In A Heartbeat

by Blue xo

He took the chance to show Baz what he felt, he cast out his heart to him. It was terrifying, but he did. He could only pray that Baz returned his. Little did he know, Simon couldn't have cast a worse spell to show his love. He never was good at magick, after all. One-shot based off the original short film; "In A Heartbeat."

(Please note)

Hey there.

So, I was inspired to make this one-shot after I watched the short film called In A Heartbeat on Youtube. It's an absolutely fabulous short film, excellently planned and made. I won't bother to explain the entire plot of the story, you can look it up yourself online, but basically, the storyline of the film made me compare the relationship of the two boys in the short film to our adored Simon and Baz, and I thought it fitted them perfectly. Now this fic is one based on that short film, with Simon and Baz and magic thrown into the loop.

I do not own the original storyline, or take credit for any of the characters, I simply only own my writing and time taken to write this, that is all; This is a fan made fic based of the original short film I saw. I do encourage you all to take a few to watch the film; it'll give you such feels, and you'll see how it fits Simon and Baz perfectly.

Now that the disclaimer is taken care of, all I have left to say is I'll be clearing up any typos within the next 24 hours, and do take care, wherever you are in the world.

Enjoy!

---

XxX

Simon

He took it.

My heart, that is.

It's taken me a while to properly figure out why my chest tightens when he's in the room, my stomach clenches at his voice, my heart ultimately soars at his name.

I thought my heart fell at his name.

It was supposed to fall, to crash and burn, because that's how this- everything- will end between us. It's written in the walls that we'll kill each other; one will remain standing, the other reduced to nothing.

By my heart didn't fall, and though I try to convince myself that it did, that it still is falling, I know it hasn't. It's fluttering, trashing in my ribs, and it wants to be heard.

It wants my love to be heard.

My love for Baz Pitch.

His eyes are the type you find at a calm lake, reflecting the overcast sea above it, the fluffy cotton lumps that are the clouds. But, you see, that's what so special about them; because every overcast sky eventually clears, it breaks to reveal the blue heavens, the blue depths of wonder. Of feeling. The the overcast sky clears, and then, and only then, I can see Baz. I can see into his own dead heart, and it's alive, alive, alive.

We've never gotten along together. We spit at each other in the halls, glower from across tables other at each other at breakfast (my view is from the rim of my sour-cherry scone, and Baz' is the rim of his coffee mug). We growl at each other from our trenches in our room (my bed being my trench, his bed being his trench). The bathroom is no man's land.

Chomsky knows I love no man's land.

Because in no man's land, I'm sometimes free to let my eyes wander to the crack in the door when Baz doesn't close it completely. And in that crack, I see a God. Marble skin -so much skin- lean stomach, and smooth, dark hair. He leans over the sink as he brushes his teeth, and those muscles gently tighten, gently ripple. I don't know how many times I've had to resist barging into no man's land and just take him. Make no man's land mine. Make all that skin, all that perfectly carved marble muscle, all of Baz, mine.

I figured this out when I saw him with Agatha in the woods.

And it's so strange. I thought that it would be Baz I wanted to rip apart for daring to go near my girlfriend. I thought it would be Agatha who stung me for holding his hands back, for staring into those grey lakes that she didn't appreciate.

But it was the opposite. It was Baz who stung me for looking back into the wrong eyes. In that moment, Agatha was a stranger, and Baz was everything I knew.

I suppose my heart has fallen, after all. It fell hard for Baz, that day.

I used to scold myself for letting my stomach clench with these feelings, for letting my heart flutter stupidly, for letting my mind think all these things about him. Because there's no way could he love in that way. Even remotely likeme in that way. Because he hates me. Because he's supposed to hate me.

But, was that time I saw colour rise to his cheeks when I spat my 'hate' for him in his face, when I stood so close to him that our feet were touching, a rosy blush? When I forgot our usual routine of changing in that bathroom (we never get changed in front of each other, it's an unspoken rule between us), didn't I see him bite his plump, grey lip, turning it almost pink, his eyes clear for just a fraction of a second, to reveal want? That time when he got so frustrated at me he slipped and called me Simon instead of Snow, in a tone of voice that I've never heard him use before? Soft, low, pleading.

We've thrown daggers at each other for the past eight and a half years of our lives.

But this time, I won't throw the dagger.

I'll finally cast my heart instead, and pray it doesn't meet a dagger head on.

XxX

He left our room this morning first. I woke up late. Straight away, I knew my plan of action was altered greatly already. I was supposed to meet him at he gates, I was supposed to finally confront him first, when the morning was quiet and lazy with sleep. I was supposed to be the one who stood tall, who took away his extra three inches over me and let him look up at me.

I shoved on my uniform, running a hurried hand through my curls. I had decided the night before that no matter what, I'm not backing away from what I plan to do, no matter how ugly things get. So I cast What the heart desires. I let my magick take control, I let my magick sing for me. Swinging our room door open, I take off, magick pouring out of me in waves. Even my magick wants him. Everything that is me wants him.

I take the shortest route I know to the inner gates; Baz always takes the long one to pass time (but I know it's so he can compose himself before he walks into a hall full of alive, pulsing people, full of life, full of blood). I get there before him, but only just. I'm out of breath, everything is becoming golden and hazy from my leaking magick, my magick that's been triggered by exertion and anticipation.

I'm not composed. I can't face him like this. I can't tell him like this.

So I hide.

The paths at Watford are lined with ancient oaks, and in this moment I am eternally grateful for them. They are my cover. They can quietly shadow me while I settle myself.

I hear him walk by, and the air carries the scent of his minty cologne. My heart flips.

I need to see him.

I'm stealthy; my body is slight from underfeeding at the care homes I'm shoved into every summer, so climbing the old tree proves to be no problem for me. I could've cast Float like a butterfly, but Baz would hear that, he would sense that. He is a vampire, after all.

Through the thick branches my eyes scan the ground below me.

And I see Baz. I see him.

He's twirling his wand in one hand (I couldn't do that without blowing my, or someone else, bollox off), doing these graceful flips with it into the air, and reading his ancient looking Greek book.

And he looks so beautiful.

When the sun hits his face just right, it casts the most perfect shadows across his features, especially his cheek bones, and highlights other parts softly, like his brow bone. He walks with an air of pride, with a sense of purpose. Because he's Baz fucking Pitch. But I love that walk. I want my heart to beat to the timing of that walk.

I want my heart to-

I hiss as my head collides with bark.

I bite down on my lips and try to swallow the pain. What's a bigger matter, a bigger problem, right now, is that he's heard me. Me and my stupid big head.

In my attempt to get a better glimpse of Baz through the dense green, I hadn't noticed the lower branch hanging above my slow head, until I managed to hit it. Now Baz, with his extra sensitive vampire hearing, has fucking heard me, and I'm terrified. Just as he whips around on a graceful heel, I scramble around the wide trunk of the tree to hide, my heart trashing wildly in my rib-cage, going thump, thump, thump, like it wants to be heard. Like it wants Baz to hear it.

Then I remember.

I remember what I had cast.

'What the heart desires'.

And right now, my heart wants to be heard. It wants Baz.

I quickly glance down, and almost fall in shock from my hiding crouch to the unforgiving ground from what I see; A heart shaped, well, heart, is quite literally beating, trashing, in my chest. I panic, ushering it to be quite. It's beating outwards, getting louder and louder and-

I clamp down on it, covering it with my hands and willing it back into my chest. I can feel it's strong beats pulsing against my hands, can feel it protesting against it's containment. I wait with bated breath, biting my lower lip so hard I almost draw blood. I wait for Baz's sneer to echo through the morning air, to call out that he knows it's me.

But he doesn't, and I hear him turn around once more, though judging the gait of his steps, uncertainly.

I release a heavy breath, letting my head fall back against the wood. Thank magick the trunk's wide enough to hide me and my dumb ass-

I gasp as my hands start jerking outward, the heart- my heart- fighting to break free. No, I panic, Stay quiet, stay quiet, stay quiet-

And than it is free.

It's not literally my heart, more like a plushy and cute thing that girls would awe over and draw at the sides of their exam papers. But it's a damn representation of my heart, and as it turns around with a goofy smile on it's face and wide hopeful eyes, I realise that I couldn't have cast a worse spell. It giggles at me, an airy, feathery sound, and it points with it's tiny arms at my love, at Baz.

"No!" I whisper, shaking my head vigorously, "Come here!". I reach for it, and it latches, with a tiny finger, onto my much larger one, and starts to pull against me.

Towards Baz.

I continue to shake my head in denial for five more fruitless seconds, the tiny thing pulling at me with the power of a elephant, until it finally seems to lose grip on me. I fall back, hitting my head with a bang for the second time in the space of a minute against the bark. And my heart goes soaring.

I've always wanted my heart to soar for Baz. But just not quite literally.

My heart travels in the air, spinning with a surprised and dopey expression on it's pink face. It flips, turns, twists and spins in it's flight as it soars…

And lands right in the middle of Baz's hand.

The little thing shakes the daze from it's eyes, realizing it's current position, and I watch in horror as it swoons. I watch in horror as it's smiley mouth puckers into a kiss, it's wide eyes flutter close, and Baz stops in confusion at the different weight in his hand.

I watch in horror as his head turns.

In two long strides, and with speed that I never knew I had, I charge forward and snatch my heart out of his hands.

Only a millisecond before I grab it though, the damned thing moves first.

And instead, I end up grabbing Baz's hand.

We're frozen; me in horror, him in shock. His grey eyes are wide, his grey reaches confused as he glances down at our entwined hands. His is cold. So cold. I snatch snatch my hand away from his, though, like it's on fire, and meekly grasp my other hand with it. Not knowing what to do with them, swooning. Like the stupid, lovesick idiot I am.

I shake myself from my stupor though once I spot my heart floating around his raven locks, besotted with him. I need to get it back. Screw What the heart desires; I want my heart back.

I lunge forward, wildly flailing and grabbing at the thing. Come back, for Crowley's sake come back! I internally scream in my head. I can see Baz frowning in bewilderment, his head twisting side to side as I scramble around him. But there! I've almost got it. I just need to-!

I jerk to a halt, the squishy nuisance in my hand (Baz did always say I'm annoying. I guess it reflects in multiple ways).

But I jerk to a halt… millimeters from Baz's baffled face.

My hands are stretched out behind him, and I'm balancing dangerously on one toe.

Oh, but Crowley.

I'm so closed to him that our noses are almost touching, so close that I can see each individual, dark lash framing his grey lakes, so close that I can feel his breath, it too being cold, cooling my flushed cheeks. A single curl falls from my mop, and it brushes gently against his cheek. We're frozen, but I want nothing more than to stay like this. I want nothing more than to press my wanting- no, aching, pleading, lips against his cold ones. Baz has this unbelievably fuller and enticing lower lip, and I cannot stress how much I want it.

But the moment passes, the spell breaks, and reality comes crashing down on my shoulders. I can hear voices approaching, I can smell other people's magick, and I know that I need to leave.

So I do what I do best; I hide, again, for the second time today. And how classy; I hide in a trashcan.

From inside the stinking metal container, I can hear footsteps walk by, the cruel laugh of Dev and Niall as they great Baz. He laughs along with his minions, but it's laced with uncertainty, unsettled. He must usher them on, because I hear only two sets of feet walking away instead of three. And Baz's minty cologne stays in the air. I can still get it from inside the bin.

And then I realise how unbelievably awkward my situation is. This was not how my confession to Baz was supposed to go. This was not how my spell was supposed to work. Everything was meant to be so much smoother than this; I was supposed to be the one who stood up to Baz, I was supposed to be the one who made him look up at me, make him see my love for him (and, all going well, he'd return it).

He was not supposed to look down on me, especially not in a fucking trashcan.

I'm cursing myself, trying to hold my breath to stop inhaling the bitter-sweet smell of rot, trying to shush my heart squeaking and giggling in my hands.

Then I hear him.

"...Snow?".

His voice is small, laced with dazed uncertainty, disbelief. As if he imagined the the past forty seconds. As if he had been hallucinating.

I want him to believe that, so he can bloody leave, and then I can leave to trudge back to our dorm in shame.

Some God, somewhere out there, must be looking over me, because the morning bell for classes sounds across the grounds. There's no way Baz would hang around to stare at a bin when his perfect grades were waiting for him in class. So, thankfully, I hear his uncertain steps carry him away.

When I'm sure it's safe, I peer over the rim of the bin, searching for any sign of him.

I see him, but he's much further away from me now, almost to the steps of the Weeping Tower. I heave a sigh of relief.

But my relief is short lived, as my momentarily forgotten about heart suddenly sails out of the metal container, one tiny, frighteningly strong hand glued to my finger, dragging my along with it. For a heartbeat I can't find my footing, but once I do, I find myself fruitlessly pulling back on my determined, love-besotted heart. It's like I'm pulling back on the leash of an Alsatian and it. Won't. Bloody. Stop.

I'm about to collide with Baz again. I've only just escaped facing his disgusted stare (he's bound to be disgusted with me). I can't ruin my chance to get away now.

So with a mighty heave, we (my heart and I), swerve meters from colliding with Baz. I'm about to smile in triumph when the stupid thing squeaks in surprise and effortlessly whips us around again, charging back towards Baz. It's got one hand stretched out, hearts in it's eyes, and I know that I'm screwed.

It's all I can do to squeeze my eyes shut and pray that Baz won't set me alight for running him over with a charmed heart.

But, maybe I've got nine lives.

Because, miraculously, I'm saved again.

A large stone lies in my path, and goes unnoticed by my heart. I skid on it, and I'm sent catapulting into the air, soaring, soaring, soaring.

I'm soaring closer to Baz.

I think I'm about to crash into him.

But I'm soaring over his head. The tiny heart reaches an extra tiny finger out, and with the tiniest of touches, brushes Baz's locks.

I'm-

I crash in a heap on the ground.

My ribs crack sharply on impact, my breath knocked from stomach, and I wince in pain when I inhale.

It takes a moment for reality to come back to me. It takes a moment for my situation to come back to me.

It takes me a moment to realise the I'm not holding my heart anymore.

With a grunt, I roll onto my knees, and I watch helplessly as the tiny thing trails stupidly after Baz, the large door of the Weeping Tower shutting after my heart squeezes in behind my love.

Well, fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I scramble to my feet, shaking my head in denial as I charge up the steps to the Weeping Tower, to where Baz would have by now discovered my secret.

I burst through the doors, heaving from the pain in my ribs and exertion in my lungs.

And, for the third time today, I freeze.

Baz has been knocked to floor, utter bafflement (and to add to my horror, disgust) etched into his features. My heart, my bloody heart, is squealing in delight, rubbing against his cheek ( I suppose it mirrors the action I've always wanted to do). One grey eye is closed, the other open, and he's staring at the charmed thing like he's dreaming, like…

Like he…

Like he can't believe what he's seeing.

Like a question has just been answered for him.

But I'm too panicked to think that thought over, and instead I rush to him, roughly grabbing at my distracted heart. It's taken by surprise, and it's own form dismay darkening it's smitten features. It's wide eyes look at me, and then at Baz, before it screws them shut and starts to wriggle. It manages to pop one hand out of my grasp, and with it's own tired heave, reaches back for Baz. My heart manages to two find one of his fingers, and it holds tight.

And then, time stops.

I'm caught.

I glance around me, still heaving with exertion. But then my breath catches when I register the looks of shock and disgust on the faces of gathering people. They're looking at me, looking at us, like we're something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe, like something the cat dragged in.

"Isn't that the Chosen One?"

"Isn't he with Agatha?"

"He's gay?"

"But they hate each other."

"So weird…"

"Gross."

"What the hell?"

And I'm crushed.

But as I turn back to Baz, nothing breaks my heart more than what I see next.

His eyes are staring frostily at me, anxiously swiveling left and right at our murmuring audience. He's not saying anything. He looks at his polished shoes, brow twitching, emotions waging a war across his face. I know that one emotion will have won when he looks at me again. It will have claimed his handsome, perfect features, it will have claimed his heart. And it will decide whether or not it's giving him to me.

So when he looks up, I don't know why I'm heartbroken when I should've expected the sneer tugging at his lip, his low brows furrowing to darken his stormy eyes. His heart to reject mine.

My heart meets a dagger.

In a heartbeat, I know I've lost.

And so, fighting back the stinging tears in my eyes, I pull.

My heart squeaks in pain, desperately clinging onto the both us. Clinging onto false hope. My magick is leaking; everything's going hazy and golden.

A crack splits down the middle of my heart.

It's eyes pop in pain, my pain, before squeezing shut again, silently squealing as the crack continues grow. It's breaking, breaking, breaking.

I cast the final blow; Every little heartbreak gone unheard.

And then I'm stumbling backwards and running in a haze of gold and despair.

Out the large doors, half a heart in hand.

Running, running, running.

XxX

I don't know what I expected.

That he'd smile, and pull me into his strong, marble chest, in full view of all those who would look down on us, and he'd kiss me softly with those cold lips of his. That he'd return what I so openly let him have.

That I'd get what the heart desires.

"Fool.." I whisper, "You fool." And I'm not sure who I'm talking about.

I lean my head against the old oak, and it seems to droop it's branches around me like it's embracing me, like it's trying to comfort me. Trees are special, they listen to emotion, and offers it's own form of reassurance back. It's a nice thought. But I'm not in the mood for nice thoughts.

I don't bother to fight back the tear that wells and spills from my eye. It's hot and it stings as it rolls down my cheek. I glance down at my hands, and whimper as I take in the lifeless half of my charm, my heart. I never understood the term "heartless", until now, cause I bloody well feel like it.

Why, Baz?

Couldn't you have just taken it?

Couldn't you have just accepted it? Even if you didn't return yours?

Couldn't you have looked at me, with any eyes, any tug of the lips, other than the one you gave me? Other than that sneer, that disgust?

Couldn't you?

I sniff and numbly let my head slip to one side, sighing shakily.

But then there's someone there.

I look up, blinking the pained tears from my eyes, and he's there. Him.

With a face clear of emotion, two hands cradling something to his chest, he stares evenly at me, dark locks swept away from his face. He's taking small steps towards me, like the ground is a minefield, and one wrong move will send him skyward.

Or light him up like match, being the vampire he is.

I sniff and wipe my nose with my sleeve, lowering my gaze. I can't look into those lakes. I never want to look into those lakes again, now that I know that there's a sheet of ice over them, and it will never break.

A shadow darkens my sight, and I know he's standing in front of me. I alter my gaze ever so slightly, and his pristine shoes stop a few centimeters away from me confirm his position.

I won't look at him. I won't.

I can feel him stoop down to his knees, and I mentally harden myself to prepare for the cruel lashing of his tongue as he spits his disgust for me. I can take it. I can take anything at this stage. Because nothing will compare to a physical heartbreak.

But the building barrier in my mind pauses it's work as I feel cold hands clasp mine. My eyes jerk to look at them, and I immediately tug them away. I can't let him touch me. I won't let him touch me.

I expect him to back off, to say something, but he doesn't.

Instead he advances again, slower this time, gently reaching out for my trembling hands. His touch is so cold, but so soft, so gentle. So tender, that I almost look at him. I don't though. Not yet.

My broken heart is open and vulnerable in my hands, but I don't worry for it. It's not like it can break anymore.

But then, oh but then, he does something unexpected.

He opens out his own hand, and pushes the other half of the heart, the one that stayed behind with him when it broke, together with my half. He cups my hands, gently squeezing. And in a heartbeat, it's mended, it's alive.

Warmth comes back to me in a rush as the goofy smile of my heart returns, and it floats up to my shoulder. I heave a breathy laugh, stunned. My heart is healed. And Baz fucking Pitch, who broke it, mended it again.

I tense as a cold hand cups my cheek.

Startled I whip around to face him; he's knelt down beside me to sit with his back against the tree, mimicking my position. Despite my jump, he doesn't remove his hand.

It takes so much willpower not to, but I lose. I always lose to Baz.

I look into his eyes.

And there's no ice covering them, but vulnerable, grey water underneath.

I gasp, and my breath hitches. He's looking at me. At me. There's no sneer tugging at his lips, no frowning brows. Just a clear canvas, a canvas that's slowly slipping into a painting of want.

Baz's thumb gently draws a circle on my cheek, and he slowly pulls me to him, grey eyes flicking up and down between my own eyes and my lips. My lips? He couldn't be looking at my lips..

But he is, and he licks that lower lip of his. Then he swallows. "Simon…" he whispers, still looking at my lips. His emotions are a mess on his face, out of control, but the biggest one I can see is fear. And then I realise; he's never called me Simon before. Never Deliberately

His face is inches from mine, and with a breathy, shaky voice, he whispers;

"In a heartbeat."

And then, his lips brush against mine. Carefully, tenderly; the lightest of touches.

It's like he's testing to see if I'll go off, if I'll ultimately kill him then and there. But when I don't move, he presses his lips against mine again. With more force this time.

Baz Pitch is kissing me.

Crowley.

And then I take action.

I take his face, his beautiful face with it's perfectly carved features, into my hands, and I kiss him back. I run a hand through his dark locks, I kiss and gently pull on that lower lip that I've wanted to make mine for so achingly long. I find myself craving more and more of him, so much that I end up in his lap, and the extra contact makes him sigh into my mouth. And it's fucking amazing.

When I feel like my lungs are about to burst, I pull away, panting slightly, His breath is labored too, but he's smiling, one hand in my curls. I wonder how long he's wanted to touch them, run a hand through them, like I've wanted to run my own through his. His smile is stunning, surprisingly gentle, and it reaches his eyes.

I blink in surprise, though, when I feel something wedge it's way between out chests; My charmed heart is snuggled between us, smiling sleepily up at us. I can't help but smile back, and only look up when Baz calls my name again. "Simon…" he says, unsure how to continue.

So I do.

"Baz."

That's all I need to say.

Because although I'm unsure of how everything will play out between us, how everything will work out between us, somehow, I know, that in a heartbeat, everything will work out.

In a heartbeat, everything will be OK.