#i want to write a pitch perfect au SO BADLY OKAY. but i. don't know how to approach it just yet

[infinityonhighvevo]

(I don't know if I'm doing this right but) Could you do a snowbaz high school band au? I love your writing so much >.

this isn’t exactly what I was asking for but this prompt is TOO GOOD to pass up I have been a Band Kid for 5 years I am Fully Qualified

a normal!snowbaz hs band au

genre: fluff!

warnings: i mean, davy is mentioned like once and it’s implied he’s a piece of shit, there’s also swearing? but that’s really it this was a clean fic

words: 1k! they’re getting longer!

hope u enjoy! (as per usual, it’s under a cut)

Simon

I hate the orchestra pricks. They think they’re better thanall of the band kids.

More importantly, I hate Baz Pitch, who’s first chair violinand acts like he’s above everyone.Who, for some reason is sitting in theband room playing clarinet.

“Don’t you play violin? Why do youhave a clarinet?” I ask, not only because I’m annoyed with how goddamn perfecthe has to be, but also because I genuinely want to know what the hell he’sdoing here.

“A person can play more than oneinstrument, Snow,” he sneers back, then turns to his piece and continuesplaying.

My jaw practically hits the floor.

He’s amazing. 

Baz

I wish Snow wasn’t here to gawk at me while I practice myaudition piece. It’s quite disconcerting, the way his eyes pop and how he looksgenuinely shocked at how I can play.

It’s even more disconcerting how beautiful he looks and howmuch I want to blush because Simonfucking Snow is watching me play clarinet and thinks I sound good and what isthis witchcraft he hates me what if he’s here to make fun of me what do I do then.

I continue down the page, ignoring him.

Soon I’m too wrapped up in the piece to notice he’s there.

But not too wrapped up to see him leave.

Why did he leave?

Simon

I feel like I’m invading on something private. His piece isat least four pages long, which gives me enough time to quietly slip out whilehe’s playing and hide in the bathroom.

I have to catch my breath because, holy shit that was breathtaking.

He even looked gorgeous playing it.

It’s pretty hard to look even half-decent playing saxophone.(Impossible, according to Agatha, my girlfriend.)(Ex-girlfriend. I still haveto get used to that.)

The only reason I still play saxophone is so that I can geta scholarship to college and get out of here.

My father wants me to stay here, and that’s probably whereI’ll end up. But if I can play jazz music and entertain the fact that maybe oneday he won’t be able to control me, I’ll get through high school.

The bell rings, and I walk out of the bathroom and go tomeet up with Penny for lunch.

“Pen, I swear, it was the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard,”I tell her once she’s gotten her lunch and sat down.

“Okay, Simon,” she says, ignoring me and checking somethingon her phone.  She always gets like thiswhen I talk about Baz. She says I “talk too much” about him but really, Ithought he stalked me! I see him everywhere, and it always looks like he’s justlooked away from me, like he’s been staring at me but doesn’t want to getcaught.

“If he didn’t drive me nuts and wasn’t a creepy stalkerI’d-”

“Simon,” Penny says, exasperated, “if you’re going to wax onabout your hate for Baz I don’t want to hear it.”

We both fall into silence. Penelope, who’s probably lookingat memes (I swear, she’s obsessed) snorts at something and then turns her phoneoff.

“How’s Agatha?” she asks.

Way to be blunt, Penny.

“I don’t know. Her girls have surrounded her, I can’t evengo near her or apologize.”

Penelope shrugs. “I’ll tell her to knock it off later.”

“You don’t have to. She can do whatever.”

“You aren’t going to run back to her?”

“I don’t think so.”

Penny looks impressed, and also like she’s about to give aspeech, but then the bell rings and both of us are sent in opposite directionsto rush to last period.

I have math, which is alright. I can understand math,there’s always one answer and you never have to fish around for somethingdeeper. And everything makes sense; there are no maybes.

But today, I can’t concentrate.

Baz sits next to me in math.

He’s doodled all overhis notes. When I look over, I see that they’re other types of notes. He has awhole song written in the margins of his math binder.

The bell rings, and everyone is rushing to get their stuffaway and head home. Baz is no exception; he’s the first one out of the class.

“Baz,” I call after him, “Baz!”

He turns, looking startled for a second, and then he regainshis composure.

“What do you want, Snow?” I’ve barely ever heard him speak,but he sounds bored… and a little bit scared? Why is he scared?

“I just- your- ah fuck, your solo this morning soundedreally nice,” I stammer. Why can’t I talk normally?

“Thanks,” he says, his face impassive.

Baz

“I have a practice room booked for today, d’you…maybewanna…play with me? There’s a piece that I’ve been looking for a clarinetistfor but everyone here is kind of shit,” Snow says in a rush. He either stuttersor talks too much, the goddamn beautiful mess.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. I sound bored. Good.

Ten minutes later, I kind of regret my decision. Simon has not shut up for the entire walk downto the practice rooms. But then again, it isn’t every day that I can actuallyhave Simon fucking Snow babble on to me.

When we finally get in the room Simon pulls out the pieceand asks, “How good are you with sight reading?”

I look at the piece. Doesn’tlook too difficult. “I can manage.”

“Alright, cool.”

We start playing, and it sounds beautiful.

I have never heard classical music that sounded good on analto saxophone until now.

There’s a part in the piece where he has a solo, and I getto watch him play. His face is so open and full. Simon Snow walks like a ghostaround this school, and I am seeing what he looks like when he’s alive. Andhe’s so alive.

I want to kiss him. (God, does he know that’s why I used tostare at him all the time?  Because he’sgold and light and beauty and I want to kiss him so badly.)

He stops his solo suddenly, looking self-conscious and confused.“What? Did I fuck it up?”

It takes me a second to find my voice and try to rid my faceof emotion. “No. No, that was-” I trail off.

He smiles and looks at his feet, and I can see a mole on theback of his neck, next to a faded scar. I want to trace my hands over it andtell him he’s beautiful. I want.

And then Snow’s lips are on mine and there is nothing else Icould want.