatha came running in, and I couldn’t tell if she was more scared or angry. She said you were about to go off?”

“He was,” Baz said, and his voice was a cool, scaly thing, “Luckily, I was here to stop that from happening.”

Penny frowned at him, “You stopped him? You, Basilton Pitch, who provokes him more than anyone else, you actually stopped him from going off? You calmed him down?”

“Not exactly. I more…siphoned the magic from him.”

Penny’s eyes widened beneath her glasses, which were tilted a bit to the left. Simon reached over to straighten them, because it was one of those things that Penny would forget to do.

“You did what?”

Simon was becoming increasingly aware that they were standing in the middle of the courtyard in full view of most of the buildings.

“Let’s, um, let’s go back to our room.”

Baz nodded, “I don’t think we should talk about this…here.”

BAZ

Bunce followed them to Mummers. Baz wasn’t sure how she did it, but he wasn’t terribly surprised. Penelope Bunce may not have been the most powerful mage, but she was an incredibly bright one, and clever.

She sat on Simon’s bed, crossing her legs beneath her, and it occurred to him that she’d probably been there more than once. Hell, she’d probably been there loads of times. He wouldn’t have known either way—her scent was perpetually hanging in their room. Simon’s clothes smelled like her, because they were inseparable.

The image of Simon fixing her glasses was stuck in his mind, just because it had seemed so casual. So commonplace.

That’s what Simon is like. The kind of person who does casually nice things, because he can. Because he’s comfortable around the people he loves.

Baz wanted desperately to be someone Simon loved.

At this point, he’d settle for being someone Simon tolerated.

“Explain what happened.” Bunce rested her chin on one hand, staring at them, waiting.

Baz looked at Simon, who looked at Baz—they looked at each other. Simon nodded at him, and Baz understood. Sometimes Simon needed time to process things before he talked about them. Words didn’t always come easily to him.

He elected not to make fun of him for it this time.

“Wellbelove caught up to me in the courtyard. She was going to ask me something, I think, but I can’t really be sure. Snow showed up and cut her off before she could say much.”

Bunce frowned at Simon, who slumped a little lower against the door.

“He accused me of…” Baz paused to smirk a bit, because it amused him beyond belief, “plotting. He said something about me stealing Wellbelove away, which made her unbelievably angry—”

“Understandably angry! Simon. Girls aren’t objects to be stolen or possessed. You don’t own her, and you have no right—”

Snow held up a hand, cutting off her tirade. His voice was exhausted, “I know, Penny. I heard it all already from Agatha. I promise you, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“May I continue?” Baz asked, holding back a laugh.

“Go ahead, Basil.” Penny looked back at where he was leaning against his desk, shooting Simon one more glare.

He decided to ignore that she called him Basil and cleared his throat, “Wellbelove gave a lovely rant very similar to yours, and said something like, ‘you might be the Chosen One, but I didn’t choose you’. Which was enough to make Simon go off.”

Baz was a slightly in awe of that line, the one Agatha had said, about not having chosen Simon. He wished he’d come up with it, except he knew that he would choose Simon in a heartbeat. He would always choose Simon.

“And I tried to get him to stop, because I’ve seen what happens when he goes off, and I didn’t want that shit at Watford. So I put my hand on his shoulder, and then…I don’t know. It was like all of his dry, crackling magic just poured into me. And I could control it.”

Simon shook his head, “Control it? You started glowing, Baz. Seems to me like you were overwhelmed by it.”

I sure as hell was overwhelmed by it. I’m overwhelmed by you daily. Just not for the reasons you think I am.

“I controlled it better than you did. I didn’t blow the entire fucking school up.”

Snow glanced away, and for the first time, Baz could see how ashamed he was.

What would it be like, to be so out of control?

Baz remembered every night he’d stayed up late watching Snow breathe, imagining kissing him or killing him or biting his neck. He was that out of control.

If not more so.

Bunce had started pacing, rubbing her thumb across her bottom lip.

“That’s…that shouldn’t happen. You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Snow sighed. “I know, Penny. We shouldn’t, but we did. What do you think it means?”

Baz was fed up with this, with all of the contemplation and thoughtfulness and the way Bunce kept studying him through her huge glasses like he was a bug in a jar.

“Does it matter? What I’m worried about is what we’re going to tell all the assholes that are going to be questioning us about it.”

Bunce just shrugged. “You probably don’t need to say anything, honestly. They’ll just assume that you and Simon were having a fight and he almost went off. I doubt they’ll be surprised.”

No. They expect you and Snow to get in a fight. They’ll expect it when you kill him, or he kills you, or whatever the hell ends up happening.

Because it’s inevitable.

A lot of things seemed inevitable, though. And something about that smile, Simon’s stupid impossible smile being directed at him, something about it made Baz wonder if it wasn’t so inevitable after all.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Here is Chapter 14 of Can’t Find My Way Home! 


I’ve officially determined this fic will have two more chapters–one a real chapter and the other a bit of an epilogue. Those are currently in editing mode! 

Chapter 14


Baz


I picked Simon up directly from the care home.


We’ve had the kind of afternoon I’d envisioned and now we’re sharing a curry in the kitchen at my flat.


My place is in better shape than I expected, what with me being gone for over six months. Fiona’s had someone come around to check on it once a month. It’s a bit dusty and stale, but not so bad.


It’s sleek and sterile, all modern lines and stark contrasts, but it’s home, of a sort. More than that soulless pre-furnished studio I have in Manhattan.


I spent my first year of uni living with Fiona. One year was more than enough. I found this place that first summer. Spent some of my inheritance furnishing it, making it my own. Even if that means somewhat uncomfortable ultra-modern furniture and a monochromatic color scheme. It doesn’t have the heavy, overly rich opulence of Pitch Manor or the eccentric chaos that characterized Fiona’s place. I love my aunt but she is a terrible flatmate. Between the clouds of cigarette smoke, her irrational hours, the on-again/off-again boyfriend situation, and the feral cat she’d adopted, I nearly went mad.


My flat is exceedingly neat, orderly, methodically arranged. A bit of a blank canvas still, almost like it’s waiting for me to figure out exactly what I want.


It suited me fine when I was at uni. I needed a quiet place to study. A peaceful place to sleep. It adequately accommodated movie nights with Dev and Niall. The kitchen’s first rate, but it’s not as if I entertain anyone other than the two of them or Fiona. This place is what I needed at the time.


It looks stark to me tonight.


Not as bleak as the place in New York but still there’s something off about it now. I know I haven’t lived here for months but there’s a sense of isolation when I take it in. No, maybe that’s not right. I can’t seem to find the right words to describe it.


Pitch Manor could be a featured house in Architectural Digest but it still looks lived in. Despite its historic nature and registry status, it manages to give off the sense that real people actually live there.


This place doesn’t. I don’t think it’s really hit me before. It could be an advert for a modern design catalog but the kind of place that never has any people in it—just a showplace, no depth behind it.


That troubles me.


Nothing to do about it now. I’m obliged to stay in New York until May, at least, if not longer.


We move to the main room after our meal and I flip the television on. Simon finds a cooking show he likes and I watch with him, his head resting on my shoulder. There’s none of the frenetic making out we’d indulged in last time we were together, at his flat earlier in the week.


You’d think there would be, seeing as I leave the day after tomorrow. It feels as if I’m trying to cram months’ worth of dating into just a few short days. We’ve indulged in snogging. He’s met the family. Now it’s time for companionship and just being together, soaking up his company to tide me over for the fucking brutal months of separation ahead.


I’m exhilarated at the proximity of him and terrified of his impending absence. I finally get him back, for what? A week? Only to then have to bugger off across the fucking Atlantic before I’ve had a chance to even get used to the idea of this.


“You’re thinking again.”


“I told you, I can’t help it.” I pull our laced hands to rest on my thigh. “I’m not like you. I can’t just push the thoughts away.”


“Don’t push them away then. But tell me what you’re thinking, so I can figure out when I need to tell you that you’re being a twat.”


“Well, that’d be all the time, now wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what you used to say?” I can’t help but smirk at him.


Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be using that against me.” He bumps my shoulder. “You’re far more pleasant now. Don’t fuck it up or I’ll have to tell Mordelia it’s all your fault.”


“Tell Mordelia what’s my fault?”


“If you get all caught up in your head like you do and start some existential drama about all this. She’ll blame me, she will, and she scares me.”


“You’re seriously frightened of a twelve-year-old girl? Don’t be ridiculous, Simon.”


“She’s may be twelve but she’s already got ice in her veins.” Simon tucks his head into the crook of my neck. “So don’t make me look bad or she’ll level me.”


I pull him closer to me, brush a kiss on his tumbled curls. How am I to be expected to just go back to Hampshire tonight? When I have Simon in my arms?


It’s intolerable.


“We could stay here tonight.” The thought’s been on my mind for hours.


Simon shifts so that he’s facing me, legs drawn up onto the sofa. “You’re supposed to head home tonight.”


“I don’t need to.”


He pushes at my knee. “You do. You’ve only got this week here. Tomorrow’s the last day you get to be with your family.” He kicks at my leg. “I’m not intending on starting this all off with your family hating me.”


I snort. “They couldn’t hate you, you numpty. They love you already.”


“They barely know me.”


“Exactly. And Mordelia’s already threatened you and Father’s invited you to Scotland. It’s a ringing endorsement.”


He laughs but quickly turns serious again. “I want to keep it that way, yeah? I’ll not be monopolizing you, when they’ve been pining to see you.”


“What if I want to be monopolized?”


“You’re impossible, you twat.”


“Come with me, then, Simon. Come to Hampshire with me. You can take the Tube from Heathrow when I fly out.”


“I shouldn’t.” Simon’s forehead creases. “I’m not sure I’ll say this right.” He tugs at his sleeve, pulling on the cuff of his jumper, then looks up to glare at me. “Don’t you take this the wrong way, you berk.”


I roll my eyes. “What is it you’re trying to say, Simon?”


“I don’t think I should go with you this time.”


“Why the hell not?”


Simon shifts on the sofa, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck. “This should be your time.”


“I’m not following you. It’s my time to spend as I choose. And I choose you.”


His expression turns achingly fond. “That means the world to me, Baz, really it does.” His hand finds mine, grip tightening on it for a moment. “It’s just that it’s important to me.”


“What is?”


“This. Us.” He waves his free hand in the air between us. “I’m lucky to have gotten these few days with you. Don’t want the little ‘uns resenting me being there and your family having this awkward extra person around, when they should be enjoying their time with you.” He shakes his head and juts his chin out.


Fuck. There’s no arguing with him when he gets this look. Don’t I know it.
I argue anyway. Because it’s what I do.


“That’s bollocks. They can jolly well enjoy their time with us. They did at Christmas. I don’t see it as a problem, Simon.” I touch his knee. “Come with me.”


His eyebrows come together. “Baz. I’d love to spend more time with you but I’m not doing it at the expense of time with your family.” His gaze softens. “I heard you. I heard you talking with your father, when we were at Ebb’s. I know how badly you wanted to get home, how much you’ve missed them.”


Simon’s not looking stubborn anymore. His expression has shifted to something far more melancholy. “I know I’m probably not saying this right.” He tugs at his hair. “Listen. I know I’m not one to talk about what it means to be with family, not having one and all. But I do know how important your family is to you, Baz, has always been to you.” He shifts closer to me. “It’ll be five months before you see them again. You should savor that time with them, without any distractions.” His grip on my hand is almost painful now. “Please?”


It’s the ‘please’ that gets me. That and the way his eyes meet mine, the intense blue of them piercing the depths of me.


“You’re sure? I know they wouldn’t mind.”


Simon shifts and then he’s pressed up against me again. “I’m sure. Not a good idea overstaying my welcome the first week we’re together.” He’s nuzzling at my neck, lips trailing up to my jaw. “But we don’t need to end the night just yet.” The words are whispered into my skin and I shiver.


I turn my head to touch my lips to his and a moment later I’m on my back, Simon above me, eyes wide, pupils blown. “I’ve got some memories I need to store up, yeah?”


And then his lips are on mine, his mouth taking my breath away, his tongue finding my own. My hands roam over his chest, his back, fingers tracing the muscles I feel there. He’s holding himself above me, his mouth and legs the only point of contact.


I want more.


I pull at him, bring him closer, yearning to feel the heady weight of him on me. Simon pulls back to look at me, balancing on one arm as his hand reaches out to stroke my face. I shift my legs and the movement throws him off balance a bit. Our legs tangle as he settles between mine, his chest pressed against my own.


“This alright then?” It’s a whisper, the exhalation of his breath warming my lips.


“More than alright.” My hands move up to tangle in his jumbled curls. I inhale the scent of him—medicinal soap, the green aroma of fresh mown grass, the crisp tang of his sweat. He always runs hot, Simon does. Now is no exception. He’s draped over me like my own personal heater and it warms more than just my body.


There’s been a frozen shell around me for so long. Thick and impenetrable, its icy surface offering no purchase for anyone intrepid or stupid enough to try to breach it.


Simon doesn’t back down from a challenge. He never has. He cuts right through to the heart of things, slashing past the obstacles in his way.


He’s not lacerating me with his words like he used to at school. It’s as if he’s wielding a blowtorch and has it pointed at my heart. You’d think it would burn but all I feel is warmth and softness, like I’m melting from the inside. 


Maybe I am. 


“You’re thinking again, you knob. Here I am trying to entice you and your brain is a million miles away.” He huffs at me. “So much for my attempt at seduction.”


“Trust me, Simon, I’m plenty enticed.” It’s true. My jeans are agonizingly tight at the moment. I close my eyes and breathe in and out. “And the only thing I’m thinking about is you.” 


He’s so near that his eyes are filling my vision, the flecks of darker blue and silver in them catching the light. “That’s alright then. I like the sound of that.” He shifts his weight and the friction nearly makes me gasp. 


I want to kiss him until the sun comes up. I want to rip this bulky jumper off him and feel his skin against mine. I want to roll my hips against his and feel the heat of him against me. 


I want to stay with him and never leave. 


Fuck New York. 


I reach up to meet his mouth, my lips avidly finding his own, the intensity of the moment overwhelming me. I’m gripping his shoulders, his weight presses down on me, his hand slides under my shirt to caress my skin. 


I want. I want so much. 


But I don’t want it like this. 


I don’t want to have this and then leave.


I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s completely mental. But just as he didn’t want to jeopardize this fledgling relationship by alienating my family, I don’t want to risk too much tonight by moving too fast, when this is all so new for us both. 


It’s not like I’ve never done something like this before. I’m not that naïve. But I’ve never been with someone I’ve loved before. And I don’t want to rush through that. It means something to me. I want it to mean something, not be the frantic fumblings of my uni years. 


It’s all so much more meaningful because it’s Simon. 


I regretfully drag my lips away from his. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?”

  
Simon’s flushed, dazed as he blinks down at me. He swallows, throat rippling with the motion. “No. It’s on me. I let my enthusiasm get the best of me, yeah?” He shakes his head. “That usually doesn’t happen that easily for me.” His eyes find mine again. “I always feel so awkward. But not with you, Baz. Somehow not with you.” He looks bashful. 


He goes to shift away but my arms keep him close. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Simon, I do.” 


Christ, do I ever. 


I keep my arms around his waist, my fingers gently running up and down his back. “If you think I’m having regrets about leaving you now … I’d find it near impossible to go if we went any further tonight.” I swallow and raise one eyebrow in an attempt to lessen the vulnerability my next words expose. “I … ah … I might perhaps have a tendency to be a bit clingy.” 


I’ve only had one consistent boyfriend in my life and I wasn’t even that fond of Sebastian, but I am quite regrettably a bit of a cuddler after intimate encounters. My face is on fire. I may burst into flames on the spot. I’ve never admitted such a weakness to anyone before. 


Simon doesn’t look appalled or confounded by this humiliating admission of mine. He looks entirely delighted. “Clingy, you say?”

  
“Shut up. I never should have said anything.” I would sink into the oblivion of the sofa cushions if I could. 


He strokes the side of my jaw and turns my face to his again. “I like that, Baz. I like that a lot.” Simon leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “I can be clingy too.” 


And just like that, he’s done it again. He’s taken me at my most exposed and emotionally compromised state and not only accepted what I’ve said but made me feel safe and secure in his regard. 


I don’t know how he does it. 


Fuck. I think I said that out loud. 


Simon shrugs, lips curving up as his eyes meet mine. “Dunno. I just say what comes in my head.” He goes up on his elbows. “It’s true though. The clingy part.” 


His face is the one deepening in color now, as he keeps talking. “There wasn’t much contact at the homes, yeah? The matrons didn’t really let themselves get attached. Nobody did. I think the only human contact I really had, once I was out of the nursery, was when I’d get into fights.” His brow furrows. “I got in a fair number of them.” 


“I’m faintly aware.” We’d had our share the first few years at Watford.


He shrugs. “Yeah. Sorry about that. It was one of the only ways I had to get my feelings out and feel connected to anything.” His jaw clenches momentarily. “I got moved around a fair bit. Never at a place for more than a year or two.” His brow creases. “None of them were ever home. The only place that ever felt like that was Watford.”


I sit up a bit. This is a far more serious conversation now, and I feel like I need to have all my focus on what Simon is saying. He rarely ever talks about the care homes. I shift until my back is against the armrest and I sit up even further. Simon give me a quizzical look. I don’t say anything, but I open my arms to him. He moves to follow me, sliding in at my side, back against the sofa cushions and his head on my chest. I can’t see his face but I think he prefers it that way for the moment.


“Go on,” I say.


He shifts a bit and then slides an arm around my waist. I bring my hand up, fingers coming to gently stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.


Simon sighs. “One of the very first things I loved about Penny was how she wasn’t afraid to be near me, not even first year. She’d hug me and sit next to me, lean into me when she was cold. I’d never had that with anyone. No one had ever willingly come into contact with me, other than to bash my face in or shove me.” He burrows further into my chest, the warmth of his breath seeping through my jumper. “I liked it. It made me feel cared for, yeah?” 


My family is not the most demonstrative but I know exactly what he means. After my mother died Fiona would always make a point of hugging me. Every time she was with me. When she’d get to the house, when she’d leave. When she’d put me to bed. Sometimes to the point of driving me mad, but I still relished that contact. 


My mother was the best at hugs. I remember that about her. Tight, all-encompassing hugs. Warm and firm and safe. 


Daphne’s not a big hugger but she never shied away, once she married Father, from making sure I knew I was loved. She followed Fiona’s lead and even though I know it’s not second nature to her, I’m grateful for the effort she made.


“I know what you mean, Simon.” 


“I told you the intimacy part of things felt awkward with Agatha. It did. Just didn’t feel right somehow. But I loved having the physical closeness—holding hands, hugging, having her tucked under my arm when we’d watch movies. That was the best part.” Simon’s silent for a moment. “That was really the part I missed when we broke up. Not our conversations, or our kissing, or making out, truth be told. It was having someone to hold.” He pauses again, voice lowering. “And someone holding me. That’s what I missed.” 


My fingers sink into his hair, nails lightly dragging across his scalp. 


“It’s not that way with you though, Baz. Doesn’t feel awkward. I feel … I’m not even sure I’m going to say this right, I’m never good with words.” His voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “There’s just something so familiar about you. It’s comforting, I guess. Reassuring.” Simon’s fingers grip my jumper. “Watford’s the only home I’ve ever known. The only place I felt I belonged.” I have to tilt my head down to hear his next words. “In a room I shared with you.”


He sighs and holds me tighter. “So I get it, Baz, I get it.” He turns his head up to look at me, a shy expression on his face and his cheeks coloring again. “I might be even clingier than you.”


I bring my other arm up and around his shoulders. I brush my lips to his forehead. “Watch it now, Simon. You know how competitive I get. I might just take that as a challenge.”


He laughs and buries his head in my chest again. I could stay here all night, on this sofa, with Simon in my arms.


In truth I can’t, because my furniture is so fucking uncomfortable. There is literally no padding on this armrest. It’s digging into my back. I’m sure to have a mark. The cushions are far too rigid as well. It’s like my arse is sat on a plank.


What the fuck was I thinking when I bought this ridiculous angular sofa? It’s fine for watching movies with your mates but absolute rubbish for this kind of thing.


I’m going to have to rethink the whole décor. 


But I can stand it, for a bit longer, because I’ve got Simon in my arms and I don’t want to let him go.

Simon


We stay on the sofa for a long time, me cradled in Baz’s arms, my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It’s late. Past time for him to get home. 


I don’t want to move though. It still astounds me, how arousing I find Baz and at the same time how achingly comfortable. I’m glad he pulled us back. I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could think about was how much I wanted him, how much I needed to feel closer to him, how the thought of him being so far away was so much more painful with each passing moment.


He says he wouldn’t have been able to leave. I don’t know if I would have been able to let him go. 


It’s not like that for me, usually. The physical intimacy, I mean. Not the hand holding or kissing. I can manage that just fine. I like that. 


It’s the other stuff that usually freezes me up. Makes me jittery, nervous, awkward. 


But not tonight. Not with Baz. With Baz it felt … it felt right. It felt comfortable. It felt safe. 


It felt like belonging. Like coming home. 


I finally sit up and run a hand through my hair. Baz is heavy-lidded, ready to fall asleep by the looks of him. “You need some tea, Baz? Before you head back?”

 
“Are you really making me go home?” There’s a hint of a smirk so I know he’s teasing.


“You know I am. You promised.”


“I did no such thing.”


“You implied.”


“Wrong again.”


“Come on, you prick, you said you agreed with me.” 


“I did not. You just assumed. I never actually agreed to anything before you ravished me with your charms.”


“I never managed to ravish you, you tosser.” I’m grinning at him now. There’s no one like Baz for banter like this. I never used to call it banter. I used to call it him being an arse. 


“More’s the pity.” He’s smiling now too. 


We move to the kitchen and Baz puts the electric kettle on. He drinks his tea while he leans against the counter, his arm around my shoulders. 


I feel like we’re moving in slow motion now, every moment an attempt to drag out our time together. Tying my shoes seems to take ages. Baz keeps adjusting his coat.


We’re silent as the moments tick by, making our progress out of his flat, down to his garage, finding his car. It’s like a series of snapshots, the images imprinting on my brain—the way the light hits his face, the line of his coat draped over his shoulders, the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine.

Baz


The drive to Hampshire gives me too much time to think. Each mile that takes me away from Simon drags at me, like there’s a magnet in my chest pulling me back towards him.

Simon


I’m just drifting off to sleep when my mobile pings.


Baz: I’m back in Hampshire. 


Baz: I miss you already. 


I miss him too. I text him just that.

Baz


The aeroplane door shuts with a dismal thud. This is it. I’m headed back to New York. Any romantic ideas I’d entertained about turning back are put to rest now that the doors are closed and the plane is pulling away from the gate. 


Five fucking months. 


It feels like a fucking lifetime. 


My phone is in aeroplane mode, the last text I sent to Simon unanswered on my screen. 


Five months. 


It’s taken me almost five years, a job thousands of miles away, a miserable drive across the entire east coast of America, and traversing the Atlantic by plane—not once, but now almost twice in the span of a week—to realize that the place I feel the most content, the most myself, the most at peace is wherever Simon is. 


Five bloody months doesn’t seem so insurmountable when I think of it like that.


I’ll be coming home to him.