A/N: Written as a Secret Santa gift for sargentboxcars on tumblr! (From a prompt by bonetyhunter: what if Simon and Baz never got together at school and instead met on a singles bus tour of magickal England, like Simon references on page 18 of Carry On.) This is for you, sweetie! Hope you like it, and a very happy Christmas to you!

Thanks to carryonsecretsanta for arranging it all!

All rights belong to Rainbow Rowell and St. Martin's/Macmillan.

"On your left, you can see the famous Watford School of Magics," the tour guide announced cheerfully over the tannoy. He abruptly tried to modify his voice to something more sober. "This week marks the fourteen year anniversary of the great Christmas Tragedy. And in fact, ladies and gentlemen, we have with us today one of the-"

The man next to Baz shifted and Baz glanced over. He was trying to catch the eye of the tour guide, violently shaking his head so that his blond curls whipped and bounced. "No," he was saying with a quiet urgency, "no, no, no, please no."

The guide spotted him and stumbled. "Ah, er, yes, one of the former...students, eh, myself, you know, I went there, although, of course, it was before my time. The tragedy." He cleared his throat, smiled nervously, and bent down to the driver's ear. "Let's not linger this time, shall we?"

The bus drove on, most of it's occupants resignedly indifferent. Baz could not at the moment think of anything more depressing than a singles bus tour of Magickal England during Christmas week, and he silently cursed his aunt Fiona for making him go on one.

"You need to get out, B," she'd said over the phone. "Meet people. Meet a nice young man. All you do is work. Just be at this address on the 21st, and something fun will happen."

What had happened was that a tour bus rolled up. Baz was going to have serious talk with Fi about what constituted "fun," whenever this tour finally came to its excruciating end.

On the other hand, he wasn't having as bad a time as the bloke next to him. He'd been tense to begin with, but after the—whatever it was—with the tour guide, he was holding himself so rigidly he was vibrating. Baz could feel it in the seat.

"You all right, love?" he asked in a low voice.

"M'fine, yes, thanks." Liar, Baz thought, but he didn't press it. Grey and stilted winter countryside rolled past. The tour guide had subsided into the front seat until the next attraction.

"Basilton Pitch," Baz said, offering a hand. "Lawyer, and bloody sick of this tour already."

"Um. Simon." Simon stared at Baz's gloved hand and then shook it carefully. "Illustrator. And I didn't even mean to come."

"How'd you manage that, then? Kidnapped by a singles tour?"

"I'd had a ticket for a tour of the Lake District, but it got canceled and they offered me this instead. Only they said it was 'historic sites.' I wouldn't've come if I'd known." He gave an involuntary shudder and went back to staring at his hands, twisted into themselves so his knitted gloves rode up around his wrists.

"Not into magic?" Baz wondered if by some strange chance they'd let a Normal onto the tour. He wondered if there was protocol for that.

He couldn't sense any magic on this bloke at all. (He was cute, though.) (Very.)

Simon looked out the window past Baz, and Baz thought he was still seeing Watford going by. "I used to go to school there," he said.

"Did you? I was in Egypt for school, I never..." It dawned on him. "Were you there for...?"

Simon nodded, and then kept nodding. "I'm the reason it happened."

Aleister Crowley, now he remembered. Simon. Simon Snow. It had been all over the news, even in Egypt, and after he'd come back to England for uni it was an ongoing subject for several years.

The Mage's Heir. The trial. The boy who lost his magic, and wasn't he responsible in some way for all the dead spots? Great Suleiman, no wonder the poor thing looked traumatized.

"Penny's going to go spare," Simon said. "My friend. I maybe shouldn't tell her. She bought the ticket, as an early gift."

Baz was about to speak when the bus slowed and the guide popped up again, falsely chipper as ever.

"And on the right, we've got the Possibelf Arboretum. Part of a larger system of magickal woodland, this area is preserved-"

"Right, that's it." Baz stood up. "Do you like trees?"

"I...suppose?"

"Do you want off this bus?"

"Fuck yes."

"Come on, then."

He led the way up the aisle and clapped the guide on the shoulder, cutting him off mid-spiel. "Stretching our legs, old chap, back in a tick."

"Oh. Oh? Wait, sir, you're really not supposed to exit till the end of the tour!"

Baz waved over his shoulder and kept walking. Simon hustled after him, struggling into a furry-hooded parka.

"Are they going to wait? Are they going to make us get back on?"

Baz stopped and nodded firmly at the bus. "Carry on," he said, with as much magic as he could muster.

The bus brakes exhaled, and after a moment the tour bus wound away down the road. Baz and Simon were left standing at the head of a trail, breathing out puffs of smoke in the chill air.

"Wicked," Simon said, and smiled.

They walked. Simon pointed out trees that had a good shape for drawing, and got more than a bit excited explaining about ratios and things. Baz was happy to let him talk. He liked seeing him be happy. He liked looking at him, period.

Damn it, Fiona.

"Are we lost?" Simon asked, after they'd walked in comfortable silence for awhile.

"Hmm?" Baz roused himself and looked around. "I shouldn't think so. Paths and such. We just follow it back."

"We should probably do that, then. Getting dim."

They turned round and started back. Baz's confident assessment turned out to be less than true; it seemed they had turned at a crossroads on more than one occasion, and could not now remember which way they'd gone. Baz could sense Simon getting tense again as the sun sank unseen behind clouds and trees, and he cursed himself for not paying more attention to the paths.

"Wait here a moment, let me check this one," he said, when they reached another fork. "Looks a bit familiar, and if there's a map in a box up ahead, we'll be golden."

"'Kay," Simon said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

There was indeed a map box. Baz studied it by the light of his phone and calculated that it shouldn't take them more than ten minutes to get back to the exit once they were on the right path again.

"All fixed up," he called ahead. "If we simply-"

Simon wasn't standing where he'd been.

"Oi, Snow, don't wander off! Where'd you go?"

There was a muffled sound from the trees by the path. Baz stepped closer, bent down, peered through the branches.

Simon was sitting underneath a pine, a few trees back from the path, arms round his knees and rocking.

"Simon?" Baz lifted a branch and ducked into the green underworld. "What's happening?"

"Panic attack," he said roughly. "Thought I saw something. Triggered. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

"Hey, now, hush." Baz dropped down beside him. "I'm a right git, I shouldn't have left you. Hey." He wedged his hand into Simon's and squeezed. "It's all right. I know the way out now."

Simon nodded, but he didn't make any move to get up.

"Do you want to sit for a minute?"

Simon nodded again, and Baz settled in beside him on the deep carpet of needles, still clutching Simon's hand. He reached out and brushed his fingers over the short hair at his temple. Simon shivered, and dropped his head to Baz's shoulder.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Anytime, love."

The taxi driver was less than happy to drive out to the arboretum at a quarter to seven, but the fare back to the bus station car park—and a goodly tip—was more than enough to make it up.

They stood awkwardly together at the edge of the lot.

"I walked," Simon said at last, "so..."

"Oh, you live close?"

"Ish. Close-ish." He seemed to consider for a moment, staring around him at the lights of the city. "Do you want to come back with me? We could get a curry on the way."

"Sound perfect." Baz offered him his arm, like some kind of historical gentleman. "Shall we?"

Simon's flat was small and colorful. Bits of artist things were strewn on every surface. Simon tried to apologize for the mess, but Baz cut him off.

"I'm sure I'm worse at home, with sheet music everywhere and collapsible stands you can put an eye out on." He explained about the trio he had with his mates Dev and Niall, and Simon made him promise to email a schedule of gigs.

The curry was good. The company was better. Baz continued to curse Fiona half-heartedly in his head, but mainly because she'd be insufferable once she found out her devious plan had worked.

He'd gone on a singles bus tour, and he'd fallen in love.

That last thought jolted into his brain. Love? He looked over to where Simon was repacking leftovers at the kitchenette. He'd sat Baz down on the sofa with a portfolio from the last book he'd done, some children's fantasy series with magical creatures and faraway lands. The pictures were fantastic. The man labeling curry containers was kind of fantastic, too.

He set the portfolio down and walked over. Simon stood at the sink now, washing up, and Baz wrapped him in a hug from behind.

"Hello, there." Simon twisted his head round to look at him.

"Hello."

He went back to the dishes, standing comfortably in the circle of Baz's arms. Baz bent his head and pressed his lips to Simon's hair. And then to the mole just by his ear. Simon blushed, and bit back a smile. Baz continued to kiss him softly—throat, hair, shoulder—until Simon set the last dish aside. He dried his hands and then turned in his arms, reaching up and kissing him deeply.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, pulling away. "You can definitely say no."

"Okay..."

"Do you want to be a model? I mean, can I draw you? For the book I'm doing now. Only there's a vampire in it, and you'd be perfect."

"You think I look like a vampire?"

"A bit, yeah." He ran his hand back into Baz's hair. "A hot one."

"Is this a job offer or a come-on?"

"Kind of both, actually."

"Then, to answer," Baz leaned down and kissed him again. "I accept both."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Another kiss.

"D'you mind, though, if we did the drawing first? Just a sketch, but I'm late for a deadline, and-"

Baz laughed and kissed the top of Simon's head, and grabbed his hand as they walked back to the sofa and Simon's art supplies. "Drawing first it is. Carry on, love."