Why wouldn't all the forces in the known universe be conspiring against him? Baz thought bitterly as Simon followed him in the hallway outside of the classroom.
Baz could feel Simon's magic at his back, could smell Simon fucking Snow as he trailed him. Baz's pale hand clenched around the notebook he'd snatched off the desk at the end of class. They had been going to Waterford for years now and had tried to kill each other at least every other week, but this time Simon might just do him in. If one can die from shame at least. He really would rather die than let Simon Snow see the contents of this notebook.
Simon continued following and calling him and asking the notebook as they wandered out into the grounds. Baz's long legs moving quickly as his hair black hair was pushed mercilessly by the wind.
"Fuck off Snow!" Was all the reply to Simon that Baz could give in his present stat, his voice tense and a little breathless from his pace.
He hasn't been so obvious about it in ages. He was smarter than this. Being obvious and distracted in class and getting called out by the professor for it, he'd snapped his notebook closed so guilty even he found it suspicious. When Baz first took notice of his habit, it was in tiny doodles of S.S. doddles in the corner of pages as his mind wandered in his less interesting lessons. When bright hair and burning eyes were the vision behind his eyes instead of the teacher's board. Initials he marked threw in a panic when his consciousness caught up with his hands.
Other images were drawn with much more precise thought, when the truth of understanding and the depth of his feelings for the Worst Chosen One in the history of mages finally outpaced his denial and the level of absolute FUCKED, he was settled truly into him.
Sketches that were made from images that stayed in his mind of the nights before. The way Simon's hair curled around his forehead as he slept, the relaxed set of his eyes as he dreamt (of cherry scones probably). The planes of his chest without a shirt on since he was always so bloody warm and slept sans shirt almost constantly. To Baz's tormented delight. The slowly developing muscles that had grown on his form as he worked with the blasted Mage and his sword. The way his hair was a little long in between cuts and the moles on his collar and neck. (He refused to focus too much on Simon's neck though, vampire stereotypes.) The way his face lit up and the way his mouth pulled up into a smile over breakfast (Simon loved toast and butter). Sketches in the corner of his notes from class, some that took up wholes pages he'd been zoned out or unable to sleep and wanted to try drawing whatever particular form Simon had been curled into at the time. Baz thought he'd actually gotten fairly decent at it over time.
It was still a notebook full of a physical manifestation of every single way he was a disappointment to his family and his name. Sketches that in this instance Snow was being loud about seeing. Snow being the absolute fool he was thought this notebook had something titled 'The Grimm-Pitch's Evil-Mage-Destroying-World-Domination-Plan.' Baz snarled slightly, wishing it did, as Simon yelled louder and got closer behind him snatching for his wrist. Even something that pathetic and stupid would be less embarrassing than this. Nothing would be worse than Snow seeing the way Baz was so pathetically in love with him.
As they made their way into the forest Baz gave up hope that the Humdrum would be useful this once or that Simon might be distracted by Wellbelove or Bunce. Or a shiny coin. Anything but him in this moment. Knowing that there was no dignified way out of this, Snow would not stop chasing him, being loud, obnoxious, and demanding to see what Baz was hiding.
And Baz was a dramatic fuck if he was feeling honest.
Turning sharply to face Snow, who only barely avoided colliding into him halting and taking a half a step back. Without warning or preamble Baz promptly lit a fire in his hand and watched as it collected the pages of the book, dropping it only when he felt mostly certain that nothing could be salvaged from it. As his notebook burnt in his hands, the flame flickering on Simon's face making his bright eyes dance - Baz felt his heart break a little. He'd been proud of some of those. In some of his more far-fetched fantasies he'd dreamt someday he might be able to show them to Snow. Useless and impossible scenarios made by his stupid lovesick brain.
He shook the thought of his head as the sadness leaked more into his chest despite himself.
Typical really.
When wasn't Simon Snow breaking his heart?
Or some other part of him.
His nose once.
That hurt less than this.
Snow jumped back, anger blooming on his face as he realized whatever evidence he might have was now destroyed. For a moment he charged forward as if to hit Baz, Baz wished he would, but in a rare moment of self-restraint Simon shook his head and turned and walked away. Baz sunk to the ground beside a tree as Simon's figure disappeared out of the forest. Baz was leaning his head back against the trunk and pushed the feelings away (You can't cry here Basilton) who knows who is watching in the forest.
Propping his elbows on his knees, he tilted his head into his palms pushing on his eyes ever so gently. His hands still felt warm from the fire from moments ago. After a pause where he focused on the sweet chirps of the birds in the trees and the sheep in the field, the noises of the forest surrounding and comforting him. Baz slowly got up from his respite by the tree, the breeze had faded when he started walking back towards the school.
Fuck. Now he'd have go borrow notes.
