BAZ
What do I do? There's only two things I can think about: Simon Snow and Dylan Carlson. Dylan was talking about sleeping in the catacombs. I can't let him do that. Maybe I can suggest the ramparts to him? I very well can't offer for him to sleep in here. As much as I'd love to share a bed with him, what if he's not gay? On top of that, how would Snow feel about his roommate being gay? About his roommate bringing in another man and sleeping in a bed together right in front of him? I sure as hell wouldn't want him to bring Wellbelove up here for a sleepover. But Wellbelove's a girl and can't get past the wards anyways. I finish up the last of my homework and set it in a neat pile on my desk.
Snow comes out of the en suite, his gorgeous coppery curls damp and sticking to his forehead. He's not wearing a shirt. He never wears a shirt to bed. He's still fairly scrawny; he always is at the start of school. He'll round out a bit in a few days. Always does. It's all those sandwhiches and buttered scones he eats while he's here. I suppose being a bottomless well of magic makes you eat a lot.
I contemplate asking Snow for advice. Dylan's been a part of our school for three days now. We have all of our classes together, and he sits by me in all of them except for one. I may or may not have pursuaded him to. In Magickal Arts class he sits next to Snow, however. Couldn't get him to sit with me for that. A bloody shame if you ask me. Simon's no good at Magickal anything, and that class is almost entirely partner projects. Dylan's brilliant at it; I just know he's carrying Snow's grades in that class. Five days ago I'd wished it was me helping to boost Snow's grades. Now, I just want Dylan to myself. Selfish, aren't I?
Anyways, I decide not to ask Snow for help. He'd just laugh at me, or make up some story about me "plotting" against him. Can't a bloke just be lovesick?
I decide to put these feelings to some good use. I pull out a blank piece of sheet music paper. Father would be pleased if I came home for Christmas with something new composed, I suppose. I write out a few lines then pick up my violin. I make corrections as I go. Snow's at his desk. I know he keeps turning to look at me. (His chair creaks when he moves. It's quite obvious.) Eventually, he sighs and says my name.
"Baz, that's real nice and all, but can you go somewhere else? I'm trying to study."
I sneer at him. "Alright, but don't follow me this time. Last year was absurd. I promise you this composition isn't some secret code for 'let's kill Snow'."
I can't help myself sometimes. No matter what I do he'll assume what he wants anyways. Last year he did nothing but follow me around like a lost dog. He didn't even try to hide it. I couldn't take a bloody piss without him following me into the toilet.
I grab a few spare pieces of sheet music and my pen, then pick up my violin and head to the ramparts.