A/N: i had this fic started back when it was ACTUALLY the time of year for snow and then everything happened and this bad boy never got finished. but fortunately i started kicking my own ass into writing more and with the help and support of my wonderful friends, you now have this fic to read! enjoy mwah! 💋
Baz
Out in the cold and under a dark sky, Baz sunk his teeth into the neck of a fluffy white rabbit. He swallowed a groan as the warm, rich liquid gushed from the puncture wounds to his mouth, sliding down his throat and into his belly.
It had been much too long since Baz had fed. If he had waited any longer to sneak out of Mummers Tower and run off to the Wavering Wood, Snow probably would have made a delicious late-night snack. (Oh who was he kidding; that handsome, sweet-smelling fool was a whole damn meal.)
It was a funny game he played; 'how long can I suppress my most basic and primal needs as a blood-sucking vampire in exchange for staring at my stupid roommate's open mouth and warm skin while he sleeps.' A game that almost always ended with Simon eventually walking into the room and Baz immediately rushing out, terrified that he was one shove and bite away from devouring the boy he wanted so desperately. Today was one of those days.
Baz tossed the drained rabbit carcass into a bush and wiped his hands on his trousers. There was never anything on them-no blood or fur-because Baz had standards and knew how to not eat like a starved, wild animal, ahem. He felt starved, though. He felt starved and hungry and wild for more blood, more skin, more Simon. Everything he wanted was just . . . so much. And there was so much of it. It writhed inside of him.
Baz sighed deeply and craned his head up to look at the sky. It was a deep purple, and it seemed full, like something was pushing at the seams. A single snowflake danced and fell through the air, past Baz's nose and onto the frozen ground beneath his feet. Another swooped and fell onto his hand. Another brushed against his cheek. It was snowing. And from the looks of the sky, there would be more.
Baz stuffed his cold hands into his pockets and turned on his heel, making his way back to Watford, back to his room, back to a Snow that didn't touch his hand or his cheek, just glared at him from 5 feet away.
The lights of the castle glowed brightly in the night, drawing him back as he crossed over the football pitch. He glanced up to look at Mummers Tower, but the top was dark. Hm. Snow was perhaps already asleep. The thought of climbing into his own soft and lumpy bed, stretching out his limbs, and settling in to watch Snow sleep and turn and thrash around sounded quite nice. A small voice in his head chimed in to inform him that he was a miserable creep and would die alone in a ditch somewhere, and he kindly told it to shut the fuck up.
His breath was coming out in white clouds now, the temperature steadily dropping as small flakes softly pattered down on him. He quickened his pace, black hair blowing in the chilly wind, wanting to get inside the walls before-
A large thump came from behind him followed by a clumsy string of curse words. Baz whipped around to see none other than Simon Snow himself, sprawled on the ground about a hundred feet behind him.
Simon stared at him with wide eyes, looking up from his spot on the ground. A leaf was sticking out of his curls and there was a smudge of dirt on his left cheek. Baz wanted to lick it off.
Baz was about to open his mouth and let a few choice words tell Snow exactly what he thought of his late-night stalker routine but Simon interrupted him before he could.
"You-you're a vampire."
Baz went still.
Simon sat up and ran a dirty hand through his hair, laughing quietly to himself. "You're a vampire. I knew it. I bloody knew it. No one ever believed me and they always said I was being stupid for never letting it go but fuck, you really are!"
Simon didn't even have the decency to look scared. He looked excited.
"Fucking Merlin I can't believe I was right. Oh god, Penny is not gonna believe this . . . I can't even believe it. Wow. Wow. You're a vampire. Baz, you're a vampire I-"
He had been so careful.
Simon brought his knees to his chest and continued his breathless rambling. He was still sitting on the ground, snow falling onto his hair and arms and bent legs . . . Baz didn't understand why he didn't just get up. Get up and draw his sword and run Baz through. It would be quick. Snow wouldn't want to waste another second on him. A mercy killing, maybe.
Or worse-what if he wanted to spill to the Mage first and really make it count? Happily sprint to the Mage's side and point a finger. Watch as the Mage's Men dragged him out of the room he would get all to himself, sigh in relief that Baz's fangs and wand were about to be pulled and snapped.
Baz decided right then that he wouldn't go anywhere without kissing Simon. He didn't care how much he had to fight and make a scene Baz wanted to kiss him, just once, on those life-ruining lips. Then the Mage's brute squad could rip him away, Simon looking at him in horror or disgust, and drag his arse to the Council. To the Mage. To his father. To whoever. It wouldn't matter. That would be it.
"-the way you just devoured that rabbit I mean fuck, you really just went for it, like the whole biting the neck thing and sucking out all its blood, you really did that! I've never seen anything like it-your fangs are SO sharp how do you not constantly bite off your own bloody tongue I mean-oh heh didn't mean to say bloody but hey, I mean, it's kinda true-"
"What the fuck are you doing, Snow," Baz asked quietly, cutting him off. "What kind of a joke is this?"
Simon's cheeks were rosy in the biting chill, snowflakes glittering amongst his curls, and he looked windswept and alive. It was the worst kind of insult.
Simon gave him a confused look, "W-what do you mean?"
Baz couldn't believe it. He had finally been found out and Simon was . . . sitting on the ground. There wasn't a sword through his chest or a wand at his throat there was just Simon blabbering on about things Baz thought he would get killed for.
Baz leaned down and sneered. "Are you waiting for a fucking congratulations? Want me to slap you on the back and tell you how good of a job you did, Snow? You got me. You have everything you need to run away and finally rat on me. It's my word against yours, and I'm not the one they call the Mage's Heir."
Simon looked up at Baz with wide eyes, "I-I never . . ."
"What?" Baz spat, nails biting into his palm. "What could you never, Snow?" He was so cold. The snow was picking up now, swirling around him and Simon and slowly covering the ground in a layer of white powder.
Simon with scrunched eyebrows and red cheeks, punched out the words in a yell, "I never thought I would get this far!"
Baz couldn't help the way his mouth dropped open slightly as he stared at Simon. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Simon dragged his hands over his face and groaned. He shook his head, "It-it means that I've been chasing after your supposed vampire arse for years, Baz, and I've never found anything to solidly pin on you."
Baz narrowed his eyes and frowned, not wanting to believe that tonight could possibly be caused by some slip-up he made himself. How did Simon come up on him undetected? Usually the obnoxious wanker would have tripped over himself within the first five minutes of following Baz, therefore immediately alerting him to the other boy's presence.
Simon sighed and let his hands drop, looking off into the distance, towards Watford. "No one has ever believed me; not the Mage, not Agatha, not even Penny. It's been almost 8 years, Baz . . . And-and we're working together now! Well, sorta. And you've never said or done anything I could actually link back to my stupid 5th year theories and I just. I've been helping you. I am helping you-to find out what happened to your mum-and even so I still hadn't found anything."
Simon then visibly shivered and got to his feet, the spot where his arse was leaving behind a clear patch of ground. "I was beginning to give up-"
"Well then why didn't you?" Baz shouted, letting himself get riled up with anger and confusion. "Why the fuck are you here right now, Snow? How did your clumsy, moronic self even manage to sneak up on me? I've been avoiding you for-" Baz let out a small, hysterical laugh "-like you said yourself, almost 8 years. I've gotten pretty damn good at it, so please, please tell me how you did it."
Simon hugged his arms around himself and frowned, stalking forward until he was about a foot away from Baz, snow crunching as he stepped.
Simon shoved his face closer to Baz's. "I had Penny put a silencer charm on me and then once she left I boosted it with my own magick."
Baz put his hands on his hips and sneered, "I don't believe you. I refuse to believe that your magick actually worked for once."
Simon growled, eyes darkening as his lips curled into an ugly shape. "Well I guess you'd be bloody fucking wrong then, Baz, since I am standing here, right now, finally knowing exactly what you are."
Baz inhaled sharply and bit his cheek, refusing to feel any ounce of hurt towards the bitter heat that was added to the last of Simon's words. His heart ached so suddenly and deeply in his chest that he thought of clawing it out, just for a moment, for something of a blissful reprieve.
He swallowed all of it, pushed it down to the darkest parts of himself, and forced his expression to harden. He wouldn't break. The single, hot tear that ran down his cheek and dripped onto his collar was not a sign of breakage. It was just a small reminder that he hadn't shoved everything away fast enough. But it would be fine. Simon wouldn't notice, wouldn't care. It was terribly windy and the snow was only making it worse. He wouldn't notice.
Simon
Simon was about to slam his hands into Baz's chest and try to get some distance between himself and all the cruel things he was saying, but then Baz barely tilted his head and something wet glistened on his cheek. With the last bit of moonlight that refused to be covered up by the growing snowstorm, Simon could see a shiny tear track on the other boy's pale face. He stopped. The cold and the snow and the vampire all faded from Simon's mind, instead zeroing in on the now faint mark that Baz was crying. Had cried. Why was Baz crying?
Simon wracked his brain trying to remember a time he had ever seen his roommate show emotion to that point. There was a hint of something in his eyes when Simon had given Baz the picture of him as a baby but even then he didn't cry. Baz never cried.
Simon wanted to wipe it off. To get rid of it, to tell Baz to snap the fuck out of it. Simon didn't understand it and didn't know why he wanted to. It made him nervous and scared and Christ why was Baz crying?
Simon was about to ask him, despite the fact that Baz would probably not much appreciate Simon pointing it out, might even rip him to shreds if he cared to, when Baz spoke first.
"What now, Snow?" Baz asked coldly.
There was a light tint of red to the tip of Baz's nose and cheeks that Simon didn't see a lot. He wondered why. He was wondering a lot of things about Baz, and it was all very weird.
"What do you mean 'what now'?" Simon asked, annoyed, now shaking in the icy flurries of snow that were coming down even harder. "I told you how I did it. What more do you want?"
"You going to kill me, Snow?"
Simon's eyes widened and he instantly met Baz's stare. It was impenetrable, two lifeless grey walls shielding Simon from something he wasn't supposed to see. His cheek was dry now, probably by the wind. Simon felt his first, second, and third response die in his throat. It truly, honestly did not occur to him until the dark-haired boy across from him had said it.
Baz was a vampire. Simon killed vampires. Those two facts sat uncomfortably in his mind. Baz was a vampire, a wicked beast that sucked the life out of innocent people, a monster that Simon had slayed with his sword many times before and probably would again.
But Baz hadn't been eating a person. He had been eating a rabbit. And in the Catacombs-if Simon's 5th year midnight expeditions were good for anything-Baz ate rats. Simon had never seen any evidence that Baz had drank another person's blood. Simon's head hurt, so much thinking and considering, and it bothered him that this was the first time he was actually thinking about any of it.
Simon tried to keep his voice steady. He wasn't afraid of Baz, though, and he wondered if he should be afraid of that.
"Have you ever killed a person, Baz? To eat or drink or whatever you call it?"
Baz's answer was out of his mouth before Simon had even stopped speaking, "No."
"Then no, I'm not going to kill you."
Something flickered in Baz's eyes, a crack in his defenses, a way in. But then whatever it was disappeared, and anger swept in, lighting grey irises on fire.
Baz's voice was horrible and poisonous.
"So, you're going to the Mage then. To snitch on my monstrous existence and get the Old Families to tear me apart and leave me for dead." Baz shook his head and chuckled darkly. "I have to say I'm impressed, Snow. I didn't think you were the sort. But I suppose even I have to be wrong once in a while."
Simon felt Baz's words sink into him with an ugly sort of weight, and the cold was getting so bad Simon was pretty sure it had seeped into his bones.
He should tell the Mage. He had been trying to convince the Mage that Baz was a vampire for ages; to get Baz kicked out of their shared room and maybe out of Watford, but he had forgotten what it meant for a mage to be a vampire. Baz would be Stricken. His fangs pulled, wand snapped, all that. And, well, he and Baz weren't friends by any stretch of the word, but. They were on a truce. Simon was helping Baz find his mother's killer. Baz had a mum, who he rightfully wanted justice for, and he already admitted to Simon that he didn't kill people.
They were on a truce. Natasha Pitch had kissed his forehead, for her son. Her vampire son. For Baz.
And, if it was worth anything, he just didn't like the idea of Baz being violated like that. It didn't sit right in his chest. Baz was so strong and capable and smart and he always had been. And for so long, maybe still, Simon could never imagine Baz losing that. Not by his own doing, at least.
Simon didn't feel like that had changed.
Simon looked Baz dead in the eyes. He took another step forward, ignoring the snow storm that both of them were stupidly, stubbornly in, and stopped himself right before the tips of his shoes bumped against Baz's.
"No, Baz. I'm not going to turn you in to the Mage." Simon tried to put all the seriousness and truth he could into his words. They were on a truce. Baz loved his mother and wanted to do right by her. Simon was helping.
The flicker was back in Baz's eyes. He looked wary and suspicious and tired. Simon considered all of those better than the solid wall.
"You're not?" Baz asked-breathed almost, for how much Simon strained to hear him. He sounded confused and the flicker was still there and his cheeks were still lightly colored red. Baz's hair was a disaster of black strands flying around his face, wet from the constant snowfall. He sounded like . . . a boy. And he looked like one too. (Mostly.)
"No, I'm not."
The walls crumbled. Simon briefly thought about grabbing Baz's storm raged all around them.
Baz exhaled for a moment, and then immediately scrunched his eyebrows, a perturbed frown on his sort-of pink lips.
"Why the hell would you not-" Baz started to ask when he was suddenly interrupted by a loud, metallic groan and the sharp clang of iron on iron.
Both Simon and Baz whipped around in horror to see the inner gates of Watford closing and locking for the night.
They both sprinted towards it anyways, Baz's legs stretching with graceful speed, Simon not far behind.
Freezing snow whipping through his hair and thin blazer as he ran, Simon could not believe that he had been stupid enough to not realize how late it had gotten. He couldn't believe that Baz hadn't realized it either. The gates close at Watford every night, and both of them knew that. Had known that for almost 8 years. 8 years! Simon cursed himself and Baz and their frustrating habit of getting into fights and forgetting everything but each other.
When Simon reached the heavy iron gates he grabbed onto them and dropped his head,gasping in icy air. He couldn't believe that he was going to die of hypothermia, during a snow storm, with Baz fucking Pitch. Simon's whole body shivered and he pulled his blazer as tight around himself as he could, his teeth chattering loudly. Should have brought a coat, shouldn't have fought so long with Baz, shouldn't have followed him in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Something kicked the back of his calf. Simon turned around and came face to face with Baz, who looked thoroughly irritated.
"You cannot blame this all on me. We're both going to freeze to death so please don't feel like you're the only one affected here. The gates won't open till-"
Baz spoke in a clear voice, loud enough to be heard over the howls of the wind. "Snow. Shut the fuck up. As amusing as it would be to leave you right now and come back tomorrow to see your arse frozen like a cherry flavored ice pop, I don't think your precious Mage would appreciate me letting our thick-headed Chosen One die out in the snow, although the irony alone might be worth it."
"I would be happy to speed up your own freezing process and bury you out in the snow somewhere, if you want," Simon offered.
Baz glared at him. "Listen. I'm not dying out here. And," he said begrudgingly, "you're not dying out here either."
Simon just stared at him. Maybe Baz's brain had already froze a bit. With the way the storm was still picking up, dumping more and more snow onto their almost-frozen bodies, they wouldn't make it too much longer.
"Baz," Simon said slowly, making sure Baz could understand him past all the ice in his brain. "We are definitely going to die out here."
"No, we're not. I know a place we can stay to warm up and hopefully make it through this bloody freezing fuckfest of a storm."
Simon squinted at Baz as the constant snowfall made it harder to see him, even though he was clearly right in front of Simon. "I can barely see you, ya wanker, what makes you think you can get us anywhere in this."
"Oh for the love of Merlin's frozen arsehole."
Baz waved his hand in Simon's face and then extended it, his palm open. Simon took Baz's hand.
Baz tightened his grip, turned, and started walking back towards the Wavering Wood, yanking Simon after him. Simon's yelps were swallowed up by the wind.
It was so cold. No, it was so bleeding cold and Simon was being dragged through the woods like a dog on a leash and he had no idea where Baz was taking them and wow this really might be it for him. The trees were getting taller and the snow was biting and Baz appeared to be walking towards nothing.
"Do you have any bloody clue where we're going, Baz? I can barely see a thing," Simon yelled, trying to be heard over the howls of the wind.
"I wouldn't have hauled your miserable arse into the middle of the woods with me if I didn't, Snow," Baz shouted back.
Simon scowled and then felt Baz's hand tighten around his. Baz pulled sharply and Simon stumbled forward, growling about know-it-all gits and their directional skills.
Baz quickened his pace, weaving in between trees that looked more like dark shapes in the blinding storm, and Simon felt annoyed that he was being yanked around like a pull-toy. But he supposed that being annoyed and a little manhandled was better than dying slowly in the darkened woods.
They kept moving swiftly through the woods, wind and snow whipping through their hair and uniforms wildly. Simon felt his feet get tangled up in some underbrush and he yelped, tensing as he fell forward and waited to meet the frigid ground face-first but Baz already had his other hand latched onto Simon's shoulder and he smoothly yanked him back up. Simon's eyebrows furrowed as he stumbled on behind Baz, shaking as he forced his feet (though he could barely feel them) to keep moving. Simon grunted out a "thanks" as an afterthought. Baz didn't seem to hear him.
Baz finally stopped, albeit abruptly, and Simon crashed into his back. Baz dropped his hand and Simon squinted, trudging around Baz to stand beside him. In front of them was what appeared to be a mass of vines and vegetation twisted between two tall tree shapes but everything was getting blurrier by the second and Simon felt his stomach drop. Baz had led them to nothing and they were lost in the Wavering Wood and it was snowing so hard and it was so bloody cold and they were going to die-
Baz raised his wand out in front of him, taking a deep breath and then said firmly, "Look with your heart and not with your eyes."
Simon couldn't tell if it was the vines or the branches or the trees themselves but something was moving, sliding and parting so that a dark, crude archway formed and Baz lurched towards it, seizing Simon's wrist and pulling him along.
Simon immediately noticed the lack of snow from above as they moved through the archway and he jerked his head around to see that they were surrounded by leafy, twisted growth on all sides, appearing to be in some sort of tunneled walkway. Simon felt uneasiness climb up his throat and he sputtered at the head of snow-covered black hair in front of him, rearing his arm back so that Baz was forced to stop. "Oi, wankhead, where-where the fuck does this even go? I-I swear to Merlin if, if, if this is one of your plots to finally off me I'll-"
Baz spun around and snarled, looking at Simon with furious grey eyes. "One more stupid sodding thing out of your mouth and I will leave your arse here. I will. I'm right fucking tempted to as it is, Snow, so I really suggest you don't push it. We're both half-frozen and every second spent out here is another second we're not inside getting warm. Now let's go."
Simon bit the inside of his cheek and grabbed onto Baz's arm, not wanting to get left behind. Anything Baz threw at him had to be better than this. It was so cold.
They finally emerged from the leafy tunnel and walked back into the storm, Baz raising the arm Simon wasn't holding to shield his eyes.
"We're in the front yard. Just a little farther to the cottage."
Simon didn't reply, figured that talking and thinking about what the actual hell was happening right now would be loads better when they were inside somewhere, hopefully getting warm.
Simon couldn't make out any details but there was a dark, cottage-shaped thing looming in front of them. And suddenly Simon was climbing up a few stairs and Baz muttered another spell and the door was opening and both boys shoved their way inside before slamming the door shut against the storm.
Simon really could not see a thing but it was just the slightest bit less cold than outside and that was a start. That meant Simon might not actually die of hypothermia.
There was another harsh whisper from Baz and then there was a spark of light, slowly growing to a small flame cupped in Baz's hand.
For a brief moment, Simon was transfixed by the way the shadows and light played with the angles of Baz's face, snow dripping from the boy's dark hair.
And then Baz hurled the flame a little off to his left and Simon jerked back, "Oi, we just managed to escape freezing, I don't want to test my luck with fire ya mad shite-"
"I'm lighting the fireplace. Imbecile," Baz was now crouched by the fireplace, shoving pieces of wood that were piled off to the side into the small fire he had made."One more word out of you tonight and I'm kicking you right back into the snow, Snow."
"Ha, ha."
Sure enough, despite the frigid temperature of the cottage, fire light bled into the room and tinged it with warmth, causing Simon to sigh and move closer. Anything to get even the tiniest bit of feeling back in his limbs.
Baz crowded in next to Simon, both of them sitting down with their shoulders pressing together in front of the fire, water dripping off of their hair and clothes.
After a while, when he felt relatively thawed, Simon turned around and observed the inside of the cottage that had saved them from becoming ice cubes.
It was homey and cozy, from what Simon could make out in the low fire light, and hadn't been lived in for a very long time. Judging from the musty smell and the dust that covered everything, the two of them were the first ones to disturb this place. Two windows were on either side of the door they had entered through, dirty glass showing blurry whirls of snow outside. A large bed was pressed up against the wall a little ways from the fireplace and there was a small kitchen off to the side matched with a dining table. A door opposite from the kitchen could be an assumed bathroom.
It wasn't horrible, not in the slightest. Simon had lived in much worse. This was a lovely little place, even if it did have a bit of a crazy-axe-murderer-cabin-in-the-woods vibe.
Simon wondered, as he stood up and walked around the space, if Baz really was going to kill him. It was the perfect location; secluded, hidden, and the sounds of the storm would easily cover up any screams. Morbid, Simon thought to himself, but he actually wasn't that creeped out. Baz could have easily left him right outside the gates of Watford but he didn't. Could have left him anywhere along their route in the Wavering Wood but he didn't. Simon's prick-ish roommate went through all the trouble of getting them both here. Wherever they were. And that had to count for something.
Simon kicked off his shoes and decided to look around the kitchen, feeling quite hungry after his trek through the woods. Simon opened up the cupboards and frowned everytime he was met with a bare, empty shelf. The last cupboard at the end had a dusty box of crackers and some canned tuna which Simon grabbed and then set down on the table behind him. He found a can opener in one of the drawers and set to work on the tuna. Within a minute, Simon was munching on stale crackers and fish from a can at the table, his leg bouncing up and down.
After a moment or two, Baz stepped around the corner and looked down at him, scoffing. "Of course you found food and didn't bother telling me before stuffing your face. Where are your manners, Chosen One? This isn't even your cottage."
Simon put another cracker in his mouth and ignored Baz until he had finished chewing. "Uh, you already ate a nice, plump rabbit like, an hour ago, Mr. Fangs, or did you forget? Also, who's cottage is this? I didn't think you had real estate in the Wavering Wood."
Baz gave Simon a deadpanned look. The irritation was rolling off of him; it was almost funny. Simon snorted a little.
"I need real food too, you muppet. Don't pretend you suddenly know everything about me. And it's not my cottage; it was my mother's."
Simon's hand, which had been reaching for another cracker, paused. "Your mum's? Why?"
"It's a get-away cottage for the headmaster or headmistress of Watford. My . . . my mother used to bring me here when the weather got rough and we were stuck at school. Or when she had a day off."
Simon resumed scooping tuna onto his cracker and then ate it. He pushed the box of crackers towards Baz but he made a disgusted expression. Simon pulled the box back. Picky bastard. He swallowed, "Well then it's not your mum's anymore; it's the Mage's."
Baz's eyes narrowed and he curled his lip up. "It's not, because your mage doesn't even know this place exists. The cottage's location is passed down from headmaster to headmaster at the time of their retirement and replacement. Since . . . well that never happened and because my mother's enchantments are still here, that green puppet-clothed maniac either didn't bother to look or failed to find it." It was impossible to miss the pride in Baz's voice. "Either way, it's not his. This cottage is still my mother's." And then he got very quiet and his head fell a little. "Was my mother's."
Simon didn't feel like pushing Baz, not when he went quiet like that. Simon put up his hands in surrender, "Got it; your mum's. Doesn't really make a difference to me, if I'm bein' honest. We're outta that freezing mess and we have somewhere to stay tonight." Simon put his elbow on the table and propped his face up, staring down at his almost empty can of tuna. "S' not like the Mage needs one more place to run off to without telling anyone," he grumbled, not really talking to Baz. "Or me. Does that plenty as it is."
Baz didn't say anything, just stayed where he was for another minute before walking back into the main room and leaving Simon to his pitiful meal of fish and crackers. What Simon wouldn't do for some of Cook Pritchard's cooking after surviving through a literal frozen hell tonight with none other than Baz Pitch for company. Even scraps of Watford's food right now would be a bloody fucking dream.
Simon didn't dare think about the S word. He hadn't lost his mind, not yet, but thinking about those would certainly speed up the process. Crowley, he could be sipping tea at his desk and eating one right now-no! No, he was not going to do this.
Simon pushed back his chair and stood up, shaking the crumbs from his lap and placing the can and box on the counter before heading back towards the fire.
Baz was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, staring at the flame like it intrigued him, like he was considering something. Simon decided he didn't like that so he clumsily dropped to the floor next to Baz and rearranged his legs, making sure to bump into the other boy at least twice before stilling.
"Are you quite done?" Baz asked. "You are like a restless toddler. Or a dog going in a circle fifty times before settling down."
"Just making sure you didn't do anything stupid," Simon replied without elaborating.
Simon could feel Baz's stare on him like it had a physical weight.
Simon leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes, soaking up all the heat from the fire that he could, now that his hunger was mostly sated. He could feel all of his limbs and extremities once again, his hair was slowly drying off, and his clothes weren't soaked and half-frozen anymore.
It wasn't even half bad. The storm was still howling like a banshee with her arms chopped off (Simon should know) but it was warm in the cottage and he had eaten some food and the fire was nice and he wasn't all alone.
Simon opened his eyes and saw that Baz was still staring at him. He stared back. There wasn't a lot of space between them.
The fire crackled and snapped at the dry wood Baz had thrown into the fireplace and the gray smoke leisurely curled upwards, disappearing into the stone chimney.
Neither of them had said anything for a couple minutes now.
And then Baz spoke.
Baz
"Why aren't you going to turn me into the Mage?"
Simon blinked and continued to hold Baz's gaze. The fire bathed him in an orange-red light, dotted his freckles like cinnamon, and set his bronze curls ablaze. Baz bit his tongue and tried not to burn.
The question had been clinging to Baz ever since Simon told him that he wouldn't expose Baz for what he was, to the man he had been trying to convince for years. It hung off of Baz, threatening to bring him to his knees. What was this? It wasn't loyalty. It wasn't innate fucking kindness. Their truce was still fragile, a little more solid after that night of pushed magic and stars, but nowhere near strong enough to support this big of a secret.
Simon shrugged and Baz wanted to wring his neck.
He was about to say so too, about to demand an answer since there was nowhere to go and nothing to do except sit in front of this fire with inches of carpet between them.
But Simon spoke before he could.
"Why did you bring me to your mum's cottage?"
Baz huffed and felt frustrated. They had already gone over this. "Because I wasn't going to let you die," he said, as if it was obvious.
And then Baz realized how it sounded.
His gaze darted over to Simon's and Simon held it, with wide blue eyes.
Baz looked away. "Freeze to death, I mean. Same thing."
"Is it?"
"You still haven't answered my question."
"You pretty much already answered for me."
Baz's heart stuttered in his chest, a dangerous thing. "What?" He asked.
Simon hummed. "Wasn't going to let you die."
Baz wasn't hearing correctly. "So you think telling the Mage would get me killed?"
Simon frowned and shook his head. "The Mage wouldn't kill you. But you would be Stricken, right? And your fangs pulled? Wand snapped? I wasn't going to let you get hurt like that."
Baz felt something rush through him. It all felt like too much. He felt lightheaded and a little warm and some disgusting feeling like hope washed over him.
"Since fucking when, Snow?" Baz scoffed, pretending like he didn't care. He did care. So much. "Where the fuck is this coming from? If you aren't out to get me what personality traits do you even have left?"
"Oh right, like you don't spend every day antagonizing every single thing I do," Simon growled, glaring at Baz for a moment, all brash and heated before he shifted his gaze to the fire. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again, a little calmer this time. "You were pretty upset when I found you today. I haven't seen you like that before."
Baz felt fear slice through him and he inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw tight enough to ache. Simon had already seen half of everything he kept locked up inside himself and he was barely holding it together. Baz didn't think he could handle Simon seeing the rest of it.
Baz needing blood to stay alive was one thing. Baz needing Simon to feel alive was another.
"I am always upset with you, Snow, and I would never try to hide that from you," Baz said, as if he was just cooly stating a fact and not trying to keep everything away from Simon. "You breathe and I have a problem with it."
Simon jerked his elbow into Baz's side, "Not like that, arsehole. You were upset. Like I hurt you. You get pissed off and bitchy and mean but you don't get upset."
Baz didn't know what to say to that. First he felt scared and now he felt lost and Simon just kept ripping the floor out from under his feet. Baz didn't know where any of this was coming from or what Simon was even saying or why he even cared. This was unfamiliar territory and he was walking completely blind because apparently he lived in a world where Simon Snow cared about hurting him. Baz needed to find his footing.
"Why do you care? You know I'm a vampire, Snow, if anything you have more of a reason than ever to hurt me now."
Simon frowned again, his eyebrows scrunched. "But you're a boy, too."
Baz just stared at Simon, his mouth falling open a bit. Confusion and disbelief swirled through him and he felt unable to process anything Simon had just said.
"I had forgotten that." Simon continued, now tugging at his curls with one of his hands. "A horrible, snobby git of a boy but still a boy. You . . .you said you don't eat people. You're a vampire but. You don't hurt anyone, Baz. I don't want to kill someone like that. A boy like that."
Baz felt like he was about to fall apart. Crumble to pieces in front of his gorgeous and hot-headed roommate, in his mother's get-away cottage, during the middle of a snowstorm. This loud and frustrating and messy roommate of his that was slamming his way through every barrier Baz could throw at him. What was Baz supposed to do, when everything he called himself a monster for was being torn away from him?
Baz had a tear on his cheek and Simon said he wouldn't kill him.
Baz asked him why it mattered and Simon said because he hurt him.
Baz told him he was a vampire and Simon said he was a boy.
"Plus," Simon said, apparently still not done talking, "we're on a truce. I'm helping you find out what happened to your mother. And we haven't found that out yet."
Baz was falling apart.
"Your fangs are like, wicked cool, too," Simon added. "Won't be able to bug you about them if you're gone."
And somehow that was just the last bloody straw.
Baz burst out laughing, so hard he thought his chest was going to break. Simon was staring at him, alarmed, but Baz just laughed harder. He fell onto his back and gasped, trying and failing to suck in a breath as laughs kept pouring from his mouth, his shoulders shaking as everything about tonight became hysterically funny. Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes and he started wheezing, barely getting in any air as he tried to rationally consider how he ended up stuck in the middle of the Wavering Woods with Simon bloody Snow who just told him his vampire fangs were wicked cool. Wicked cool.
Baz let his head loll to the side, still laughing, looking up at Simon who looked at him like he had never seen Baz before in his life.
"You," Baz gasped, "caught me eating an adorable fluffy white rabbit and we fought in a snowstorm and we almost froze to death and you think my fangs are wicked cool."
Simon's face flushed red and Baz managed to catch his breath, his mind zeroing in on the fact that Simon looked like he was blushing.
"Fine, I take it back, you nutty bastard. It wasn't that funny." Simon said indignantly, crossing his arms.
Baz chuckled and kept staring up at Simon. "You're fucking mental, you know that, Snow? Wicked cool. I never imagined I would hear that from anyone, and certainly not you. 'Wicked cool', Snow."
"Well, you'll never hear it again! I-I said I take it back!" Simon yelled. "Your fangs are stupid and they-they make your mouth look ugly, you prick!"
Baz put a hand to his chest and said mockingly, "Ouch, Snow, you really dug into me on that one. I can feel my self-esteem lowering already."
Simon shoved at Baz's thigh with his foot and stuck out his tongue. "Good, keep lowering it. You suck so much, ugh."
Baz, despite the past 8 fucking years of horrible insults and thrown remarks from across their room, let himself smile a little bit. It was all so teasing. It had never been like that, between them.
"Did you mean to make the shittiest vampire pun that I've ever heard in my life just now or is that another one of your natural talents, Chosen One?"
Baz watched as Simon tried to fight back a silly grin, until it finally curled at his lips. Baz wanted to sit up and lean in and taste it. Baz wanted Simon to slide over him so he could make Baz reach for it. And then Baz would reach for it. Of course he would reach for it.
Baz looked up at the ceiling and dug his fingers into the carpet and tried not to move. His heart was beating against his ribcage and if he moved it would be to get closer to Simon and Baz was absolutely delusional if he thought light teases and a smile had changed anything.
But-his delusions pointed out-hadn't so much changed already?
Baz bit his tongue and kept his heart in his chest and his delusions in his throat and his fingers in the carpet.
Baz had gotten more of what he craved tonight than he ever had since meeting ratty, eleven-year-old Simon Snow. Everything inside him was screaming at him to not fuck it up.
Simon suddenly yawned and laid down on the floor next to him, and Baz could see out of his peripheral vision that Simon was staring at the ceiling too. Simon yawned again and Baz couldn't really blame him. Lying on the floor and being in front of the fireplace long enough had caused comfortable warmth to soak into Baz's perpetually cold bones and tiredness to wash over him. The blood helped, of course, but there was something about the fire when it was in his mother's cottage and when he was sharing it with the lovely curly-haired disaster next to him. It made him feel sleepy, not tired but sleepy, and before Baz knew it he was yawning too.
After a responding yawn from Simon and then another from Baz, they both looked at each as if on cue, looked back at the one bed, and then both scrambled to get up and reach the bed before the other.
Simon tried to push Baz behind him as he made a mad dash across the room but Baz was not having it. Baz grabbed onto Simon's arm and shoved him back, putting a small amount of his vampire strength into it, so the other boy was forced to stumble back and catch himself before he fell. Baz threw himself at the bed just as Simon was lunging forward. Baz landed, whipped around, and then firmly placed his foot on Simon's chest, Simon letting out a frustrated grunt.
"Sorry, Snow," Baz said, fake sweetly. "I get the bed. Give the floor my regards."
Simon was stopped in his tracks only momentarily before grabbing onto Baz's ankle and yanking. It caught Baz completely off-guard and he let out an embarrassing yelp as he flew off the bed. Luckily, he managed to twist enough so that his hands hit the floor before his arse did, immediately jumping back up to see Simon off to his left who had just gotten a knee up on the bed.
"I don't think so, Snow," Baz muttered, moving right behind the attempting bed-stealer and wrapping an arm around his waist and another around his chest. Baz smoothly hauled Simon off the bed and for a moment, briefly held him in his arms.
Simon squirmed like an earthworm and immediately began yelling, "Oi, you grabby piece of shite I want the bloody bed! You can start snogging the floor now because that's where you'll be for the rest of the night! Put me down!"
Baz nodded solemnly and replied, "But of course, Chosen One. Whatever you wish." And then promptly released Simon from his grasp. He had the slight mercy to let Simon go over the carpet so he had a little bit of padding from the fall, but not much. An 8 year rivalry wouldn't allow him too many niceties.
Baz spun around and gracefully sat down on the bed, crossing his legs and peering down at Simon who was seething from where he was collapsed on the floor.
Baz smirked and gave a little wave. "Well, it's been lovely, Snow, but I am quite knackered. You know how it is. I'll see you in the morning and all that. Ta."
Simon clambered to his feet and clenched his fists, staring down at Baz with angry blue eyes. Simon growled and Baz pretended like heat didn't spark down his spine at the sound.
"Use your words, Snow, I can't understand your various grunts and growls."
Simon opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was shaking, and for the first time that night his magick started crackling across his freckled skin, Simon's sweet and smoky bonfire scent filling the room. Baz's mouth watered a little.
He roughly swallowed and then gave Simon a bored look. "It's just one night; I think you can handle the floor. Let's not trouble ourselves by bringing magick into this."
"It's a big fucking bed, Baz," Simon spit out, breathing audibly through his nose. "Your mum never taught you how to share?"
Baz's lip curled up, hostility rising in his throat at the mention of his mother from someone who had no right to be talking about her like that, when Simon's words finally clicked into his head. Share. Sharing the bed. Simon wanted them to share the bed.
"Don't talk about my mother like that," Baz managed to push out with a harsh glare, while the rest of his mind ran around in circles and screamed. Share the bed. The one bed. The only bed. Simon wanted them to share the one and only bed. Together. In the same bed.
Simon's eyes flickered, maybe with something like regret, and then the presence of his hot, burnt magic began to subside. Baz took a deep breath once Simon's 'about-to-go-off' smell faded.
"Sharing the bed, Snow?" Baz asked, trying to act casual as he tipped back onto his hands, palms against the bed. "Are you that confident that I won't just roll over and bite you while you're sleeping?"
A strange look passed over Simon's face that Baz had never seen before. His eyes were wide, the black of his pupils eating at the blue, a crinkle to the skin between his eyebrows, a light red flush high on his cheeks, and his mouth was parted a bit. Baz was seeing things, clearly, because to him it almost seemed like Simon did not look particularly bothered by the question. Like . . . really not bothered.
So Baz was losing his mind after all.
After a moment, Simon looked at the floor and then looked back at Baz, the expression gone with only a small amount of flush remaining on his cheeks. Now he just looked annoyed. "Are you going to bite me?"
"Why, are you interested?" Baz had lost it. What the fuck. No seriously, what the fuck.
Simon's blush came right back and he sputtered, "No, I. Ab-absolutely not." Simon didn't meet Baz's eye.
Baz gave a half-cough, half-laugh and then pursed his lips. "I suppose it depends if you're going to kick or not."
Simon made an irritated sound and rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, I'll try not to kick, Basilton. Prissy git. I should kick you."
Baz smirked. "Well, see what happens if you do."
"You get pushed off the bed and wake up on the floor. It's what you deserve after dropping me like that."
"You said 'put me down', Snow. Are you saying you didn't want to be put down? You're being awfully contrary."
Simon narrowed his eyes and took a few steps towards Baz, shadows from the slowly dying fire dancing over the curves and angles of Simon's face. Baz tried not to shiver from the sudden closeness.
Simon loomed over Baz. "Are we sharing the bed or do you fancy sleeping on the floor?"
Baz, despite himself, sat up and then leaned into Simon's space. Their noses would touch if either of them jerked forward. "Ask me nicely."
Simon scrunched his nose and pulled back a little, much to Baz's disappointment.
Baz immediately scolded himself. If he felt disappointed it meant he had let himself hope for something. How stupid. Of course he was disappointed.
"You're a real right wanker, Baz."
"Likewise, dear Snow."
Simon mumbled something under his breath.
Baz put a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that."
"Please."
Baz's stomach flipped and he was forced to bite down on his tongue and hold it there for a second. "Please, what?" He finally asked.
"Please let me sleep on the bloody fucking bed, you arrogant prat."
"Mm. You have such a way with words, Snow. Yes, you may."
Simon gave Baz an unamused look. Baz smirked and gestured to the bed but the other boy flipped him off and walked back over to the fire.
Baz watched as Simon bent down and grabbed a couple more pieces of wood to throw into the fire, the flames eagerly licking at the dry bark.
Simon then stood up and with his back to Baz, he began taking off his blazer. Baz's eyes widened.
Simon dropped his blazer to the floor and when he started tugging at his shirt Baz almost choked on his own saliva.
Then Simon bent over and began removing his trousers and socks and Baz's heart considered having an attack or two.
When Simon turned back around, finally facing Baz in his undershirt and his pants and his bare legs from the knee and below, with pretty little freckles and moles dotting their way down, Baz's heart firmly decided on three attacks.
Simon laid his clothes down on the floor in front of the fire and then had the audacity to look at Baz like nothing was wrong and he had just finished changing for bed. Like Baz's life wasn't just a little ruined by watching Simon undress. Unbelievable.
"My clothes were still a little damp so you might want to put yours in front of the fire to dry, too."
Baz just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything that wouldn't incriminate him more than his attentive staring already had. He begged himself to look away. Then Simon raised his arm to scratch at the back of his neck and yawn and his undershirt rode up a little, revealing a soft stretch of a lightly tanned stomach. His eyes latched onto the skin until Simon's shirt fell back down and then he quickly turned around, busying himself with undoing the buttons of his own blazer.
Baz was going to get into bed with that. That sleepy, warm boy with his pants and undershirt and curls that were mussed and tangled from getting wet.
Baz had never regretted something with this much immediate anguish. Baz never said the word 'no' when Simon asked to share the bed, his mind clearly jumping on the opportunity before he could let his brain cells function properly for one bloody second. Baz even dragged out the conversation, which should have given him plenty of time to come up with a suitable excuse, but instead he made Simon say please.
Baz's fingers squeezed his buttons so hard there were little red indents in the pad of his fingers when he remembered to let go. Crowley alive, his masochistic streak was really rearing its head now.
A night in a bed with a fire-warm Simon Snow.
A Simon Snow that didn't seem to actively hate him. A Simon Snow that had teased him a little and didn't want to hurt him and wanted to help his mother. A Simon Snow with light pink lips and blue, blue eyes and moles he had wanted to kiss since he was fifteen years old.
Baz was so, so fucked.
Simon
Simon blinked a few times, furrowing his eyebrows at how suddenly Baz had turned around. For a moment, almost, it was like Baz was looking at him. Looking at him in a way Simon hadn't seen anyone look at him before, like Baz wanted to be looking. But that was mental because why would Baz ever want that? There was nothing to look at. Baz could go stare at his own pretty face in the mirror and leave Simon out of it.
Simon chalked it up to being tired and spending too much uninterrupted time with his haughty roommate. It was probably just another one of Baz's plots. Simon gave himself a mental note to keep an eye on it as he yawned again and went to the bathroom to take a piss.
When he came back, Baz was already in bed and under the blankets, curled onto his side. Simon looked down and saw that Baz's blazer and socks and trousers were lying alongside Simon's in front of the fire.
For some reason Simon immediately thought about the fact that Baz was only wearing a shirt and pants and his stomach felt funny, all fluttery and nervous. And then he realized that was a very weird thing to think about and to feel so he did his best to ignore it and climb into bed as well.
The fire, which hadn't given them a lot of light to work with when they first arrived, was now perfect for sleeping. The room was mostly dark; only hazy shadows flickered across the walls and ceiling. Simon laid on his back, under the blankets, and listened to the storm that was still raging outside. The wind was a little quieter than it had been but the windows still shook, snow pattering against the glass and falling off to pile on the ground beneath. The cottage was fairly warm and now being under a few thick, soft blankets, Simon finally felt completely un-frozen.
He sighed and relaxed deeper into the mattress, turning his head on the pillow he was using to look at Baz's curled form beside him.
Baz's hair had gotten wet from the melted snow just like Simon's had but where Simon's looked tangled and a little crazed, Baz's hair had a nice wave to it. Simon didn't know why it was so interesting, it was just hair-it was just Baz's hair-but Simon couldn't really stop himself from studying it, splayed out against Baz's pillow. The ends were curled up the slightest bit and there was that messy wave that Simon couldn't remember if he had ever seen or not. Baz's hair usually looked shiny and perfect-if the mountains of expensive hair products in their shared bathroom had anything to say about it. This was new and interesting and Simon felt the strangest urge to see more new things having to do with Baz.
Before Simon could process what he was doing his hand reached out and touched a lock of Baz's hair, one that was half on his pillow and half on his shoulder.
It was silky and felt nice against Simon's fingers.
And then Simon realized he had his fingers in Baz's hair and he jerked his hand back, wincing and asking himself why he had done that. He did not come up with a good answer, which was concerning and annoying.
Simon hadn't seen Baz moving around since he had climbed into bed next to him so maybe Simon had gotten insanely lucky and Baz was already asleep. Asleep and therefore unconscious and unknowing of anything Simon may or may not had just done to his hair. Like touch it because it looked pretty. What the fuck.
Simon held his breath and waited for Baz to say something or roll over and glare him to death, but nothing happened. Simon exhaled and squished his face into his pillow, thinking he had dodged a bullet and could now go to sleep and never think about it again.
"Why did you touch my hair, Snow?"
Aw fuck.
"Uh," Simon's mind helpfully supplied him. "Um. It uh. Looked wavy."
Baz was still facing away from him. "What does that have to do with anything?" His voice was quiet and flat.
"I've um. Never seen it like that before," Simon said awkwardly. "Your hair is usually straight."
"Yes, I know," Baz responded. "I don't have any of my product with me and my hair air-dried. This is what happens."
"Oh."
There was an uncomfortable silence and Simon cringed a little. While his entire situation tonight was unexpected, he hadn't really planned on having a conversation with Baz while they shared a bed. And especially not about Baz's hair. It just felt weird and too casual. Maybe it felt weird because it was casual. Simon and Baz didn't do casual.
"Do you not like it wavy?" Simon asked, wondering why he was continuing the conversation.
There was another beat of silence and Simon wondered if he just force himself to go to sleep so he didn't try to say anything else when Baz replied.
"I prefer it straight."
"Well, I think it looks sorta nice wavy," Simon said, without thinking.
Then he squeezed his eyes closed and bit his cheek. That was it. Bedtime for Simon. Complimenting your enemy-turned-ally-roommate's hair while you shared a bed was not the correct course of action, if there even was one. He either needed to change the subject or to shut the fuck up. Weren't they both yawning like five minutes ago, anyways? They should go to sleep. Simon should go to sleep.
But then something occurred to Simon and he realized he probably wouldn't find another opportunity to ask so he opened his mouth, which was probably a mistake but he was already doing it. "Hey, uh, by the way, how did you remember the way here? Weren't you really young when you um, visited this place with your mum?"
Baz didn't say anything so Simon decided to give him a minute, especially since he had switched the topic so suddenly.
Baz's voice was quieter when he answered. And it didn't sound as flat as it had a minute or two ago. "My mother made me memorize the route in case I ever wandered off and got lost. And she used to let me practice the enchantment with her. This was the only place I could think of when the gates closed."
Simon stared at the back of Baz's head, taking in Baz's quiet, not-so-flat voice and the information about his mother he had given Simon so freely. It was a side of Baz he was entirely unfamiliar with. But maybe he wanted to be more familiar with it.
A piece of wood shifted in the fire and Simon heard a few crackles and snaps. The room had lost a bit more light, the shadows growing longer.
The cottage really was cozy. Simon had never felt this warm and comfortable in a place that wasn't his room at Watford before. It needed to be stocked with more things to eat and drink but Simon wouldn't mind staying here for a while. A get-away trip. A vacation.
Simon wanted to laugh.
The savior of the magickal world doesn't get things like get-away trips he gets missions. Simon Snow doesn't get things like vacations he gets thrown into group homes. There was only at Watford or not at Watford.
Baz probably knew all about get-away trips and vacations, Simon thought bitterly. Especially since he took one for almost eight wee-wait. Wait.
Simon sat up and moved closer to the right side of the bed, grabbing onto Baz's shoulder and shaking him a little. "Baz! Morgana's tits, I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner; Baz, were you here? Is-is this where you were?"
Baz rolled over and stared up at Simon, a blank expression on his face. "A fun fact about me, Snow, is that I was trying to sleep just now. Clearly you don't care. What on earth are you on about now?"
Simon huffed and scooted closer to Baz so he could kneel at his side, feeling desperate for answers now that he suddenly had so many questions. "You were gone, Baz! For eight weeks you bloody disappeared! But you were here weren't you? I checked with the wood nymph but she said she hadn't seen you, which I guess makes sense since you need a spell to get in here but," Simon rambled, running his hands through his curls, "you were here all along! Fuck!"
Simon looked back down at Baz, who had his eyes closed. Simon nudged his knee into Baz's side and bounced on his heels. He was feeling impatient and curious and so close to everything he had been wondering when all he had was an empty bed across from his to stare at.
Baz opened his eyes and they looked completely emotionless. Baz stared at Simon and said, "Yes. I was here."
Simon stilled. There was nothing in Baz's eyes. The walls were up and Simon was shielded off again. But it was different this time. Earlier, it looked like Baz was putting up a wall to keep Simon out. Right now, it looked like Baz was trying to keep everything out, including himself. Simon hated this more.
"No, you weren't," Simon said slowly, his mind now processing the evidence of why he was wrong. "It was too dusty when we walked in; there's no way you stayed here for eight weeks. There was barely any food in the kitchen and it looked like no one had been here in years." He tried so hard to think of something that would leave Baz like this. What he wanted to shut out so bad. What he didn't want to talk about. What he was lying about.
Baz didn't answer him.
What kept Baz fucking Pitch away from his classes and the football team and Simon and their shared room at the top of Mummer's Tower for eight weeks? Baz Pitch, who was brilliant and vicious and powerful and almost impossible to catch. Something happened to him,
Something Simon knew nothing about. And that bothered him. A lot.
Was he hurt? Sick? Simon remembered Baz being tired and pale and skinny when he finally came back but that's kind of just how Baz was.
Simon finally had Baz within his reach. Simon knew where Baz was. He was right next to him in a bed they were sharing in his mother's cottage in the middle of the Wavering Woods during a snowstorm. And yet Baz wasn't anywhere near him. Baz was lying about something and hiding something and Simon wanted to know what it was.
Simon didn't know what to do or what to say so he did what he had been wanting to do since Baz had walked through the dining hall doors.
Simon couldn't knock Baz over since he was already lying down so he did the next best thing. Simon tore off the blankets, swung a leg over Baz and sat on him, forcing a surprised 'oof' out of Baz. There.
"I'm not getting off of you until you tell me where you were for eight weeks."
Well that did something. Baz looked up at him and Simon saw irritation in his grey eyes which was so much better than nothing. Baz looked surprised too, like he couldn't really believe Simon was sitting on him. Simon couldn't really believe it either, but he had already done it and he was sticking to it so. There he sat. With Baz's sharp hip bones digging into his arse and their pants being the only layers between them.
"You're joking," Baz said, giving a breathy half-laugh. "Get off of me, Snow."
"No. Not until you tell me. Where. You. Were."
Baz gave him an exasperated look and he shook his head a little, "It's none of your damn business where I go or what I do, Snow. You have no right to demand that I tell you."
Simon frowned and leaned forward, pointing a finger into Baz's chest. "I'm your bloody fucking roommate, Baz. Have been for 8 long, frustrating years and never, once, did you go missing like that. You've never skipped that much school or football practice or chances to torment me in the room I could always find you in." Simon felt something in his chest, an echo of that unstable, all-consuming desperation. "I couldn't find you, Baz."
Baz's eyes softened, just the slightest bit, and Simon would have missed it if he hadn't been watching Baz's eyes so closely. It was enough.
Simon lowered his voice and leaned in a little further. "Did you know that? I looked everywhere for you. I was so fucking sure you were somewhere around Watford, just waiting to insert yourself back into my life and make sure I didn't miss a thing when you did."
Baz didn't say anything, he just kept staring at Simon, his eyes a bit wider.
"I asked professors and the Mage and the wood nymph at the entrance to the Wavering Wood and she was seriously no help at all. I asked Niall and he said he didn't know anything. I followed him and Dev for a few days because I thought they were hiding you somewhere. I looked for you in the Catacombs. And all across the grounds. I thought you would show up one day in our room and everything would go back to normal. But you never showed up. For eight weeks you never. Showed. Up." Simon was whispering now. "I looked everywhere for you, Baz."
Baz's eyes were big now, looking at Simon with caution and reluctance. But Simon could see there was something behind that, something he was getting closer to.
"Where were you, Baz?" Simon asked softly, watching as Baz's expression started to slip. "What happened?"
Baz's eyes scanned over Simon's face, like he was looking for something. Simon just wanted to know. He wanted to know so bad.
Baz's eyes darted away from Simon and then they briefly closed, Baz wincing a bit as he breathed in and out a few times. When Baz opened his grey eyes they were very pained.
Baz took another deep breath and Simon sat back a little, giving him space. Then Baz began speaking, his voice strained. "I was missing for only six weeks, technically. My family knew where I was for the final two weeks, which was on bedrest."
Simon's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned, trying hard not to bombard Baz with all of the questions that suddenly popped up into his head. "Missing, Baz? Bedrest? What does that mean?"
Baz closed his eyes again. "I was kidnapped. And held captive for six weeks. Then I stayed at home for two weeks."
Simon's heart dropped in his chest and his mouth fell open. He wasn't expecting this. Not . . . to Baz. Never to Baz. Simon grabbed at the front of Baz's shirt. "K-kidnapped? D-did you say kidnapped, Baz? What the fuck-who took you?"
Baz's lips screwed up into a deep frown and Simon could see his hands fist the sheets. "Numpties. Lumps of absolute dumb shite and they managed to keep me for six. Bloody. Fucking. Weeks."
Simon squeezed Baz's shirt tighter. He felt angry. And frustrated. And weak. What kind of a magickal savior was he if he couldn't even rescue his own roommate? From sodding Numpties?
"Do you," Simon tried to push out, struggling to keep his voice level when all he really wanted to do was yell about it. "Do you know why they did it?"
Baz shook his head. "They were clearly paid to since their disgusting den was full of hot water bottles and blankets they would have had no way of getting, the cold fuckers. But I still don't know who made the order. My Aunt Fiona was the one who found me and got me out of there. She said she was looking into it."
Simon was shaking a little. Baz had been kidnapped. Baz was busy being held against his will while Simon stupidly ran around Watford, waiting for Baz to show up when he obviously needed help. And Simon would have helped. If it meant he could finally put a finger on where Baz was he would have done pretty much anything. But he didn't. And now everything was thrashing around inside of him.
Simon hung his head and gritted his teeth, not really wanting to ask what he was about to ask but needing to anyways. "Baz, how did they keep you for so long?"
Simon could feel Baz tense up beneath him, could feel his muscles lock and his body still and when Simon looked at Baz's face, Baz's eyes were squeezed shut. His face was contorted into a look of half-fear, half-disgust.
It was a few minutes before Baz managed to answer.
"I . . . was kept in a coffin," Baz said very quietly, his eyes flying open. "They kept me in a coffin for six weeks and only fed me blood and it was so dark."
Baz was shaking; Simon could feel it.
"It was so dark, I-," Baz's voice cracked and got a little higher, "I couldn't see anything for hours and days and it was so dark an-." Baz's whole body was shaking, his mouth trembling as his eyes filled with tears. "It was so dark, Simon, I-."
Simon quickly slid off of Baz, cringing when Baz made a broken sound as he got up. Simon sat down right next to Baz as fast as he could and then turned and grabbed Baz around his middle. Simon pulled Baz up and into his lap, his arms going around Baz and holding him tightly against his chest. Simon didn't think; he just moved. Baz was kept in a fucking coffin for six weeks. Six weeks.
Simon did what made sense in his head and he just held onto Baz as hard as he could.
And then Baz broke.
Baz started sobbing into Simon's shoulder, saying over and over, "It was so dark, I couldn't see anything", and Simon ran a hand through his dark, silky hair. Simon rubbed his other hand up and down Baz's back, trying to calm how bad the other boy was shaking. Baz leaned into it, bringing his arms around Simon's torso and squeezing, Simon's heart suddenly beating too fast in his chest as he realized . . . he wanted this, too. Baz in his arms. Baz's arms around him.
The realization crashed around in his mind, knocking things loose and causing them to tumble around.
Simon liked this. He didn't like the truth of what Baz went through and he hated the sick feeling he got in his gut when he thought about Baz being stuck in the dark for so long but. Holding Baz like this. Being trusted with this whether Baz meant to do it or not it just. Simon liked it.
It was messy and Simon felt terribly unprepared but he also felt something click into place. Like Simon and Baz had missed the memo all those years ago and were just now being informed that they could have been like this. Whatever this was.
Simon's breath caught in his throat and he couldn't believe what he was doing but he leaned down and pressed his cheek against Baz's hair, his lips inches from his ear.
"Baz, I," Simon whispered, Baz immediately freezing up. "It's okay. You're not there anymore. I've got you, okay? I've got you. I'm right here."
Comforting his vampire roommate through a breakdown was not what he was expecting when he followed Baz out of their room tonight but here he was, regardless. Crowley, Simon could not believe it had only been a handful of hours since he found out Baz was a vampire. It felt lightyears away from now, as Simon tightened his arms around Baz, feeling strangely protective. He wasn't there when Baz had needed someone then, so Simon sure as hell was going to try now.
Baz stayed still for another moment before slowly shifting his head from Simon's shoulder to his neck, tucking himself under Simon's chin as he cried. Simon's skin tingled and an electric warmth spread through him where Baz's cheek and nose and a little bit of his lips were pressed to Simon's throat. He inhaled shakily and pressed back into Baz, keeping his arms around him, not wanting to let go.
Not wanting to let go.
Simon liked being close to Baz like this.
He liked knowing where Baz was, that he was safe, that he wasn't in a dark coffin anymore. He liked having Baz curled against him, liked feeling Baz's thumping heartbeat alongside his own.
Simon kept threading his fingers through Baz's hair, going from his roots to the ends of his hair and back again, whispering out soft little, "Shh"'s as he did. Simon traced circles into Baz's back with his other hand and then rubbed it and then traced more circles. He did everything he could think of that Penny had sometimes done for him, when he had broken down and desperately needed something to hold onto.
This felt different, though.
It felt so warm. And Baz held onto him like he needed to and that made Simon's stomach do fucking summersaults. And Baz's own arms were locked around Simon and that made his heart beat so hard in his chest.
This felt different than anything with Agatha, too. He probably shouldn't compare the two, especially since he had never held Agatha while she cried and Agatha was a girl and not his pretty recent enemy-roommate. But Simon couldn't deny the way he was acutely aware of all the points of contact between them. And how much he liked them.
Baz had stopped crying a while ago and was now just breathing into Simon's skin, sending shivers and goosebumps down his arms.
Simon couldn't tell how long they had been holding each other. He did become brave though, after a while, brave enough to cuddle Baz closer to him and press a quick kiss to the top of his head. It just felt like something he should do. And he wanted to do it, which felt completely mental, but also not so mental. Yeah. His heart was slamming against his ribs and for a moment Simon was absolutely terrified that maybe he actually shouldn't have done that and that Baz was going to rip away from him in disgust but then Baz sighed, a soft and almost pleased sound, and snuggled into Simon's chest. Simon felt his cheeks heat up a little because Merlin, that was the cutest thing he had ever heard in his life.
After another length of time Simon couldn't be sure of, Baz shifted in his arms and he reluctantly began to let go, thinking the other boy finally wanted to get away from him only for Baz to press a shy kiss to his collarbone.
Simon shivered and let out a breathy sound he didn't even know he was capable of making.
And then, when neither of them had done anything for a few minutes, Baz whispered into Simon's skin, "Thank you, Simon."
Simon felt happy, delicious warmth rush through his veins and it was enough to let him tilt away from Baz, long enough so he could put a hand to the other boy's cheek and pull him up a little so they were finally eye-level. Simon. Baz had called him Simon.
Simon leaned in until his lips were practically ghosting over Baz's, their noses bumping together. "Just bring me back the next time I'm about to go off. Then we'll be even," Simon said softly.
Baz's laugh was the sweetest thing he had ever felt against his lips.
Baz
Baz didn't know how he ended up here, in the cottage he used to visit when he was young, with the dying embers of a fire casting a dim glow over a warm and sleepy Simon Snow who he was currently tangled up with, but Aleister Crowley, he wasn't complaining.
After Simon finally brought their lips together and Baz felt himself die a little inside, he let Simon slowly press him back against the bed. Simon was above Baz, his knees on either side of Baz's waist, and he reached up for the lovely, curly-haired boy every time, Simon dipping his head and sliding his lips against Baz's. Baz soon got tired of reaching, though, and eventually he wrapped both arms around Simon's neck and tugged him down, Simon sweetly pressing kisses to Baz's forehead and cheek and nose and jaw.
When Simon finally came back to Baz's lips he kissed Baz senseless, sliding his fingers into Baz's hair and holding him so tightly Baz couldn't even consider moving. Baz definitely forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. He then decided he would never tell Simon about it.
Even in the very beginning, when their kisses were clumsy and rushed and they had knocked their teeth together too many times to count, Baz still felt safe and silly and too content to care.
When they both had gotten the hang of it, Baz realized that Simon kissed like he fought; he poured all of his attention and focus into every movement and then threw himself into it, never once backing down. He knew when to kiss with teeth and tongue until Baz felt deliriously pleased. He knew when to pepper his face and collarbones and hands with soft, grazing kisses until Baz had practically melted into a puddle on the bed.
Baz hadn't forgotten that he pretty much lost his bloody mind and fucking cried not only in front of but in the arms of the boy he was in love with, the boy he had always been so careful and guarded around, but the embarrassment and shock was diluted considerably by . . . this. All this kissing and gentle touching and closeness . . . Baz would assume death before any of this. And yet, here he was, sort of alive and definitely kissing the everloving fuck out of Simon Snow.
Baz would beat himself up for throwing so much out in the open later. Not now. He was going to savor this, taste it and hold it and feel it, for all it was worth.
It was so warm, between them, Baz thought. The snowstorm felt like a hazy memory in the face of this all-encompassing, soft heat, like Baz couldn't remember what being cold even felt like.
And when Simon pulled the blankets up over them both, Baz busy with one hand in Simon's curls and the other connecting the moles on his back with invisible lines, lips moving sweetly together, Baz wondered if this warmth would ever leave him.
He hoped it didn't.
A/N: thank you for reading! im carryonmylovelies on tumblr if you want to chat abt snowbaz! 💖💕✨