A/N: once again, I have no beta and all mistakes are my own. I am most decidedly not Rainbow Rowell, for I do not live in Nebraska. Anyhow, let's get on with it, shall we? Hope you enjoy.
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Simon
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I'm just practicing spells for Elocution in our room. Baz is off at football practice, the tosser, it should let out soon. I'd rather practice my magick when he's not here, Chomsky knows he'd tease me endlessly.
Miss Possibelf-well, at least Penny-will be at my heels if I don't get this one down, and the worst thing that could happen with this one isn't much, unless "What your heart desires" sends a load of scones flying up from the kitchen. It's supposed to summon what you want most, and I don't know what that is, if not scones. Parents, maybe?
Or it might send Agatha up, though I haven't spoken to her in days so I don't bloody know why it would. I'm not bitter, in all honesty, I don't feel much of anything at all towards her lately. She's the one I'm supposed to want, though.
I square off my shoulders and try to draw my magick up from a well inside of me, slow and steady, and I can feel it pouring through my core into my wand, hungry and ready to cast. I've got so much to give it and nobody knows why.
"What your heart desires."
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Baz
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I'm at football practice about to make a goal when I feel a pull. A smoky, grass-green pull that smells like bonfire and cherry scones. Snow.
My foot has just connected with the ball when I veer to the right and take off running towards Mummers. I'm not even trying, it's like my stupid vampire feet in their stupid cleats have a mind of their own.
I take off across the courtyard, Coach Mac, Dev, and Niall jogging to keep up and yelling after me, but it's like I'm a bullet now, I've been shot and can't stop until I rip a hole through my target.
They must have given up, because the shouts and pounding footsteps fade away as I sprint up every bloody flight of stairs that lead to our room, throwing the door open with a jerky motion of my traitorous hand.
"Out of practice early?"
He looks surprised, utterly confused, and if the flush in his cheeks is anything to go by, guilty.
"No, I was just about to score a goal when my feet decided to have a mind of their own and drag me here, so Coach Mac'll be pissed, thanks to you."
I sneer and furrow my eyebrows at him.
My eyes dart around the room, scanning for the culprit, and pinpoint on his wand, still shimmering with sparks.
"Crowley, Snow, what did you cast? 'This town ain't big enough for the both of us?' Planning to drag me out into the Wood, are you, have a proper duel and finish me off once and for all?"
I'm seething and my heart is fluttering like a flibbertigibbet burrowed it's way in, but I squish it down into some dark crevice where it can't be reached.
"No, I-I," he stammers, his curls on edge, bouncing every which way. He's a bloody mess and I couldn't love him more.
(Unfortunately, I've a terrible time showing it, mostly due to the fact that I have to pretend I hate him. Stupid feud).
"Use your words, Snow."
"I-I cast..." ,he begins, and then mumbles the spell in such a way that I can't make heads or tails of it.
"What, Snow? What in Crowley's name did you cast that possessed my body and summoned me here?"
I toss my hair and keep my chin up, striding over to his bed. He's wringing his freckled hands like they're the neck of a chicken he's particularly biased against.
"Snow. What. Did. You. Cast."
I'm fed up and confused and running on the adrenaline that comes from being too close to the sun, and breathing in his magick, his scent.
His head snaps up and his blue eyes are made of fire and I can't look away.
"I cast 'What your heart desires', but I must have botched it terribly, because, Merlin and Morgana, there's no way I could ever desire you, you prick!"
He storms out of the room, slamming the door, and I remember why I always regret getting too close to the sun. It's euphoric in the moment, even when we're fighting, but it burns, it always does, in the aftermath.
I think about what the spell could mean, if the bastard cast it right, and then I curse myself for getting my hopes up. The sweet disaster butchers half the spells he casts, what's to say this wasn't another botched one?
I sigh and lay back on my bed, lumpy goose feathers poking me in a comfortable sort of way. By tomorrow, this'll all have blown over, and Snow and I will be back to business as usual.
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Simon
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It hasn't blown over. Wispy steamers of sun have begun to peek through the window, and I've barely slept a wink.
I don't think I botched the spell (when you screw up half as many as you cast, you know when it's right), and I don't know what that means. That my heart would desire him, that is. Also I'm a tad worried that Coach Mac will have my head when he finds out I was the one who took Baz out of practice.
I stole Penny's (contraband) mobile to do some research, and my head was left swirling with stuff and nonsense by the time Baz had gotten back from the Catacombs, presumably, and I quick snapped it shut so his vampire eyes wouldn't see the glowing screen in the dark.
I don't want him (or anyone) to know that I might be...I dunno, not straight? Bisexual? I've liked Agatha, sure, but I mean, when there's a fine bloke with his ebony hair in a bun and his muscles shifting under a tight soccer shirt in close proximity, you kinda...rethink things.
Even if he's been nothing but a complete prat to me for as long as I've known him , which makes the whole "desiring him" thing stupid, in my opinion. Why would I like someone who obviously hates me?
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Baz
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I thought he hated me. My eyes are wide open at this ungodly hour, and I'm going to be a wreck in class today.
He shifts under his sheets, bronze curls pooling out around his blanket burrito, and all I can think about is that he might like me.
As though I'm some sort of pathetic schoolgirl who swoons the moment their crush walks in the room.
Pitches don't swoon.
He springs out of bed, rummaging through his dresser for his uniform, and glances about furtively before stalking to the bathroom.
I groan and peel my limbs from my bed one at a time, getting dressed as fast as I can. I want to be removed as far from this painful situation as quickly as possible.
(Even if he did like me back, would I be brave enough? Or would I live up to everyone's expectations by sneering and pushing him down the stairs? I'd do about anything for him, I think. )
I stroll down to breakfast, because I'm not prepared to see Snow's face until I'm armed with something hot and toasty and at least one cup of coffee coursing through my bloodstream.
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Simon
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We avoid each other all day, catching each other's eyes over scones, test papers, and impromptu games of football in the courtyard.
I'd think he wants to know what it means, that when I summoned what my heart wanted, it brought me him, but maybe he's too disgusted with me to ask. I don't know what I'd tell him anyways.
But I want to know, I want to be close to him again. I want him under my thumb (I think I always have), and so I block the door as he's about to head out (to hunt, he knows I know, but I don't have proof). He frowns at me.
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Baz
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"What do you want, Snow?" My voice takes on the exasperated tone it always has when I'm with him, the mellow notes hidden from years of practice.
"Don't you want to know?" He's biting his lip, worrying it between his teeth, and it takes all of my willpower to keep from stammering when I speak.
"Know what, Snow?"
"What-what the spell means?" He's jutting his chin out, tawny arms crossed over his jade-and-violet pajamas. At least he's wearing a shirt this time.
"Not particularly. Now if you wouldn't mind, I have business to attend to, and I need you to move."
"No."
"Snow. Please move."
Self-restraint. Emotionless mask. Perfectly composed. I can do this.
"I know you're going out to-to hunt."
Even though I know that he's known for years, my blood still runs cold as ice (it's already cold and dead anyhow). This is ridiculous.
"Your point is? Move, or I'll spell the door open."
"Can we just talk about it? Please?"
I sigh and my remaining resolve crumbles. I can wait fifteen minutes to feed and figure out what Snow wants, I just want be done with this misery altogether. And to kiss him (if he wants it), but that's not the point.
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Simon
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I'm relieved that he gave in, even though I don't know what I'm doing. I'll improvise.
I slump down on my bed, patting the space next to me and raising my eyebrows at him.
"No. I am not in any circumstance sitting on your bed. It reeks of whatever perfume Bunce wears."
He crosses his legs and poses elegantly on his bed, so I cross the distance between us and plop down next to him.
His nostrils flare and through the haze in my head I remember that he's a vampire and he hasn't fed yet. I figure we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.
He gestures at me, and I'm not sure what he's trying to tell me.
"You wanted to speak?"
"Baz, I-I...I know you hate me and you probably think I'm insane and disgusting and a masochist or something but I...I like you, I think. I'm bisexual and I think I really like you."
My words come out in a jumbled rush and I just poured out my heart to my sadistic vampire roommate and he's most likely going to kill me.
Stomp on my heart and squish the bloody remains as he laughs, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. Maybe I'm going too far, but this is Baz we're talking about.
But then his sharp angles soften, and he shifts so he's facing me, the moonlight playing with his hair as it falls in gentle swoops across his face.
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Baz
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He's making all of my walls crumble and I can't stop.
"Snow-Simon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being an arrogant prat and a bloody terrible roommate. For egging you on when I should've talked you down instead of pushing your buttons until you went off. I'm sorry for acting like I hated you when the truth is that I'd do anything for you but my family would hate me if I did (that's not an excuse)".
I don't know what I'm saying. I shouldn't be saying this. I should be storming out of our room and flipping him off and acting like a twat, because that's what I always do. That's what I'm supposed to do, and part of me is afraid of what'll happen if I don't.
I'm not supposed to sit here with him as he leans his head on my shoulder and tentatively reaches for my hand. (I give it to him, I'd give anything to him). I'm not supposed to cry with him as we apologize for all those years we spent fighting. I'm not supposed to catch his tears as they fall and lick them off my fingers (because I'm disturbed, ask anyone). (He laughs at that and squeezes my other hand).
I'm not supposed to ask him if I can kiss him. He's not supposed to say yes, and his lips aren't supposed to taste this good (because I'm a boy, and a vampire, and a Pitch, and we don't fall for other boys, especially the Mage's Heir, and he's so alive). We don't fall for boys who have a million kissable moles and a beautiful sense of honor and equally beautiful eyes that sparkle with laughter and a little bit of mania.
But I did anyway, fall that is, and he lets me. He catches me, and I swoon a little bit, even though I'm three inches above him. Always.
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Simon
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He used to look at me like I was the sun-he only made eye contact in frustration and anger, squinting at me and raising his impeccable eyebrows, only to miss me when I'd left, and watch me when I was hiding behind the moon, and sleep, he tells me later. He looked at me like it burned him (he is a vampire, after all).
Although he still looks at me like I'm the sun sometimes, usually when I use, "What your heart desires" to summon him (it's quite handy).
I watch the annoyance bubble up for a moment before it fizzles out and he plants a kiss on my cheek, and if he's feeling rather soft, or I am, wraps his arms around me.
Now, mostly, he looks at me like I'm the moon-all dreamy and bright and beautiful, someone to illuminate even the most pitch-black darknesses.
I can't believe he likes this better than fighting.