Simon Snow sleeps in as tight a ball as he can get, with his shoulder hunched right up, his head tucked down and his limbs curled up, protecting his chest. In this light he looks otherworldly, his tawny, mole covered skin almost white and the crush of golden curls spilling across his pillow shining subtly. A breath of wind through the always-open window makes the curtain flutter, allowing a brilliant white shaft of moonlight to illuminate our room.
As I watch, Snow shifts slightly and his face comes into view. I stare at his lips for a minute, wondering how they would feel. If I'm going to do it, I have to do it now. I carefully push back the covers and creep out of bed. I stare at him for another moment, and then lean in. His lips are soft and slightly chapped but feel absolutely wonderful beneath my own. I fight the urge to continue and pull away. Snow sleeps like a log, the petrified sort; he doesn't wake up during the entire process. I suppose I should be grateful for this, but I feel rejected.
For all of our first year, Snow and I got into scuffles in the halls, rolling around and scratching at each other's faces. We were always spelled apart by the teachers, but the hatred in our scowls was almost palpable. Whenever we were in our room together the tension was extreme and the only thing stopping us from beating each other to a pulp was the Roommate's Anathema, neither of us wanted to be expelled, we loved Watford to much. But then summer break came and despite the freedom from him, there was this knot in my stomach that would not go away.
When I came back in September, I realised what it was, I had been missing Snow and all his bloody goldenness. We still fought that year, but my heart wasn't really in it, though Snow didn't seem to notice. I tried to ignore him, but he was always on my mind, always in the corner of my eye. He was the Mage's Heir, and I was the eldest son of the Old Families. We were supposed to hate each other, but I couldn't bring myself to. It was at the end of the Spring Term that I realised I liked him. He had just saved the school from a flock of hippogriffs, admittedly destroying half the football pitch in the process. As he was walking away, flames still licking along his blade, the Sword of Mages, a beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and caught his face. He looked so gorgeous in that moment that any other thoughts slipped my mind. All I wanted to do was kiss him, but he was totally ignoring me, thinking only of Agatha Bloody Wellbelove.
We left the day after, but I spent the whole summer longing for him. That summer was the worst, not only did I grow to hate the way Snow made me feel, but the thirst manifested itself as well. I came out to my father, and he honestly seemed much more disappointed by my queerness than my being a blood sucking vampire. When I got back to school he was already there, and I honestly wanted to kill him. Our fights that year got more intense, our occasional scuffles from the previous years turned into full on brawls. Eventually I tried, and succeeded, to push him down the stairs. I think that that was the day that Snow realised how much I hated him.
Snow has never let go of that fight, which means that no matter how much I hate it, we still keep pushing each other closer and closer to the edge. For the past two years my only solace has been creeping on him as he sleeps. Until tonight, now I have a kiss I can remember. He's rolled over again, and I watch the muscles shift in his back as he breathes until I fall asleep.