A/N : As you should be aware all rights to the characters/world used in this story belong to Rainbow Rowell.
Simon put on his pyjamas and fell into bed. I would use something like "slipped", or, "floated", to describe how he got into bed, but it just wouldn't fit. Simon Snow is not an elegant person, he's more of an…'elephant' person.
Simon thought about what his room mate, Baz, was doing, as he gazed up at the ceiling. He'd mumbled as he walked out the door that he was going to 'get some fresh air', but Simon knew that he was really going hunting. Simon wondered if Basil's hair was falling in loose waves over his cheeks right now, or whether he had possibly tied it back to get it out of his face while he drank. 'Does Baz ever tie his hair back,' he thought, 'well, he would look stunning if he did.'
And then Simon abruptly stopped himself thinking about that, as Baz was his mortal-enemy after all, and you really shouldn't think things like that about your enemies. At least, that's what Simon believed.
Basilton thought about Simon, as he stalked through the catacombs, looking for rats. 'Is Snow asleep?' He wondered, 'Are his lips curling into a smile as he dreams? Or is he tossing and turning, stuck in another nightmare, one about the night he and Bunce were taken by the Humdrum, probably?' Baz wished he could just give Simon a comforting hug, every time this happened, he wished he could just hold him, then maybe even kiss that little mole above his cheek. But, unlike Simon, Baz didn't stop himself thinking these things. Baz thought like this often, it was what kept him going, thinking about the very alive Simon Snow.
Back in their room, Simon fell asleep with a smile on his face. He had been thinking about Cook Pritchard's roast beef as he drifted off.
Baz slipped into bed a while after, feeling much better than when he'd left. He hadn't consumed any blood for two days before the eight rats he'd drained tonight. He rested his head on his pillow, and fell asleep gazing at Simon Snow's gentle, sleeping form.