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“Snow, I’m going to give you five seconds to get off of me” Baz tried to hiss, his words muffled by bronze curls.
“No space” Simon muttered. Baz took a deep breath. Some time between finding Baz and helping him out of the coffin that he was beginning to call home, Simon Snow, Chosen One had been pushed in by two numpties he thought he’d knocked out. The whole situation was more than a little ridiculous and seemed more like one of Baz’s fifth year fantasies than something that might actually happen.
“So,” Simon started, his voice, barely above a whisper. Baz went to reply with one of his usual retorts but couldn’t bring himself to break the silence.
“So,” Baz mumbled. Simon was still on all fours, body hovering uncomfortably, barely above Baz’s, his arms beginning to shake from the exertion. A few moments passed in that way before Baz sighed and shuffled to one side.
“Well go on, Snow, before you burst something.” He stared at Baz open-mouthed before collapsing face first on his shoulder.
“Thanks.” A beat. “I can’t breathe.” Baz rolled his eyes in a way that was worryingly close to fondly.
“Turn your head.”
“Too much hair.”
Baz made to roll his eyes again but froze as cautious fingers reached up to his neck and gently moved his hair. Satisfied, Simon laid down and buried his face in the crook of Baz’s neck, his breath was warm and soft against his skin.
“Your hair is longer.” Baz tried to ignore the way the words felt against his neck.
“Hair grows, Snow.”
“Baz,” he began, “how long have you been here?” Baz looked down and stayed silent.
“I mean, you don’t have to… it was just, uh-”
“I don’t know,” he spoke so softly it was almost inaudible. Baz started as a warm hand found his in the darkness. The cold, damp air of the coffin now seemed suffocating.
“Why are you here?” Baz whispered.
“You weren’t at school,” Simon stated. He clearly wasn’t about to elaborate.
They stayed like that for a long time, breathing in tandem, fingers loosely intertwined, neither willing to break the silence that hung heavy between them. For weeks Baz had been lying there alone and scared, the cold of the wood crawling over his skin, hunger biting at his stomach, daydreaming about Simon, wishing he could see him one last time. Sort of pathetic, Baz thought. But although his skin was still crawling and the hunger still biting, he wasn’t alone anymore, and, well, it was difficult for him to be scared when his senses were filled with bronze skin and smoky magic.
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking.” Baz jumped at the sound of Simon’s voice, but quickly recovered and fired back the obligatory “Well there’s a surprise.” Simon looked momentarily hurt.
“Whatever” he muttered, settling back into the silence and untangling his hand from Baz’s.
“Sorry,” Baz mumbled sheepishly. Still silent. Baz turned to face him and tentatively reached out a hand to Simon’s chin, turning his head to face him.
“Really, Snow. What is it?” Simon breathed deeply, gazing up to see how serious he was being.
“Maybe somewhere we’re on the same side. In a different universe or something.” he said finally.
“Well, maybe we could be in this one,” Baz whispered.
“Well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.” Baz stared at the boy in front of him. Because, Baz thought, that’s all he was really was. Despite the battles and the pressure and the expectations, he was still just a boy. A boy that he loved, who was looking at him like he’d done something wonderful. A boy whose lips were hanging open inches away from his own.
“Simon,” Baz breathed.
And then they were kissing. It was rushed and imperfect, but so much more that either had thought they deserved. Baz’s hand moved from his chin to trace the freckles he had long since memorised and Simon responded somewhat frantically by trying to move into space that wasn’t there between them. Panting slightly, Simon pulled back.
“I prefer us like this,” he said.
“Agreed,” Baz replied, giggling in a way not befitting a vampire.
“There’s only one problem though.”
“Charming, Snow. What is it?”
“We’re still stuck in a coffin.”
Fiona:
A coffin, Fiona thought, how creative. She had spent the best part of two weeks tracking Baz, only to find him surrounded by dead numpties, trapped in a coffin with none other than Simon bloody Snow. She turned to look at him now, waiting impatiently in her car, huddled under a blanket next to his friend. They were holding hands under the cover (which Fiona suspected was the only reason he’d agreed to use it) and gazing into each other’s eyes in the way that only two lovesick teenagers can. She smiled to herself, maybe the numpties weren’t such a bad thing after all.