"Baz."

"Simon." Snow's sitting on top of his kitchen counter, a kale salad balanced precariously on top of his knees. He's facing me as I stir the tomato soup and add a sprig of basil (Simon loses it whenever I do because "Bazil").

As a Pitch I might have grown up with maids and cooks, but my father made sure that I knew enough about food that I'd never have to eat one of those "disgusting microwave meals" at university. Simon can't cook to save his life, and Bunce is out, so I'm the only hope we've got.

"I'm going to be a vegetarian." I can't help but snort and roll my eyes. There's no way Snow could be vegetarian. He lives for food. I think he would leave me to date a joint of roast beef if that was remotely possible. And then he'd cheat on the beef for a cherry scone.

"I can't tell if you're joking or just being dim witted. Knowing you, it's probably the latter." We've been together for a year, and I still find it hard to not insult him, especially since he gives me so many perfect opportunities. Snow rolls his eyes, but continues.

"I'm serious Baz. And I have method in this madness." I tense up, method in this madness is a spell, but Simon obviously can't cast it anymore, he doesn't seem to mind though. "I know you have to drink Baz... but, um, how much?"

I almost drop the spoon in the soup. I know what he means by drink, but we never talk about that stuff. I count on Simon not to ask. I glance up at him and he's got this look on his face, like he's trying to act all casual and breezy, but behind the facade is genuine concern. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. Simon's not inconsiderate, but he's not a big thinker.

"Do you really want to talk about this?"

"I mean, I just thought since you, you know, kill things a lot," Snow winces, clearly his mind and mouth don't like to coordinate. "Maybe I could balance you out, by like, not killing things." (Simon's started to say like all the time - he's basically a teenage girl).

"What's that supposed to mean? Look Snow, if this about you being uncomfortable, we can just ignore the fact that I'm a… vampire."

"No." And I'm surprised by the conviction in his voice. "I never want things to be like that again." Merlin, me neither.

"Well then what do you want?" I hate fighting with Simon, because it reminds me of the six-and-a-half years of experience we have with it. "It's the only way I can keep you safe Simon! Don't you understand?" I'm running my hands through my thick hair, grappling for words that are still unformed in my head. I've never had to explain this before, the constant wanting and thrum under my skin.

Then Simon's walking over to me. He peels my slender fingers from the spoon and intertwines his blessedly warm hands with mine.

"I never want to go back to those days." I hope my face isn't showing the relief I feel. "You're a blood-sucking vampire," Simon squeezes reassuringly when I grimace, "but you're my bloody brilliant and devilishly handsome vampire." Then he brings his face so close to mine that I can count the speckles of green in his eyes.

"Snow…" I drawl as his lips gently brush over mine, a grin tugging at his mouth, forever teasing.

"And I wouldn't have you any other way." I finally let myself smile as Simon pulls back and runs those beautiful hands through his matted curls. As I stare, he grabs the remainder of my ham and cheese toastie, sits back onto the counter, and takes a massive bite.

"You're so gullible." Snow smiles seducingly with his mouth full (mind you, he still pulls it off). I narrow my eyes and stride over to him.

"That is my ham toastie. Make your own." I wait for him to explain, but he just grins. "What was the point of all that then?"

"I wanted to get you to talk. To me. And I'm sorry I had to do it that way but desperate times call for desperate measures," Bastard "And my plan clearly backfired…" Snow looks unsure for a second, then he looks back at me with a dazzling smile. "Also I'm a ridiculously good fibber."

A smirk escapes me, "I've never known you to be the casual lying type. Or maybe I'm just a bad influence." Simon laughs daintily. Then this beautiful boy looks at me, and I think he's trying to look apologetic, but I ignore that because all I can see are his hands twisting around mine. Simon swallows, touches his grubby palms to my cheeks and pulls me into him. I've forgotten how soft his lips are in the minute they're been apart. The sandwich taste is definitely new though.

"Or maybe you've just never caught me."