The room is hexagonal, Baz thinks, though maths was never his forte. In fact, now that he thinks about it his maths teachers hated him really. Mostly because someone wrote 'The chamber of secrets is open' all over the walls of the science blocks, and no matter how many times Baz had tried to tell them, there was no way in hell they were going to believe him.

He struggles to sit up, looking around the room. There's a door on each wall, but they don't open. It's very obvious that Alice in Wonderland is what made him dream up this scene.

He looks down at his feet again, he doesn't know why, and sees that the room is beginning to fill with water. Very quickly.

Time passes irregularly in dreams. Sometimes something can feel like an eternity and sometimes like it's the fastest thing in the world- that if you blink you'll miss it. Such was the way with the water, that when the room began to fill, Baz only had to blink for it to have reached his stomach, and only had to blink again for it to have reached up to his nose.

When his nose was covered, he started to panic, and panicked twice the more so when the ground fell from under him.

He struggled to the surface, coughing and spluttering in surprise, this was not good.


Simon felt awfully sad once the video was uploaded, telling the truth to a camera... It was almost like he had poured out every emotion in his body, and he slumped into one of the dining room chairs in exhaustion, rubbing his face with his hands. He was so sick of this, both in the literal sense and in the metaphorical one. He was so sick of playing sad songs and thinking awful thoughts and just being sad in general.

Sometimes he wished he would just die to end the pain.

"I don't want to sing a sad song." He whispered to himself, and tapped his hands against the table. He knew he should sleep, it was constantly being drilled into him.

But as he looked up from his hands, he looked across the long table, and spotted a bottle of wine. Clearly, it had never been opened, and Simon found it even scarier that this bottle of wine might live longer in this house than he would.

Simon was willing to bet a substantial amount of money that this was the first bottle with which Baz would drown his sorrows. Even though he knew Baz wasn't that much of a drinker, (he liked whiskey) Simon knew Baz would eventually try anything at all, both out of desperation and also because he would be curious.

Baz's curiosity was not like Simon's, it was one of the few aspects of Baz which had less common sense than Simon did. Where Baz's curiosity was wild and curious and reckless and dangerous, Simon's was irritating, a nagging sensation in the back of his head that wouldn't go away until the place explored, the question answered, and all possible outcomes thought about in turn.

He picked up the bottle with shaky hands, swirling the liquid slowly, as he watched it shine against the dim light, the thought struck him that with his clumsiness it would be possible that he could burn the house down.

Honestly, he doubted it would surprise anyone at this point, and there was a lit candlestick on the table, in the centre of it. Just some wine spilling and some knocking over of the candle would do it.

Just one little move and all of this would go up in flames. But he couldn't do that. Baz was here.


Once Baz has regained his breath, he has the sudden urge to dive beneath the crashing water, and does so. What he sees below, is horrifying.

There is Simon Snow slumbering peacefully below him, slowly falling further and further beneath the surface, but he's too far for Baz to reach.

Baz flounders, and forces himself above ground, take a breath, dive back down, can't reach.

Again and again and again, and he's exhausted.

But the room keeps filling with water and JUST when he's snagged onto Snow's hand, it fills completely, and there's nowhere to go.

They're dead.

And with that thought, Baz feels himself pass out.

The dream is over.

Except the only difference is he's waking up into a different personal hell. And it's so much worse than any dream he could ever have thought of.

It's so much worse than the tale of tragedy and woe of fair Juliet and her Romeo.

It's so much worse than anything.

The only thing worse is the pain that forces itself into his heart and lungs every time he breathes. The only difference between his pain and Simon's is that Simon's will kill him quickly.

Baz can feel his making a home for itself.


Unlike in dreams, the night passes evenly, as do the next 3 days.

Simon always drifts back to that night when Baz was asleep though, and when he was very much awake. He remembers Baz's twitching, but most importantly, he remembers the gasping.

Everything else he could deal with, the crying? No problem. The whimpers? Sure! But the gasping?

The gasping was like a horrific mockery of their misfortune, and it drove Simon crazy. Baz woke up struggling for breath, and pushed himself up, hand on his chest, just over his heart as he struggled to regain the air he so desperately needed.

This happened a lot lately, and Baz would make a joke out of it, and they would go back to sleep, and never speak of it again.

It wasn't like that was how Simon wanted it, but that was how Baz wanted it, and therefore that was what they did. Very much lately, the ball was in Baz's court. Simon was dying of course, any decisions made by him would affect Baz's future, and Baz's future alone, and so therefore, Simon conceded that decisions should mostly be made by Baz.

And oh, did Baz exploit that opportunity.

It was like he had this free get out card of any situation.

3 days since that night, 3 days of mostly peace. It was almost... normal. Baz retreating to his study for long periods of time, depriving himself of sleep and over drinking coffee, and Simon reading the works with a critical eye, and all of these little things that they've missed.

But Simon can see the truth behind the coffee and the worn, bleary eyes. It's not that Baz is so busy that he can't sleep. It's that Baz is making himself so busy to make sure he can't sleep.

And that was enough.

This has to stop.


It wasn't like it was a conscious decision. It wasn't like he chose to do it, to slip away, but it was almost like he couldn't not do it.

At the end, it was like he didn't have a choice at all, actually.

He didn't get into bed though. That felt too much like a finality. Like there was no way he was moving, that that was it. He clutched his chest as he lay down slowly on the sofa, trying to lie as still as possible despite the pure undiluted pain in his chest, and also the aching feeling just behind his ribs, like he needed to click a muscle there, but couldn't.

He sighed in anguish. How long was this going to take? He was so done. Stop inflicting pain on those I love. JUST LET ME DIE.

Baz let out a disgruntled noise as he felt himself awake. His neck hurt. How long had he been asleep at his desk?

He looked out the window, and sure enough, it was dark out.

Clearly long enough, he observed. It was likely Snow had already gone to bed by now. The illness always meant he fell asleep before Baz even thought about it.

Still, he should probably check Snow wasn't still awake waiting for him.


The best part of it was the release of pain. It was as if all the feeling left his body in a slow flood. The pain in his lungs, he knew, should burn him and cause him to splutter for breath, but instead, a sense of overwhelming calm hit him. He would be gone, and no one would get hurt.

Of course, if everything was ideal, he would have preferred to live out the rest of his life in comfort. To have never gotten ill, to find out who his real parents were.

It seemed the illness was unforgiving that way, as if it had just decided that today was the day Simon Snow finally died.

And it was a marvellous day, he had seen it, the sunrise this morning, and the sunset this evening. He had the best breakfast of cherry scones this morning, and a day of doing nothing at all.

All in all, he decided, this was not a bad day to die.


Imagine the sight. That which greeted Basilton Pitch in the early morning hours was one that he would never forget. At the time, he had just assumed that Simon was sleeping, as men and women and children often do.

The sense of denial sometimes occurs even before the circumstance is found out. It is our mind's way of protecting ourselves, not that it has helped many.

Baz didn't even realise until he went to wake Simon up.

There was nothing. The warmth was still there, but no pulse, no heartbeat. There was no life, there was no Simon Snow.

And in that moment, there truly was nothing at all.

And of course there is never such a line that would have graced Basilton Pitch's great mind like that of;

"I DEFY YOU STARS." He screamed, but he knew there was no one to hear. It was like there was a vacuum on his voice, perhaps there was. After all, the only way people ever listened to him was through words on a page. Perhaps that was why Romeo came to his mind in this moment. Of perhaps it was the idea that the stars shouldn't be allowed to exist, when a star such as them had just fallen from his sky.


A/N: Um. Please don't kill me. Do you want more? And please review this just so I know if it's ok because I literally hate it guys... Help. This whole thing is just so cheesy to me I can't... Did it seem truthful at all? Like... A lot of this is my own thought, so I'd like to know what you thought. Oh yes! That's what I wanted to say! THERE IS A SPIN OFF TO THIS! Yeah-huh! It's called 'this is the truth' and you would be stars (sorry too soon?) if you would read it? And tell me if you liked it? It's like a sequel but different, and if this made you cry I think that might do the trick too. Sorry, sorry, i'll go now. Please don't cry.

Please.

I'm sorry.