Baz:

I let myself into the flat.

It's blessedly empty, as I expected. Simon and Bunce both have their last examinations today.

Mine were yesterday.

I believe I showed remarkable restraint in not coming over last night. I wanted to see Simon but distracting him before his last exam would have been poor form. Not to mention Bunce would most certainly have bitten my head off.

She's an absolute terror when she's studying I've discovered.

I didn't know her well enough before Eighth Year at Watford and as she didn't come back for second term I never had the chance to experience her end of term behaviour first hand.

She's fucking terrifying.

I hoist my bag of supplies onto the countertop of their small kitchen and question myself again as to why I didn't just do this at my flat. It's far more spacious.

But my place is also far more sterile. I don't mean clean, although it's certainly tidier and far more sanitary than Simon and Bunce's kitchen.

It's warmer here. Not temperature warmer but more lived in. They actually use it far more than I use mine so it feels less stark. More welcoming. More like a home.

I can cook, if I must. I'm not like Fiona who would likely expire on the spot if forced to fend for herself without take-away. Daphne's all right. She always lets the staff off for the holidays. It gives her a chance to muck about in the kitchen herself on those days. She's quite keen on it-even without magic-and honestly, she's quite good at it.

It's never held my interest though. Until now.

I've got all my supplies tidily set out on the countertop and I rummage in the cabinets for mixing bowls. I brought my own measuring cups and spoons. I wasn't confident they'd have what I needed.

I'm not planning to use any magic for this. I'm going to do it all myself, because I want to, for Simon.

I'd rung Cook Pritchard a few days ago, when the idea struck me. There are likely recipes on the internet of course but really what's the point of that? It wouldn't be the same, would it?

If I wanted to make Watford sour cherry scones for Simon it only made sense to get the Watford recipe. Hence the call to Cook Pritchard.

It had taken more wheedling than I expected to get her to part with the recipe.

"You aren't the first student to ask, Mr. Pitch," she had said. "It's a Watford favorite but I don't hand it out to just anyone."

Pointing out that I wasn't 'just anyone' would have been counterproductive at that particular moment.

It seemed I would have to resort to begging. "it's not for just anyone," I had said, my voice softening. "It's for Snow. Simon Snow."

I had heard her little intake of breath across the phone line and I knew I had her attention. I may have had an in with Cook Pritchard, being Natasha Grimm-Pitch's son, but no one appreciated the food at Watford more than Simon and Cook knew that better than anyone.

I had continued, pressing my momentary advantage. "He's finishing his first term at uni. I thought it would be a good surprise for him to come home to a platter of Watford's sour cherry scones when he's done with exams. Would you share the recipe just this once, Mrs. Pritchard?"

She had emailed it to me within the hour. I am still coming to terms with the fact that Cook even used email. It was not something one thought about in regard to the Watford faculty and staff. Professor Bunce must have eased the restrictions on electronics and set up WiFi when she took over as Headmaster. She's never far from her laptop so it must have been one of the first things she did. After getting rid of the blasted merwolves, that is. She's got my vote of confidence for that alone. I hate the merwolves.

So now I was here, in Simon's flat, preparing to make the famous scones for my boyfriend.

I like the sound of that. Boyfriend. My boyfriend.

I would do anything for Simon.

Penny:

I'm done with exams before Simon, which isn't surprising, but I'm too knackered to wait for him. I need a shower. I want to curl up on the sofa and watch stupid, mindless movies with him tonight.

And Baz, most likely. He is sure to make an appearance tonight, after staying away yesterday.

Good thing, too. Simon is utterly incapable of focusing when Baz is around. Oh, I know he claims Baz helps him study but it's rubbish. I've seen how he looks at Baz. He can't keep his eyes—or his hands—off him.

To give credit where credit is due—Baz does try to help. He actually does help Simon study for some of his classes. He's a stern taskmaster when he chooses to be.

But then he starts "rewarding" Simon for a job well done and I have to retreat to my room before it turns into a bloody snog fest, which it invariably does. Baz is as bad as Simon when it comes to the looking and touching.

I hear the music as soon as I open the door to the flat. How did Simon get home so early, I wonder, until I stop to actually listen to what's playing.

My suspicion is confirmed when I enter the kitchen to find Baz washing up dishes as Kishi Bashi plays from his phone.

I really have my doubts about vampire hearing acuity when he startles as I come up next to him.

"Bloody hell, Bunce!" he snaps, glaring down at me as he picks up the bowl he dropped. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"You're the one who's supposed to have the preternaturally enhanced hearing," I say, frowning at him. "Or is that only in regard to Simon?"

Baz points to the sink, which is still running, and then to the small speaker on the counter next to his phone. "Running water and music, Bunce. Even I can't hear you sneaking up on me over that."

"Wasn't sneaking," I retort. "It is my apartment, after all. You're the one who broke in."

Baz rolls his eyes. "It's not 'breaking in' if I have a key."

The scent has hit me now. The kitchen smells divine. I stop fussing at him. "What have you been doing?" I ask, bending down to peek into the oven.

He bats my hand away before I can open the oven door to look.

"All in good time, Bunce, all in good time," he says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Simon on his way?"

"Should be shortly. What are you up to, Baz?" I've taken in the bags of flour and sugar on the counter, the bowls and measuring cups in the drying rack and the heavenly aroma wafting from the oven. "You've got a nicer kitchen than we do—why did you drag yourself and all this over here?" I ask.

It is telling that Baz blushes before he speaks. Of course he does.

"I wanted them to be warm, when Snow got home. And not by magic."

"Wanted what to be warm?" I inquire.

He rolls his eyes at me again right as the oven timer goes off. He doesn't answer me-just turns to pull on oven mitts and I'm a bit dazed for a moment at the sight of such a domestic looking Baz. I don't notice what's on the pan until he puts it on top of the stove to cool.

They're scones. Cherry scones. Of course. My chest tightens and my gaze softens as I look at Baz.

He's flushed even darker than a moment ago and his eyes are riveted to the floor, not meeting mine.

"They smell fantastic," I say. "They look just like the ones at Watford." I bump his shoulder with mine. "You are such a sap, Baz. He'll love it."

Baz smiles down at me. It's such a soft look, more like the ones he usually gives Simon. "You think so?" he asks quietly.

"I know so," I say. "I'll have to snag one before he gets home—you know he'll eat them all, down to the last crumb."

He swats my had away again. "Keep your mitts off them, Bunce. Those are all for Simon."

Simon:

"What's for me?" I ask. Baz and Penny turn startled eyes in my direction. It's not often I manage to sneak up on Penny and I almost never catch Baz by surprise.

I'd heard the music and the low murmur of voices when I came in. I'm dead on my feet. I stayed up far too late studying last night and my last exam was a bear.

But I'm done and home now and my two favorite people in the world are here and there's a glorious smell in here that is tantalizingly familiar.

"Hey, Simon," Penny says.

Baz walks across the room to slip his arms around my waist. "Hello, love," he says to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I melt into his arms, only too happy to lean my weight into his steady grip. I rest my head on his shoulder as my own arms wrap around him

"Smells good in here," I mumble.

"I should hope so," Baz says. "I wouldn't have wanted all my hard work to be in vain."

I pick up my head to look at him. "You made something?" I ask and then look around the kitchen until I spot the pan resting on the stove top.

I freeze and then blink for a moment as I realize it's a tray of scones. Cherry scones to be exact.

"You made these?" I ask, pointing to them. "For me?"

"Who else would I make cherry scones for, Snow?" Baz says crisply. "I don't know of anyone who has as strong feelings for them as you do."

"Simon," I say, automatically correcting him as I drift over to the scones.

They look just like Cook Pritchard's.

I don't even know what to say. This may be the first time in my life I'm faced with warm cherry scones and I'm not immediately devouring them.

"Aren't you going to have one?" Baz asks me. "I think you'd be assured I wasn't out to poison you by now."

"Git," I say absentmindedly.

"I'll have one then," Penny says, reaching her hand towards the tray.

Baz bats her hand away and glares at her. "I told you, Bunce, these are Simon's. You can have one when he's done. Maybe."

"If he's left any," Penny huffs. "You know how he is. He practically inhales them."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," I complain. My tail lashes once then wraps itself around Baz's leg. I reach out for a scone. It's hot to touch still. I toss it from hand to hand.

Penny groans and hands me a plate and the butter dish.

I slather the scone with butter and take a bite. My eyes close and I could swear I'm back at Watford—the smell, the taste, the company. For just a minute I am back there, a ghost of a tingle in my fingers and a warm rush in my chest.

I slip my free arm around Baz's waist and look up at him. His cheeks have a dusting of pink and it goes all the way up to his ears. He looks soft and shy and open. I go up on my toes and brush my buttery lips to his. "Thank you, Baz."

His arm tightens around my waist as he pulls me closer. "Anything for you, love."

And I know he means it.

"If I have to watch you two snog in the kitchen then I deserve a scone," Penny says, snatching one from the tray.

"Then we might as well give you a show, Bunce," Baz says, turning to me. He rolls his eyes. I've grabbed another scone and am in the midst of eating it as he leans down to kiss me again.
"Incorrigible, Snow."

"Simon," I say, as I swallow the last bite and pull his face down to mine.