Baz watches me when I sleep.
It wasn't too long ago that I realised it, and honestly, my discovery was mostly an accident. It was only a few weeks after we'd returned to Watford from the holidays, and the weather had taken a swift decline, leaving me shivering underneath my duvet most nights, despite the fact that I run much hotter than normal people. I even stopped complaining when Baz resolutely shut the window every evening before bed.
So it was hardly a surprise when I woke up one night, feet freezing (I'd somehow managed to kick the blanket off them in my sleep) and face numb. But for once in my life, I didn't immediately begin my ritual of tossing about in bed in order to get back to sleep. It was nice, laying in the dark, so I just stayed like that for a while. Somehow, I felt safe for once in my life. Quiet. I hadn't had much of either of those things since I learnt that the Humdrum could just pull me from wherever I was at any minute. After the events of last year, the Mage packed me off to another children's home with barely a dismissive wave in my direction. I spent the entire summer hunched alone in a bunk bed, below the cultivating mould of the damp ceiling, afraid that I'd be snatched away at any moment.
Coming back to Watford brought with it a sense of calm that I hadn't realised I'd lost, and yet an influx of noise and anxiety at the same time.
So being able to wake up, and stare at the ceiling without moving a muscle, was nice. Because as the Mage's Heir, you don't get to relax much. It makes sense that Agatha would dump me, really, and I don't know why I didn't see it coming. I guess I was pretending that I was somehow strong enough to handle all the aspects of my golden, yet blood-stained destiny; now at least, it was clear that she wouldn't be a part of it.
I wasn't sure if I cared about that because I loved her, or if it just felt like I was failing as a hero.
It was around then, in the middle of my musings, that I noticed, hackles slightly raising.
I was being watched.
For some reason, I didn't feel afraid. It wasn't like when I was being hunted down by goblins, or werewolves− it felt softer. Kinder.
I kept my body still and breathing even as I slowly peeked from the corner of my eye.
Baz's figure was outlined against the soft glow of the moonlight; head propped on an arm, and tilted towards me. Watching.
He's plotting.
My first thought was, understandably, quite predictable. But what other reason could you have for watching your arch nemesis at night?
Waiting for an opening, that's what he had to be doing. He was a vampire after all, and maybe he'd been running low on the blood of the innocent lately.
But would Baz do that? For all I bring up him being a vampire at every opportunity, it's more of a PSA if anything. Just a warning to maybe be a bit more careful with the contents of your arteries and veins.
He was a bastard; I wasn't denying that at all. But there had been a definitive lack of first years turning up dead in the moat which you would assume would accompany a vampire who stalked the night.
The phrase stalking the night also seemed odd in association to Baz. He seemed the type to make himself noticed; instead of creeping through the woods, he'd ride through on a white horse with a fucking fanfare in the background, his perfect hair slicked neatly back.
I needed to stop thinking about Baz's hair.
The best thing to do for now, I decided, was to watch the situation. To see what happens tomorrow.
But for now…
I made a sort of sniffling noise, and made a show of stretching out, like I was waking up, before turning over a few times in bed, and settling underneath the blanket once more.
When I snuck a look at Baz, mere seconds after I'd stilled again, he was facing away, as if he'd been asleep the whole time.
hr
The next night passed. And the next, and the next, and the next.
Every night, Baz would leave the room early in the evening, and come back late, once he was sure I was asleep. Then he'd roll into bed, and face me for a while, before he fell asleep himself.
It wasn't exactly a familiar position for me, so the third night, to pass the time while I stared up at the ceiling, and Baz stared at me, I started making a list.
Reasons that Baz is Watching Me Sleep (Edward Cullen-esque):
He wants to drain me of my blood, and parade my dead carcass as a symbol
His Aunt Fiona dared him to do it, and its actually a big prank they're both pulling to unnerve me before our big fight
It's a cult thing
He's plotting (although it was a fairly solid answer, it didn't really give me any idea of what he was plotting, so I crossed it off my mental list)
He's trying to think of how he can steal Agatha
It's a cult thing (by then, I was beginning to drop off for real, and couldn't remember what I had and hadn't thought of already)
The list was wildly unhelpful, and a week later, I still had no idea what he was playing at. Penny had started to comment on the fact that I had bags under my eyes, and started to try and force me to nap every lunchtime.
But the fact that it had been a week in itself was oddly telling. Whatever it was that Baz was trying to do, it required time.
There was something else, something I was having difficulty admitting to even myself.
I liked having him focused on me at night.
Not, like, in a weird way. But whenever Baz and I are within a hundred yards of one another, we're fighting. Every word is laced with barbs and hate, and I just get so tired of it sometimes. So feeling relaxed in his presence… is nice.
There's also the fact that when Baz is watching me, I know exactly where he is. I know that he isn't running off to the Catacombs or the woods or wherever else, where he could get lost, or hurt, or… or…
And it works in the opposite way, too. Ever since the Humdrum took me and Penny last year, there's always been a simmering fear that it will happen again. That one night, I'll disappear in my bed, and the next morning Baz will neither notice nor give a shit.
It makes me feel like he cares. Like he's watching over me. Late at night, when Baz and I are both silent, and he doesn't even know I'm awake, I feel like I'm with the real Baz. I feel safe.
Merlin, and Morgana.
Then everything changed again.
On the seventh night since I'd first realised what was happening, the Mage called me to a top-secret meeting in his quarters (it was mainly him talking about how the Old Families were reacting to the tax reforms, while I stood there, holding my sword, and pretending to know what he was on about.), and by the time I reached the top of our turret in Mummers House after the meeting, it was past three in the morning.
I shouldn't have found it as surprising as it was that Baz was curled up in bed, eyes closed, hair loose around his face, and breathing softly.
It was surprisingly endearing to see him like that.
I changed for bed quietly, not even bothering with a shower as I clambered into bed myself; Baz looked peaceful for once in his life, and I didn't want to wake him.
But the moment I closed my eyes to attempt sleep myself, a soft whimper comes from the other side of the room, and I sit up in thinly veiled concern.
Baz sniffles, and chokes out a sob.
And another.
And another.
The moment he moved out of his tight ball, and began to thrash around erratically, I was on his side of the room.
"Baz!" I hissed "Baz! Wake up!"
My words didn't help; he continued to shake, and sob.
After a few moments of back and forth, I found myself perching on the end of his bed, and reaching out for his arm gently,
"It's okay, Baz. I promise, everything's okay now"
After a few minutes, he begins to quieten a little, and his limbs go still. I gingerly touch his hair, and pat it for another moment or so, until I was sure his nightmare had completely left him.
Then I walked over to my own bed, settled against the pillows, and drew my legs up to my chin.
Baz was always watching over me. It was my turn to do the same for him.
At that very thought, everything clicked into place, and my world turned to ice.
Crowley. I've fallen in too deep.