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ravenclawbaz · 6 years ago

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Guitar Hero Is Gay

big thanks to @mintaero and @neck-mole for being beautiful betas!

read on ao3

BAZ

Tonight was supposed to be relaxing. I got home from work, took a well-deserved shower, and ordered from my favorite takeout place.

I’m on the couch with my food, my feet propped up on the coffee table, and about to press play on Teen Wolf when my phone vibrates next to me. I expect it to be Fiona checking in and letting me know she won’t be home tonight, as usual. But it’s not Fiona. Of all people who could be texting me at nearly 12 am on a Friday night, it’s Simon bloody Snow. Snow: heyyy pen is it too late for that ride???? if it is i hope u made it home safe :DD

Pen? Ah, he must’ve been trying to text Bunce. Shame that Snow only texts me when it’s on accident. Not like we’re best friends or anything, I cocked that chance up at the beginning of the term. Apparently spilling silver nitrate all over someone’s arm is an not effective way to make a friend. I’ve overheard him telling Penny that him and I are ‘arch enemies’ because of it.

It only stained for a week at most, he’s just dramatic. Me: wrong person, snow. pretty sure that was meant for bunce. Leave it to Snow to fuck up my plans. This night was for rest and relaxation, two very foreign concepts to me, and now it’s turning into a night for Snow and complicated feelings. My phone buzzes a few times in quick succession; double texter. Snow: wish you wouldn’t call me snow :,( Snow: tellpen to come pick me up she knows where Snow: asap, pitch Snow: actually don’t she’s in no state to b driving I groan and shut off the telly, throwing aside my plans for good, and text Snow back while I put my untouched takeout in the fridge. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. Me: are you drunk? can’t you just take a cab home? The response is almost immediate. Snow: a cab? do i look like i want to get kidnapped??? Snow: do u WANT me to get kidnapped??? Slipping on my shoes and grabbing my keys from the bowl next to the front door, I head out to my car. Looks like I’ll be picking up a drunk Snow tonight. Me: you are a grown man, i don’t think anyone will try to kidnap you. where are you? Snow: that one place. the orca or something. u coming to get me?? Snow: u don’t have to Me: you mean the dolphin?

Me: and let you get kidnapped by a cabbie? be there in 15. Snow: yeah that’s theplace! thanks babe

On second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Dealing with a flirty drunk over text is manageable, but not in person, and not when that person is Snow. All I can hope is that he passes out before he can say anything he’ll regret. About 15 minutes later, I’m parked on the street outside The Dolphin. I roll down the passenger window and scan the passersby, catching sight of Snow leaning against the wall near the front door. The neon lights from the bar are painting his features in a soft glow and he looks carefree, chatting up a girl in front of him. What have I gotten myself into. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I yell out his name. He takes a startled step back from the girl and whips his head in my direction. When he sees me, he grins and breaks into a run toward my car. Not before saying goodbye to his friend, who doesn’t look too happy that I’m stealing Snow from her. He pulls open the passenger door and lets out a dramatic sigh as he slides into the seat. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafts over from where he’s now slumped over, and I roll down the windows. I don’t know if Snow smokes, but there’s a lot I don’t know about him.

“God, Baz. You never told me you had such a comfy car.” Leaning his head back on the rest, he closes his eyes and fumbles with the seat belt, clicking it into place before I take off. “You never asked. Where are we headed?” I tap my fingers to the beat of the song against the leather of my steering wheel; I don’t recognise the song, but Snow must, because he’s begun to hum along to it. I force myself to focus on the road, trying to ignore the low humming. “See, I know it’s in here somewhere,” I glance at him to see that he’s giggling and tapping his pointer finger against the side of his head, “but I can’t seem to find it.” “Are you taking the piss? You don’t know your own address?” Unbelievable. I’ve a drunk Snow in my car, and nowhere but my own flat to take him. Unless I drop him in the street, but even I’m not that cruel. “Would you be mad if I said I don’t?” He must notice the disapproving look on my face, because he’s quick to defend himself, “Hey, don’t give me that look! Pen and I only moved in last week. You can’t expect me to just know these things. Especially not in this state.” Looks like he’s coming to my flat, then. “You are the worst drunk.” I mutter under my breath and turn up the radio, hoping he’ll get the message that I’d rather drive in silence. He’s asleep when we get back to my flat, drool dripping down his chin and onto the window he’s pressed up against.

I nudge his shoulder and he jerks awake, banging his head in the process, then wipes at his mouth. “Sorry,” He slurs, opening the door and pushing himself out, before falling right back into his seat. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, still processing the turn of events this night has taken, and walk around the car to help him out. Wrapping an arm securely around his waist, I shut the car door with my hip and pull his arm over my shoulder, linking our fingers together to keep it in place and Snow upright.

It’s quite difficult climbing up four flights of stairs while 80 kilos of a drunk uni student hangs off your shoulder. Thankfully, we only stumble a few times. There’s only one close call when Snow trips on the last step, almost sending us tumbling down backwards. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if this night ended in at least one broken bone.

We make it to my flat and I let go of Snow to dig the key out of my pocket, pushing him back to rest against the wall. The last thing I need is to drag 80 kilos of unconscious uni student through my flat. My neighbors already think poorly of me, best not have them think I’m a murderer.

I push the door open and grab for Snow again, having to use more strength to hold him up as he starts to lose more of his own. Shutting the door behind us with my foot, I shuffle him over to the couch, which I unceremoniously drop Snow facedown onto. It’s not a small couch by any means, but he’s quite broad, so I take out the cushions in the back to make room.

I point an accusing finger at him, “You stay there,” like he’d even be up for wandering around in his current state, “I’m going to get you some stuff.”

He just grunts in response, burying his face into the cushions.

I make my way through my flat, gathering things that Snow may need—a glass of water and some aspirin, pillows and blankets, and some pyjamas that he isn’t even sober enough to change into.

When I walk back to the couch, Snow has flipped onto his back with his hands resting under his head. He’s awake, but just barely. He stares up at me as I set the water and medicine on the table, then drop the rest of the things onto the floor. He’s still wearing his shoes, and it looks like I’m going to have to take those off.

I begin to unlace his boots, and silently curse how hard they are to take off. Not because I have something against taking shoes off, but because Snow will not stop staring at me. I’m not facing him, but I can feel his gaze on the top of my head. He doesn’t let up the whole time I undo his shoes and peel off his sweaty socks. (Gross, but so is allowing someone to sleep in socks.)

Grabbing the pillow off the floor, I motion for him to lift his head up. He listens, and I place it underneath him, picking up the blanket as he lays back down. His stare is unnerving, and I’m not sure he realises how intensely he’s looking at me. It wouldn’t be as creepy if he’d just say something, anything, but all he’s doing is forcing me to look back at those blue eyes.

I’m leaning over his face to tuck the blanket into the crease of the couch when he finally opens his mouth.

“Pretty,” He whispers, and all I can do is stare right back at him. Our faces are close, too close, and I jerk away when his eyelids begin to droop.

I stand up straight and look down at him. “And you’re drunk. Goodnight, Snow.”

He yanks the blanket up to his chin, pulling it out from where I just tucked it in as he turns away from me, muttering a string of unintelligible words. I shrug them off, not worrying too much about what a half asleep Snow has to say. Especially not if it’s another meaningless compliment.

As I’m stepping away from the couch and heading to my room, away from Snow’s drunken words, I finally let my shoulders droop; drop the façade that I find myself putting up anytime I’m around Snow.

After shutting my bedroom door quietly behind me, I cross the dark room and flop face-up onto my bed, kicking off my shoes. I don’t bother with getting under the covers, just roll over onto my side, and curl my knees to my chest.

---

SIMON

I’ve fucked up.

This much is evident as soon as the sun wakes me up. My eyes aren’t open, but I can tell that it’s bright wherever I am, and wherever I am is not my room. The pillow I’m on is too squishy, and I can feel the dip in the cushions beneath me—something that my back is really not appreciating. My neck aches, my head is throbbing, and where the fuck am I?

Maybe I could solve that mystery by opening my eyes. I groan and roll onto my side, rubbing at my eyes with my fists to try and force them open. They finally cooperate, and I slowly start to crack them open, giving myself time to adjust to the harsh light.

Definitely not in my own flat, then. Whoever owns this flat has really nice carpet, I’ll have to ask them about that.

No, now is not the time for thinking about carpet. I never think about carpet. I lift my head up a tad and catch sight of a pill bottle and a glass of water.

Every muscle in my body screams at me to just go back to sleep, but I ignore them and swing my legs over into a sitting position, feet planted on the floor. I rub at my eyes again with one hand, reaching out with the other to grab three of whatever medicine this is.

I could be drugging myself without looking at what I’m taking, but at this rate, I think my body would thank me for the sweet release from this hell.

I’m not even sure what all happened last night, but I don’t think I want to know. Searching my brain for any clues proves to only worsen my headache, the memory of flashing lights and alcohol too much for my brain to handle.

God, Penny is going to kill me. First, I go home with a strange person—okay, they may not be strange, but there’s always a chance—and then I don’t text her to let her know where I am. To let her know that I’m safe.

I look down at myself, doing a quick once over to make sure that, yes, I do have clothes on. Thankfully, they’re clothes that I recognise, the ones I was wearing last night. Penny will be so proud.

I’m so caught up in my own little hangover world, I jump when I hear a noise from behind me. I turn around too quickly—I’m seriously going to pay for this—to find the source of the noise. As if this entire situation could get any worse.

There, leaning against the wall of the hallway and smirking, eyebrow raised in what seems to be its permanent state, is Baz fucking Pitch.

“Morning, Snow.” He pushes off the wall and stalks toward me, glancing at his bare wrist like he’s checking a watch, “Or should I say afternoon?”

I groan and turn back around, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing vigorously at my eyes once again. This has to be a dream. There’s no way in hell that out of all the people I could possibly have gone home with, it ended up being him.

He was a complete ass during chemistry. I’d really thought there was a chance if us being friends, but then he had to go and pour chemicals all over me. Penny tells me I hold grudges for too long, and that I should just forgive Baz for making an honest mistake, but she doesn’t know how gross that shit is. It stained for weeks! Okay, maybe not weeks, but long enough for my disdain toward him to grow every time I was reminded of it. (Which was quite often. It’s hard to not look at your arm for a week, especially when it’s all brown and blotchy.)

Besides, he didn’t even have the decency to apologise. Or help me wash it off. He just raised that arrogant eyebrow of his and carried on with the lab.

Anyway, that whole incident began this weird dynamic between us; not exactly hate, but far from like. Merely tolerance accompanied with condescending eyebrow quirks from Baz, and resentment filled glares from me.

And now I’m here, sitting on Baz’s couch, while he leans coolly against it behind me.

“Would you like something to eat?” And now he’s offering to feed me? That snaps me out of whatever haze I’m in, and I quickly stand up. My entire body protests every single thing happening, but I’d rather have a killer headache than subject myself to this torture for one second longer.

“Leaving so soon?” He watches while I lace up my boots, then follows me to the door. “I take it you’ve finally remembered where you live.”

“First of all,” I stop in front of the door, hand on the doorknob, and turn to look at him. “I have no idea what you mean by that. And second, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, really, but if you say one more word I think I might throw up. Please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up.”

That seems to catch him off guard, because he drops the smirk, taking a step back from me.

“I just mean,” I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. “I have the biggest headache, and I’m probably going to vomit any minute now, so I’m not appreciating your cocky attitude.”

“I’m not—”

“Shush,” I press my finger against his lips, which he looks down at with disgust. “Thank you for picking me up, but let’s just go back to the way things were, yeah? You doing nice things is creeping me out. I prefer broody, evil Baz to whatever this is.” He grabs my wrist and pulls my finger away from his lips, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Alright, I can do that. Goodbye, Snow. See you Monday.” He says.

I give him a quick wave, then pull the door open and step out. Without looking back, I rush away and down the stairs, only hearing the click of his door closing when I reach the bottom of the first flight.

It’s raining when I step outside, and my shirt doesn’t provide much protection, but it’s all I have. Putting aside the fact that I’m going to be completely soaked by the time I make it home, the rain feels nice. It isn’t doing much to relieve my headache or calm my nausea, but the smell of the rain covers up how horrible I smell. I can’t believe Baz touched me when I smell like this. At least I think he’d have touched me to get me up to his flat.

A night of drinking and being around clouds of cigarette smoke doesn’t do much for personal hygiene. I’ll be happy to finally be in my own home, in my own shower, washing myself of my regrets.

The waves of nausea finally start to hit me full force, and I pull off into an alley where no one can see me. For the first time today, I do something that my body is thanking me for, but I really hate it.

When I’m finished, I step back out onto the pavement, pulling out my phone to check the time. I ignore the endless notifications from Penny, quickly shoving it back into my pocket before it gets soaked. It’s mid-afternoon. There are people running about, doing their own things. None of them spare me a second glance.

I pick up the pace as I near my flat, pressing the buzzer repeatedly—I’m not sure where I left my key, but that’s a problem for later. Penny finally lets me in, and I can sense her annoyance even before I step into the building.

She’s standing with her hands on her hips when I open the door. I take a breath and close it behind me, preparing for the questions she’s about to lay on me.

“And where do you think you were last night?” I step past her toward my room, stripping off my soaked shirt and throwing it in the general vicinity of the bathroom. She follows. “You couldn’t have bothered to call? Text? Where were you, Simon? If you went home with someone and didn’t tell me last night, I swear to all that is holy I—”

“Penny, oh my God. I’m sorry for not calling or texting, but I’m safe, yeah?” I take off my wet trousers next, not caring if Penny sees me in just my pants. It’s not like she hasn’t before. “I went home with Baz. He picked me up.”

“Baz Pitch?” She scoffs. “You went to Baz Pitch for a ride home, and he gave it to you? This is one for the books. How’d you get his number anyway?” She says as she falls back onto my bed, crossing her arms behind her head to look up at me.

I sit next to her, not worrying about the butt-shaped wet mark that I’m going to leave on the sheets. “I got it when we worked together on some lab a few months ago. I was going to text you, but drunk Simon thought it would be a wonderful idea to text Baz instead.”

“What’s that thing about drunk thoughts?” I groan at the knowledge of where this is heading. “Oh yeah, ‘a drunk mind speaks a sober heart’, or something like that.”

I lay down on my back next to her, “For the last time Penny, I don’t like Baz like that. We’re just… acquaintances. And I think it’s ‘drunk actions are sober thoughts.’”

“Whatever, same thing. And did you say acquaintances? That’s at least an improvement from arch enemies.” She drops her head to the side to look at me, then shoves my shoulder. “Let’s see those texts.”

Oh yeah, I should probably check what I said to him. Not that I particularly want to, there’s a very high chance I said something embarrassing. I stand up and grab my damp phone from my discarded jeans and sit back down on the bed cross-legged, opening my message with Baz.

Ah, here’s the regret I’ve been anticipating.

“What is it? I know that look.” Penny sits up beside me, peering over my shoulder to get a look at my phone.

She really laughs this time, letting it all out at the stake of my dignity. “Oh, Simon,” She manages to get out through laughter that shakes my already unstable bed. “You called him babe? Oh, this is hilarious.”

My cheeks heat up and I tilt my phone away from her, scrolling to the first text. Drunk Simon is worse than I thought, because I know for a fact that I was completely aware of who I was texting. Apparently pretending the text was meant for someone else is a Simon certified way of getting it on with an acquaintance. I refuse to call him a crush, even safely in my thoughts.

“You’ve got to talk to him! He went out of his way to pick you up, that has to mean something.” Penny has always been one for the romantic. Though, in this case, I think she’s just tired of mine and Baz’s immature hatred for each other.

As I’m about to respond, I remember something from last night.

Baz leaning over me, black hair falling and framing his face. He didn’t have it slicked back last night; I must’ve caught him right before bed. I remember grey eyes staring straight into mine, too close. I remember saying something to him. Calling him pretty. Oh fuck.

So, let me get this straight. I text Baz, drunk, asking him for a ride. A ride that he gives me. He takes care of me and lets me crash at his place. Then I drunkenly call him pretty, only to wake up in the morning and insult him. But of course, not before rushing out of his house like I’d rather be anywhere else. No wonder he looked so confused.

This changes things. Now, the promise of going back to the way Baz and I were before makes my stomach twist, somehow a worse feeling than that of the nausea that accompanied my hangover.

I hate that I have to, but I’m going to have to fix this.

I finally let Penny in on my internal struggle. “I called him pretty, Pen. I don’t think I can ever look into his eyes again.” I mumble into my palm. I shut my phone off and drop it onto the floor, wanting to forget that last night and this morning—afternoon, whatever—ever happened.

“You really have it bad, don’t you?” I nod and rest my head on her shoulder, absorbing all the comfort I can. I definitely need it.

After a few minutes of allowing me to sulk, she pushes me off and jumps up, clapping her hands together. Oh no, this is her plan position. “Well? Are you just going to sit around and pout all day, or are you going to get your ass up and get that boy?” She grabs my hands, pulling with all her strength to yank my unresponsive body up and off the bed. “Take a shower and put some clothes on, you look like hell. I’m going to make you some hangover food.”

She hurries out of my room and off to the kitchen. I envy how enthusiastic she can be while I stand here feeling like a bag of utter shit. But she’s right, nothing is going to happen with Baz unless I step up and do something. Having gained some of Penny’s confidence, I skip off to the bathroom, feeling like things might go right for once.

---

After I’ve showered, eaten, and gotten another pep talk from Penny, we sit on the couch to watch reruns of the The Great British Bake Off. She hovers over my shoulder while I stare at my texts with Baz, trying to think of something to say. I settle for a simple ‘hey Baz’, which Penny isn’t very impressed with.

Baz: i hope you aren’t already drunk again, i don’t have time for picking up the trash tonight.

Nice, an insult. Penny insists that it’s just friendly banter, but having finally accepted my feelings for Baz, it feels… different.

Me: ha. you’re not funny.

Me: but no i’m not drunk at 5 in the afternoon, give me some credit

Me: are you busy tonight? i feel really bad about the way i acted and want to make it up to you

Baz: what do you have in mind?

Me: come over to mine for dinner? 6:30?

Baz: so soon?

I turn to look at Penny—she’s watching this entire disaster play out—and she must know what’s coming from the pleading look on my face, because she tilts her head and gives me a glare full of disappointment. “Give it to me straight, am I getting kicked out of my own flat so you can have a boy over?”

“No.” I click my phone off, then say quietly, “Might kick you out of the living room, though.”

Having expected something of the sort, she only rolls her eyes. “I want you to know I’m only doing this because I know you’d do the same for me.”

My phone vibrates with another text, and I answer that instead of Penny. She turns her attention back to the TV.

Baz: but yes, i can. please tell me you’ve showered since i last saw you.

Me: i have

Me: you’re still not funny.

Baz: i am

Baz: i’m going to need your address. that is, if you’ve finally remembered it?

I sigh and type out my address, hitting send and dropping my phone onto the couch. I feel Penny’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my head, so I turn to look at her.

She crosses her arms, looking amused. “I can’t believe you’re making me hide in my room so you can get it on with your nemesis.”

“He’s not my nemesis!” I say defensively.

“Simon,” she places a hand on my shoulder, “those are your exact words. This is all on you.”

“Sod off. I’m gonna clean up a bit. Baz will be here soon.” I gently push her hand away and stand up, walking off to my room. Time to go through the painful process of deciding what the fuck I’m going to wear.

One thing’s for sure, I need to make up for how much of a piece of shit I was. Something nice that doesn’t make me look like I’m trying too hard should do the trick. I settle for light jeans and a navy blue jumper that Penny says brings out my eyes.

As 6:30 approaches, I tidy up around the flat and order some pizza. In what feels like a too short amount of time, there’s a knock at the front door. Penny is still sitting on the couch and I pull her up, dragging her down the hall to shove her in her room.

“I love you. No eavesdropping.” I close the door before she can respond, and hurry back to answer the door. After quickly brushing imaginary crumbs off the front of my jeans, I open the door to find Baz standing next to the delivery girl, both of them looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Oh, er, Baz. You can come in.” I open the door wider to let him step past me. The pizza girl hands me the boxes and I reach into my pocket for the payment, she takes it and gives me a slight nod before leaving. I close the door behind her and turn to face Baz, who’s already taken off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door.

“Sorry about that,” I push past him to put the food on the coffee table, going on to the kitchen to grab some plates; he follows.

“I’m not sure if I can forgive you, we walked up the stairs together too.” I laugh at that, not even wanting to imagine how awkward of a walk that must’ve been.

“That’s rough.” We walk back into the living room, plates in hand. “I can understand if you never want to talk to me again.” I set the plates on the table, sitting down on the couch and waiting for Baz to do the same.

“When you invited me over for dinner, I didn’t think it’d be pizza on the couch.” He sounds amused, which just annoys me.

“Yeah, well, it’s what you’re gonna get. Don’t act like you don’t do the exact same thing.” I shove a plate into his chest.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the action, and sits down an unsettling two feet away from me—all the way at the other side of the couch. We’re off to a great start.

I reach forward and open the box, taking out a few slices of pizza and dropping them onto my plate. Baz gives me a sideways glance, something I interpret as judgmental, but I only stare right back and add another piece of pizza to my pile. He finally gives up with the looks, getting some food for himself.

With my plate on my lap, I pull my feet up onto the couch and turn so I’m facing Baz, sitting with my back against the armrest. In my head, it felt like a good idea to sit this way. It makes for easier conversation when we can actually look at each other, but he’s still sitting facing forward and now it’s just weird. It’s too awkward to change positions again though, so I stick by my decision, and continue to stare at the side of his head.

We eat in silence for a bit, Baz still looking forward, but pulling one foot up to tuck underneath his thigh. He still has his boots on, but it’s nothing new to this poor couch, and I’m just glad that he’s seeming to get a little more comfortable.

Eventually, when we’re almost finished with our food, the silence teeters into extremely uncomfortable territory, and I speak up.“I know I’ve said this like, a million times, but I’m still really sorry about last night. I had no right to ask you for a ride, forget my fucking address, then crash at your place.”

“It’s fine, Snow, honestly. Besides, you didn’t even mean to text me, right? You called me Penny.” He sets his plate down on the table, kicking off his shoes and pulling his feet onto the couch to mimic the way I’m sitting. Finally.

“Right, yeah. I totally meant to text Penny.” I put my plate on the table too, pulling a pillow into my lap to hold for support.

He narrows his eyes at me, which is never a good sign when Baz is the one doing it. “See, the way you said that gives me the feeling you’re not being completely honest. You’d never lie to me, would you?” He looks amused, eyes wide and intrusive.

I huff and look away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” The couch creaks as he leans forward to rest his chin in his palm, “Tell me, how’d you manage to do that? Our names are way different and we haven’t texted in what, at least two months? My name has got to be far down in your messages.” Fuck Baz and his logic. But more importantly, fuck me for being such an idiotic drunk.

He’s smirking when I look back at him—which I absolutely hate, for the record—and I give him an evil glare. At least, it feels evil to me.

“Fine. I may or may not have texted you and pretended I thought you were Penny.” He turns his hand into a fist, chin still resting on it, and grins like a madman.

“And why would you do that?” I wish he’d wipe that smug look off his face.

I look around the room, looking for an out from the conversation. Well, there’s always one thing that can diffuse a situation. “Wanna play a video game?”

The expression on his face falls into one of confusion, and he cocks his head. “Huh?”

“We need something to do. C’mon,” I walk over to the TV and sit down in front of the cabinet with the games.

Baz hesitates, but eventually follows. “What kind of video games are we talking about here?” He says as he sits down next to me.

“Wii games, like Mario Kart and Just Dance. Those kinda games.” I open the cabinet and pull out two remotes, handing one to baz.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve played those before.” He grabs the remote and slides the strap over his wrist, of course he’s one of those people. Did you really even play a Wii game if there was never a risk of smashing your TV screen to pieces?

“Any suggestions?”

“Well, we can rule out Just Dance. I’m not playing that.” He scans the several rows of discs—Penny and I have a problem—and settles on a game, handing it to me and getting up and walking back to the couch.

“Guitar Hero, huh?” I go to join him, grabbing the plastic guitars from where they rest against the side of the cabinet. “You sure you’ve got what it takes to beat me?”

“You’d be wise to not underestimate my strumming abilities.” He snatches one of the guitars from my hands and snaps the remote into it. “Let’s do this.”

I sit down next to him and position the guitar comfortably in my arms while he gets the game started with his controls, “You don’t really strum these guitars. It’s more like… fingering.”

He gives me a blank stare, holds it for a few long seconds, then goes back to navigating through the menu. “Yeah, I’m not going to call it that. You pick the song.”

After scrolling through the options, I settle on Vampire Weekend. The beginning of “A-Punk” starts to fill the air, and shit, Baz was being serious when he told me not to underestimate him. Risking my victory at this song, I turn my head to glance at him, and his fingers are moving much faster than they really need to be.

Baz nearly destroys me, but I catch up at the last second and beat him by a hair.

I drop my guitar when the song ends and look smugly at Baz. “What was that you said about underestimating your strumming abilities?”

“I obviously let you win. Let’s do another.” He flicks his thumb over the bar, scrolling through to pick a new song.

“Sure you did.” I mutter. Baz ignores me.

“Do you want to play this song next?” I look to the screen, where “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran is highlighted.

“Yeah, sure. But we should add a little challenge to this,” Apparently, I can’t keep my dumb mouth shut because I say, “If you think you’re so good—” Don’t suggest it, Simon. Don’t do it. “—then let’s up the stakes this time.”

Baz quirks an eyebrow at me, silently urging me to go on. I’m not so sure that I want to.

But I can’t be the only one who’s feeling this way, can I? The tension in the room any time me and Baz interact is thick enough to cut, and I don’t think it’s the kind of tension that arises from hating each other. No, this is a much different tension. A gay kind.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose—besides Guitar Hero, of course—I go for it.

“Loser has to give the winner...” I hesitate, make sure this is really what I want to do, then continue, “a kiss.”

Baz’s response is immediate, like he’d been expecting me to suggest that. “I see your goal here, but you do realise that no matter who loses, both of us are going to end up getting the same thing?”

“Yeah but that’s not the point. The point is that the person who loses has to give the kiss. There’s a difference between giving and receiving.” I mean, I’m not wrong. There is a difference, but I’ll admit that isn’t very good justification.

“I’ll just pretend that makes sense. You know you’re going to lose though, right?”

“We’ll see about that. Maybe I was holding back the first time too.” Baz starts the song, and I position the guitar more comfortably in my arms.

The song starts to play, and I am seriously screwed. Did he change the difficulty on mine when I wasn’t paying attention? I thought I really had this one in the bag, but I guess that’s what you get when you’re cocky.

It’s safe to say that by the end of the song, he has completely destroyed me.

He rests his guitar and his lap and turns to face me, “About that kiss…”

Warmth floods my cheeks and, God, of course I had to lose when there were stakes. Well, a bet’s a bet. I set my hands on the couch in front of me and push into them, sitting up and leaning towards Baz. I stop when my face is inches away from his, and his eyes flutter closed.

I can’t let him get the satisfaction of winning, it’s just not fair. We never did specify that the kiss had to be on the lips, though, so I lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

He cracks open his eyes and glares at me.

“Really?”

“Hey, I never said it had to be on the lips.” I’m still close to Baz, my hands on the cushions, and I’m about to sit back down when he grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me in.

I widen my eyes in surprise as he presses his lips against mine. Oh, okay. That’s happening. My eyes drop closed, but he’s already pulling away and picking his guitar back up.

I’m staring at the side of his head, my mouth hanging open, and he has the audacity to act like nothing happened.

“So, how about ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?”

#snowbaz #simon snow #carry on #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #my fanfiction #idk what else to tag this huhh #i hope u enjoy this spent 4 months in my docs :)#also dont complain about teen wolf bc you guys voted foro it #you cause baz this pain

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great-merlins-beard · 7 years ago

Text

Sometimes The Nightmares Are Too Much

Summary: Everything is flying around and Snow’s just thrown his arms over his face like he’s protecting himself. Snow has had nightmares before, but he always wakes up after a minute. They’ve never nearly gotten this bad. (Thank you to @basic-banshee for betaing @mintaero for reading over it <3)

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Simon

Mrs. Daniels is sitting on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath the cushions, when I walk in. I grab the heavy front door before it can slam shut. Before she hears it. Before she has the chance to see me. I squeeze my red ball as tight as I can. Don’t make a sound don’t let her hear you don’t do anything to make her upset. Step quickly step quietly and don’t don’t don’t— I whip around the corner of the wall and I’m okay. Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like it when we are loud. Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like it when we are around. We are a paycheck and a paycheck only. Children are not to be seen nor heard. You do not speak.

I have not spoken in the care home for days. If you need to say something, need to make any noise at all, take it outside and go the end of the street before you even think to breathe. Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like loud breathers. I learned quick that breathing through your mouth is quieter. It doesn’t whistle like breathing through your nose does. Mouth breather is a compliment now. Mouth breather is staying safe. The walls are all creaking and caving in, old greyish brown wood is splintering at the corners. She tells new kids and payers it’s all the old house. And in some parts it is, it’s quite old. But I’ve witnessed far too many kids being thrown and hit against them to sum it down to aging.

Her laugh echoes through the air and it’s a bitter one, angry. I breathe slowly through my mouth, trying to calm my nerves, willing the hair on the back of my neck to relax. She doesn’t know I’m here, I was careful she doesn’t—

“Who tracked mud into the house?” Her words are sweet and I want to throw up. My shoes my shoes my shoes.

I look down.

My shoes are covered in mud. Was it muddy? Had it been raining? I don’t remember, why didn’t I think to look?

“I know someone is here. I am not angry.” Fear shakes my whole body as I hear her feet touch the floor. The hallway darkens and the wood starts curling and splintering inward. Where is everyone else? The smallest whimper escapes my lips. I can’t see Mrs. Daniels, but I can practically hear her head turning to me, locking in on her target.

“Come out come out Snow.” she growls and rounds the corner. I run to the end of the hall where my room is, but I am moving too slow, like running through… I look down, the mud is filling the space between my legs and all around me. My heart hammers and I try to run but fall and splash into mud that has now filled the hall completely. My caregiver gets to me quickly, the mud doing nothing to slow her down. She reaches for my arm, grabs too tight, and pulls me up. Her face has contorted. Her malicious smile is like the sharpest crescent moon, filled with daggered teeth; her eyes are angled down, irises filled black. Her spidery frame towers over me, so slim but I know her grip will leave bruises.

I hear the air whistle as her hand speeds down to slap me across the face. My head snaps to the side, the blood echo in my ears, face pounding where she smacked me. Her hand raises again and I cry out as the force of this one sends me flying into the rotting walls. A sob passes my lips before I can think to swallow it down.

“Children are not be seen, nor heard. How many times do I have to tell you that? How many times do I have to tell you that?!” she screeches into my ear. I run a few feet before I fall into the rising mud again.

“Get up, get up, Get up!” I scream helplessly at myself. But the mud flies into the air instead, and Mrs. Daniels howls in fury.

I don’t even think to run, I just know that suddenly I am. I am sprinting down the corridor to my room as my caregiver tries to wipe mud off of her face, but we make eye contact as I reach my door. Her black eyes glow a bloody red, her face twists into the cruelest snarl I have ever seen.

I am going to die.

She is going to kill me.

I shove the door open, slip through and slam it shut behind me. There are no locks on doors here, we don’t get that privilege, that protection, so I start shoving the dresser in front of the door. I so desperately need it to move, move and it goes right into place. Her feet slap the ground and suddenly she is pounding on the wood and jiggling the handle. She is cursing me, telling me how she is going to kill me. How I am never going to make it out alive.

How I am worthless.

How no one will miss me.

How the world will be better off without an insignificant little brat like me.

How no one will care that I am gone, my parents didn’t even care to keep me.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I don’t know what to do. She’ll get in eventually, I can already hear the door frame creaking.

I’m so small, my head can barely reach the window. How am I going to get out? I try to pull the bed over but it won’t move. Sobs are racking at my throat so hard that it hurts. It feels like swallowing knives and my head is pounding from being hit so hard.

“As you were!” I hear her shout in a suddenly low and panicked voice, but when she slams into the room, her eyes look purely sinister. The absolute horror of the situation mixed with the sobbing causes me to hiccup air. She advances and all I can do is back to the corner of the wall, form an X with my arms in protection. Her nails are digging into my arms and scratching at my face and I’m kicking and kicking and kicking and I’m screaming and sobbing and I’m so scared so terrified so—

Baz

I’m nearing the top of the stairs to Mummers House coming back from feeding when I hear him, Snow, and his screaming. The smell of his magic is burning in the air thickly like smoke. Immediately, all the blood in my stomach drops. I run up the last few steps and try to throw open the door, ready to attack Crowley knows what, but the door won’t open. There is something on the other side blocking me.

Why would Snow barricade the door?

Another sob slices through the air, so heartbreaking it makes the hair on my arm stand.

I pull out my wand and shout “As you were!” with as much power as I can muster and hear whatever was in front of the door move back to where it belongs. The door handle twists easily and I push it open with no resistance, but when the door swings open no one is there.

No one but Snow and his terrified screams ripping through the cold December air while books, pens, shoes and other miscellaneous objects whip around the dark and moonlit room.

There is no protocol for this.

Everything is flying around and Snow’s just thrown his arms over his face like he’s protecting himself. Snow has had nightmares before, but he always wakes up after a minute. They’ve never nearly gotten this bad.

His screams are making it hard to breathe. He looks like a fucking tragedy, sitting there, sobbing. But I don’t know what to do. Snow’s idea of me is someone who wants to kill him, I don’t know if he’d want me to help.

Crowley, I want to help.

I can’t take the look on his face.

He looks absolutely wrecked. His face is wet with tears and snot, and he’s covered in sweat, and he looks so...small. So terrified.

I can’t take this. Damn the consequences, I can’t let this continue. And I tell myself I don’t want to be burned alive if he goes off, that that’s why I’m helping him, but I know that’s a lie.

He’s screaming and screaming and someone is hurting him and—

I cross the room.

I grab the hand that is clawing his head; he is gripping it so hard.

“Snow,” I say, my voice is shaking. He starts swinging at my torso, desperately trying to push me away. I won’t let him, just this once I won’t let him.

“Snow,” I repeat, firmer, my heart is breaking. Why won’t he wake up?

“SIMON!” I shout. He freezes. I touch his sweaty hair, “Simon, love, wake up.”

Everything falls to the ground.

Simon

Mrs. Daniels is beating me, and it’s one of the worst I’ve had. I can’t hear myself scream anymore, I think I’ve gone deaf. I think she’s going to kill me with her long, spindly, daggered fingers. I don’t even care anymore, I think, because it will at least be over.

“Snow,” she says but it sounds far away, muddled. And I flinch, because this means another reason I don’t matter is going to follow when she uses my last name.

“Snow,” she repeats and her voice sounds closer now and deeper, her hits are slowing down significantly.

“SIMON!” and hands are touching my hair, but these hands are different. They aren’t needle point sharp and cutting at my skin. They are soft and safe.

“Simon, love, wake up.”

I open my eyes.

Baz.

Baz

Simons eyes open and he grabs the hand I have in his hair. Shattered eyes hold mine for a second before darting around the room. He is wheezing, panicking. I need to bring him back to the present.

“Simon, look at me, it’s me, Baz. You are safe,” his eyes settle back to me and I’m momentarily lost in the blue. Even in the dark room, they stand so stark and bright against the red of his eyes.

“You are safe, you are in Mummers House. Simon, love, I need you to breathe alright? Breathe with me. In,” I take a long slow breath in (my heart is pounding so fast), “and out,” I breathe out slowly for a few seconds. He tries to copy me, but his breaths come short. Before I really have time to let myself consider the consequences of what I am doing, I take his right hand with my left and bring it to my chest.

“In,” I repeat and try to get him to feel my lungs expand. “Out,” and I hope he won’t know how much pain I’m in seeing him like this.

Snow tries to breathe, I can see the effort, but it’s still too quick and I’m worried he isn’t going to be able to calm down. He needs comfort. He needs to feel safe.

Fuck consequences.

With my right hand, I grab him by the nape of his neck and pull him to me. His head is against my chest, and I put my chin on top.

“Breathe with me love.”

His hand rips out of mine and I think he’s going to push me away. I cringe, waiting for it. But instead his arms wrap around my waist and pull me into him. Tighter and closer than I’ve ever been. He’s shaking like a leaf. I can feel his eyes squeeze shut. His ear is in between my collarbones. His uneven, but slowing, breaths feel warm on my shirt.

In any other circumstances I would feel like floating in happiness, but right now I’m just so relieved he’s starting to breathe normally that I could puke.

“Breathe Simon, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

His fingertips are gripping my sides tight. When I speak he flexes them, like he’s reassuring himself that I’m real. I wrap my arms around him. He can take from me what he needs, if he needs my whole body, fine.

The smell of his magic is slowly starting to dissipate. As the panic in my chest dies down some, I feel a slight burning sensation on my rib cage and a buzzing in my head. He’s wearing his cross then, but frankly? If I wake up with a burn it will be worth it. Simon Snow is worth it.

“If you are real...” his voice is so quiet, so scratchy, but I’m startled by its appearance anyways. “If you are real, then why are you helping me?” and he starts to pull away. But I’m weak. I’m so weak and now that he has been here I don’t want him to go. And he still sounds so small, so afraid. I squeeze his back in the embrace I have him locked in, trying to communicate that I’m not letting go.

“Because you numpty, you were going to blow Mummers House to pieces, and I quite like my things not burned to ash.”

“Oh.” I feel him deflate. Nice one Baz.

“...and because you scared me. I didn’t like seeing you so afraid.”

I feel him freeze momentarily, then relax. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

Snow’s voice wavers when he speaks again. “I’m sorry.”

My eyebrows furrow.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess. And I probably got snot on your shirt. And now my nemesis knows how weak I am. And honestly Baz? I don’t want to be your nemesis. Not after this. Enemies don’t hold each other and and help each other breathe and call each other love,” I cringe at that part. “They just laugh at each other’s pain. And you aren’t laughing. Or sneering. I was at least expecting sneering you know.”

I realize what he is doing. He’s trying to diffuse the situation, act like it’s no big deal. Because Snow doesn’t like people worrying about him.

I say as much to him and he pulls his head, but not his arms, away and says with the most beaten down look on his face, yet he shrugs. “What’s the point in making people worry? They’d be worrying all the time.”

Snow and I have never been this open with each other. This in uncharted territory.

This whole night is uncharted territory.

“They shouldn’t have to worry, you know,” I respond carefully. “That shouldn’t have to happen. The Mage puts you on these ridiculous missions and you always come back covered in blood. And it’s not always someone else’s.”

I wait for him to defend his perfect Mage, but it never comes.

Instead he says, “Did you know the Mage puts me back in homes when the school year is through?”

The question catches me off guard.

“I didn’t know for sure… I assumed you usually stayed with Bunce or Wellbelove or someone.” He shakes his head and then detangles our arms, walks into the bathroom. I hear him blow his nose. It’s loud and incredibly unpleasant. He washes his face and hands. Dries them off on his pajama pants.

“No, he sends me away…” trailing off, going deep in thought. I can see it on his face, as his brow wrinkles.

“The care homes are pure shit. And a lot of the people that run them are not… good.” He wraps his arms around himself and joins me back at his bed. I sit on it. I see him consider me for a moment before he sits on it too. “A lot of them are abusive. There is one in particular. A lady named Mrs. Daniels, she was the worst. She would beat us to the point of hospitalization and then say it was the other kids. The day I got my magic, she had attacked me so violently that I genuinely wondered if I was going to die.”

I feel my blood boiling throughout my whole body but clench my jaw shut. Now is not the time for me to talk. “I thought that if I was just big enough, if I had enough power, I could push her away. That she wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore. I screamed and screamed and at one point my magic just… bursted through me. Through the rooms. It’s shattered the windows of the house and destroyed some of the walls. She passed out and I just. I ran. I was battered and bruised and I had a broken arm. I spied from the street corner to see if she would be okay. Because even though she had tried to kill me I was worried about her. Anyways...that’s when the Mage found me. He found me mucked up and damaged. He gave me fancy medicine in a swirly purple vial that healed me up right quick and told me a story about a prophecy and a world full of magic. A place that I belong, that I would save. For a kid who had been told his whole life that he would amount to nothing, that he would never matter, that was some pretty spectacular stuff,”

“But see, then I got here. I showed up, feeling like maybe, maybe for once I mattered. I was supposed to save these people from some unspeakable horror. But I finally got here, with a hope for a happy life surrounded with people like me, and I didn’t fit. I had too much magic. I couldn’t—I can’t speak well and I don’t have any idea what’s going on half the time. I do what I’m told to do and I kill what I’m told the kill. And then the year is up and he just,” his voice breaks and it makes my heart drop. “He just leaves me. He drops me off for a summer of hell. He doesn’t care. I’m just his pet. He sees how I come back every year. Thin as a doornail and covered in bruises and cuts and he doesn’t even care. Scars are something he is so used to seeing on me that it doesn’t matter if it’s from a goblin or the person that’s supposed to feed and home you.” A tear falls down his cheek and I’m too stunned to wipe it away. Simon has never spoken this eloquently before, especially not with me around. I frustrate him too much. Now here he is just bleeding out these words and it’s kind of incredible that he hasn’t stammered once in this whole story.

“And it doesn’t even fucking matter because I’m back and ready to go, so ready to please and have someone be proud of me for a fucking change that I just. Do as he says. I follow blindly. Then he gives me back to people like Mrs. Daniels. He is the one person in the world that I make proud, and I’m just a trophy for him. Something shiney to show the Counsel so he can show what progress he makes, but once he is done with me, I’m done away with til he needs me again. Unreachable.” The tears are slowly streaming, and his eyes snap up to reach mine from their previous position of staring at his hands. A bitter laugh fills the room.

“And now I’m telling you, the guy that I’ve been destined to kill, destined to be nemesi with, about all of my personal problems.” I look him in the eyes, before I even consider speaking. I try to convey to him that my walls are down and I don’t hate him. That tonight changes things. I was never going to kill him, I was always going to let him kill me, but maybe, just maybe after tonight, we won’t kill each other. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope for a better alternative. So I try something risky.

I grab his hand.

I lace his fingers through mine.

“Snow—”

“Simon,” he interrupts me. “You called me Simon before.”

“No I didn’t.” I snap back. Or rather try to. It’s a half-bark at best.

“I like it better when you call me Simon. Snow is what people who don’t care call me. And after all of tonight, after all this,” he gestures around the room with our interlaced hands, “you can’t tell me you don’t care at least a little bit.” I pause for a second before I respond.

“Simon,” he smiles and it’s brilliant, “you are a fucking nightmare.” And I grin at him.

And he grins back.

“And you have no idea how much you matter, and not even in the world saving way, but in the day to day normal aspect. Penny glows with pride every time you do some small heroic action. Like last week when you punched that homophobic fifth year in the nose for harassing that gay couple in his year. Penny shined like the damn sun,” I squeeze his hand slightly, “I did too.” Simon looks up and I avoid eye contact.

That’s a conversation for a different night.

“You push your way through every situation and you radiate this… this goodness in everything you do. You just want to do right by everyone. And while that isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” I meet his searching gaze, “you need to do right by you first. Do what makes you proud. What makes you feel like you are doing something right.”

“I want to stop the Humdrum.” He immediately answers. I smirk.

“So do I.”

“I don’t want to be enemies.” He is jutting his chin out. There is no winning when he does that and we both know it. That is the marker of an immovable Simon Snow.

“...I don’t want to be enemies either,” I admit, so quietly, so nervous at revealing this hope.

But his eyes widen and his mouth opens a little and he says “You don’t?”

And I laugh a little, because I feel slightly dizzy at everything that’s happened in the last hour and it all doesn’t seem possible, but, beyond my wildest dreams, it is.

“No, Snow—”

“Simon.”

“Simon, I don’t want to be enemies.”

“Brilliant.” And it’s a full toothed smile and I feel my cheeks cracking because we are smiling at each other and holding hands and sitting on his bed and he’s okay he’s okay.

I look at where my alarm clock is supposed to be on my nightstand and see it not there. Then I look at the floor. Objects are haphazardly scattered around the room and it looks like a bloody train wreck. All of our books, homework, pens, shoes and clothes are scattered across the floor. I can’t even begin to imagine how disorganized it looks with the lights on.

“You know,” I begin “our first activity as non-enemies should be to clean up the mess you made.”

“Right now?” His voice is filled with exasperation.

“No,” I respond and stand up. “Tomorrow. But we should sleep. It’s probably nearing two in the morning and we have classes tomorrow.”

He’s suspiciously quiet as I cross the room to grab pajamas from my drawer. I turn around and raise an eyebrow.

“Simon?” His mouth quirks slightly.

“...as my non-enemy, can I ask you a favor?” He asks, his voice unsure. I roll my eyes but nod.

“Can you…can you sleep with me tonight?” I stop in my tracks to the bathroom, slightly panicking. He cuts me off before I get the chance to respond. “That nightmare freaked me out and you just. You pulled me out of it so easily. I immediately felt safe once I heard you in my dream. I just…for tonight, can you stay with me? We can push the beds together if you want but I think we’ll fit okay on mine, unless you prefer yours. If you even say yes, that is.”

His big doe eyes are pleading up at me and I feel my heart tug. I don’t think I physically or mentally have the strength to say no to anything he asks me right now.

“Okay. Let’s go to mine. Yours is all sweaty.” And I shut the door behind me because I don’t think I’ll survive if I see him smiling at my suggestion to get into my bed. I take a deep breath and pray to whatever deity is out there that I make it through this night alive, and then I change into my pajamas and go back out.

Simon is all tucked up in my bed facing the wall. I get under the covers and face toward the ceiling. I’m nervous. But then I hear Simon’s breaths pick up and I place my arm over his.

“Simon?” I ask quietly. He turns his body to face me and his eyes are watery.

“Sometimes the nightmares are too much.” He says it short. Like he is scared but like it’s no big deal. Like he’ll get over it. I pull him toward me gently, giving him opportunity to say no in some way, but he doesn’t. He throws his arm over my torso and lays his head on my shoulder. The buzzing of his cross is gone and I think about what that means, how he must of taken it off when I was in the bathroom and the thought makes my head spin.

Now we are proper cuddling and I can feel myself blushing but Simon is safe and we don’t hate each other and Snow took off his cross and I literally could not care about anything else.

Until he lifts his mouth to my ear and whispers “Goodnight, love.” In a mocking tone which re-confirms he heard me call him that earlier. And now I’m really blushing and spit out a quick shut up and I’m cursing everything alive for the fact that I drank so much blood tonight because that will definitely be a problem in the morning. And even though it’s cruel humor, I can't help but smile.

Because Simon is safe.

And he’s holding onto me.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #basilton pitch #basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #rainbow rowell #nightmare fic #8th year au #my fic #there will be a chapter two

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