Part One: Frost

Simon

The flat isn't the same without Penelope. It feels lonely; colder even, or that could just be me. She left a few hours ago to visit Micah and his family in Chicago. She had been planning it for weeks, running room to room, gathering all her things. She spent the whole morning packing.

"Simon, which one do you think? Yellow or red? Simon? Are you listening to me?"

I glanced over to the doorway. Penny was standing there with two scarves; same print, same length. Did the colors really matter that much? She would look good in either; her hair now a prominent orange. She wore a light purple sweater, tucked neatly into her red skirt. Her socks were a wild pair, too many colors to necessarily count.

I shrugged. "Just take both."

Penelope furrowed her eyebrows as if my suggestion was preposterous. "I won't need two though. It'd be a waste of space in my luggage."

"Is it even snowing there?"

"Micah said it probably would."

"Then two will keep you extra warm." I said.

She sighed, then broke into a smile. "You do have a point there."

I smiled back and turned my attention to the window. It was snowing furiously. According to Penny, it was supposed to be the worst blizzard since 1991.

"At least twenty-six centimeters are supposed to hit London. I'm glad I won't be here to see it."

I felt her sit down beside me. She shifted herself closer and laid her head on my shoulder. "You're welcome to come with Simon. The invitation was extended to you as well."

I rolled the thought over in my mind again. It was a fun prospect; spending the holidays in America. However, I didn't want to intrude. Penelope rarely got to visit Micah. My presence would serve as a bit of nuisance if they wanted to…do that.

I nudged her with my arm. "I'll be alright here. You and Micah need some alone time anyways."

Penelope blushed and shot me an awful glare. It looked very funny with her glasses. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.

"Just what are you insinuating, Simon?"

"Nothing, nothing at all!"

"Simon," she began. "Are you sure you'll be fine? I know things have been difficult, since, everything with Baz…"

The laughter is gone.

How long had it been? A week? Two? For the first few days, he called and called, trying to get me to answer the phone. I ignored the ringing. Eventually, it just stopped.

Penny put her hand on my arm, urging me to look at her.

"It was just a spat Simon."

"A spat? Penelope."

She crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt against her skin. "Simon, I'm not taking up for him, but I think you both need to talk about this. It's just a big misunderstanding."

"And what am I supposed to say? I forgive you for dragging my coworker across the table and nearly killing him?"

"He is the jealous type."

"What right did he have? He told me that he didn't have the time for me. Conall invited me out for drinks. Did he think I was trying to spite him?"

"It is possible."

I lay my head back against the sofa and close my eyes. All I see is Baz. I miss him. I miss him so much I think I'm going crazy. It feels like our last year of Watford all over again, him missing for weeks, me, slowly deteriorating without him. Only this time, he hasn't been kidnapped by numpties and it's too snowy to go out and search for him in London.

"Crowley," I whisper.

"What was that?" Penny was back at it with the scarves.

"Nothing, Penny." I mumble. "Take the red one."

She ended up taking the yellow scarf. I sit at the table and stare out the window. I swish my fork around on my plate, mixing all the food together like a toddler. I have no appetite lately. Penny was scared silly because I was hardly touching my food. It's hard to eat with a lot on your mind. Putting a lot of food in your stomach doesn't seem to help. It's like I'm trying to fill this dead spot in the pit of my body. I watch the snow fall. It's coming fast, whipping past the buildings outside. I can barely see across the street. Everything is covered in a thick blanket of it, sort of sparkling like a big constellation. I stand up and discard the rest of my meal in the trash.

I think about Baz. He'd always saunter around the kitchen, lean against the counter with a wicked grin on his face.

"How many are you planning to eat?" He asked one day during breakfast.

I looked at him, meeting his grey eyes with my own blue ones. He wasn't as pale as he usually was that day. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his mouth formed into a small smirk. I picked up another scone and took a bite.

"As many as I want."

Baz slid his hand across the table and plucked it from my hand, taking a bite himself. His cheeks poked out, fangs protruding through his gums. His face was fuller, cute.

"I don't know how you eat so many of these. They're honestly nothing special."

He handed the scone back to me. His hand lingered above mine for an extended amount of time. I gripped his wrist and brought the pastry to my mouth. Baz immediately tried to retract his hand.

He spoke through gritted teeth. "What are you doing Snow?"

I smiled at him as I took slow, lingering bites.

"Just enjoying your service, Basilton."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. You're worse than my siblings."

"Am I?"

"Snow."

"Baz," I retorted jokingly.

The scone was gone, but I didn't want to let go. I leaned into his hand and placed a kiss on his palm. It was cold, like catching snowflakes on your lips. He cradled my face.

The thought of him, here in the kitchen with me, is unsettling. I dispel the memory and lean against the wall for support.

Hot water would help. A shower might drown out the thoughts.

Baz

I sip my tea and stare at the box. Daphne certainly outdid herself. She really didn't have to. The box is almost too perfect, wrapped up in a large silver ribbon.

Fucking Snow.

Wouldn't that be nice?

But, fucking Simon Snow and his nerve. Honestly, who does he think he is? Not answering my phone calls, that arse.

I stare into my cup. How long has it been since I've talked to him? Oh yes, twelve days exactly. I'm so pathetic for even counting.

He's in the wrong. I said some harmful things, I admit. I meant to apologize at dinner that night, until he blew me off for some bloke named Conall. What kind of fucking name is that? The name of Snow's coworker, or so he says.

I wasn't thinking that day, or I was thinking too much.

Why am I still angry about this?

Simon fucking Snow.

I grab my coat, the box, and head for the door. He must be home.

Why is it snowing so much?

Simon

The water drips down my face, sliding from my cheeks all the way down to my neck. It's hot but tolerable. I wash myself slowly, taking much longer than I really should. What else was there for me to do? I usually spend the day staring at walls, and when that became undesirable, I'd paced. I'd lay one hand on the phone, then remove it like I burnt myself, and repeat. I want to call him.

The stream of water begins to sputter, spitting drops down my back.

I turn the water off and reach for a towel. It's cool when I step out of the shower, almost familiar. Baz's touch was cool, collected. He never rushed. He took his time, as if we had all the time in the world. Where did that time go?

I dry myself and tug on a pair of trackies. I'm still warm from the shower so I decide against a shirt. I consider cracking open a window but then I remember the snow. The outside is opaque, unrecognizable. Perhaps it is going to be a terrible blizzard.

I go to the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. It's going to be a long night, but every night has been a long night since Penny left. The loneliness is starting to get to me. I should've went with her, maybe the trip would have put my mind at ease. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

Baz

The snow is seeping through my coat. This was a bad idea, a huge fucking mistake. I continue trudging through it, muttering a small fire spell to keep myself warm. Simon Snow is always hot (physically, of course) but his complaints about heat never ended. I'm sure he's standing in front of an open window at this very moment, tawny skin flushed amber from the cool air.

His flat is only a few meters away. I can barely see the sidewalk. Aleister Crowley, me and my charmed life.

I tuck the gift further under my arm.

When I get my hands on him, he'll be begging for me to kill him.

Simon

At first, I didn't hear the knock at the door. But then it turned into a persistent rap, and then harsh banging. I hurried to it and peered out the hole. My heart dropped to my feet.

I slid the chain and opened the door. There he was.

Baz, dripping wet, with white snowflakes in his hair. He almost looks like an angel, a very unhappy one. It was hard for me not to break into a smile. He pushes past me into the flat, dropping a box on the table. Part of me wants to tackle him, kiss him, but the other half wants to punch him. I clench my fists. Baz turns to me but quickly glances away.

"For fuck's sake Snow, could you please put on a shirt?"

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part Two: Freeze will come shortly. Hope you've been snowbazzled!