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Hands against shirts. Skin on skin. Ragged breathing. He’d never felt like this before. He didn’t know it was possible. To feel so alive and burnt all at once; as if someone had lit a sparkler within him. Fingers in curls. Mouths on jaws - and finally: lips on lips. He felt dizzy and sick all at once; curled up on this ancient grey bed in an empty room of the care home. With a boy. He’d never really spoken to this boy - it was just passing glances in corridors and staring in lunch rooms. And now it was kissing. He never wanted it to end. But end it did; with a bang that snapped them apart like a blade. Reality. “Oi! Boys! Come get a look at this faggot!” And then it became a smear of blood and whimpers; of newly-formed bruises and cruel words sliced into skin. And then it became a harsh reality; a reality that would never end.
Baz strolled into the room with an Open Sesame that caused the door to fly inwards with a bang. Just this once, he was allowed to make an entrance, the way Snow always did. It was a guaranteed way to draw Snow’s attention, and as much as he loathed it, Baz craved Snow’s glance.
Only today, Snow didn’t whirl around; he didn’t growl at Baz or glare at him with glowing eyes. In fact, he barely reacted at all. His hands stilled in his unpacking as he threw a quiet “Baz” over his shoulder. The words sat on the floor, small and faint.
Baz slowly dragged his bag over to his bed, pausing now and then to stare at Snow’s figure, bundled up in a hoodie, the sleeves overlarge; the hood drawn down over his face. He was silent as he moved about the room; there was no bumping into cupboards, or muttered curses. Baz sniffed; the smoky scent of his magic was faint, buried. He halted, confused. Snow’s magic was always overpowering, dizzying. Especially on the first day back. And why wasn’t he wearing his school uniform? Snow lived for the uniform for Crowley’s sake. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“You’re awfully quiet, Snow.” He sneered. “Trouble in paradise with Wellbelove, perhaps?”
Snow simply shook his head.
“No, wait. The Mage finally realised his heir is a total disaster?” No response. Baz couldn’t stand it. He snatched at Snow’s arm as he passed by him to the door, saying, “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you, Snow?”
This time, Simon gasped in pain and wrenched his arm back. Baz stared at him. “Morgana Snow, all I did was touch your arm.”
Simon said nothing. He tugged his hood further down - not that Baz could see his face anyway - and brushed past him, slamming the door as he went.
Simon walked slowly up the stairs to his room, pausing every few steps to rest his mangled leg, and breathe as deeply as was possible through bruised - and quite possibly - broken ribs. He was exhausted. He’d managed to avoid Penny and Agatha and the Mage - not to mention the entire student population. He’d hidden out at Ebb’s who, bless her, said nothing. Thanks to her, he’d managed to avoid dinner, and it was now 1:30am - a time when everyone - including Baz - should be asleep.
He paused outside the door to their room, apprehensive, but when he entered, Baz was curled on his side in the moonlight, breathing deeply. Breathing a sigh of relief, Simon stumbled into the bathroom, and in the twilight of the room, allowed the hood to fall. He closed his eyes before he could see. He didn’t want to see the monster he’d become. But it wasn’t enough. He knew that if he opened his eyes, it would all be there taunting him; reminding him of the disgust he would be served tomorrow.
He felt his magic charging through his skin, waking up. It made him angrier. Why hadn’t it worked when he needed it? Why hadn’t it saved him? He opened his eyes, and stared down at his fist. It was glowing slightly, blue and blurred around the edges. He raised it slowly - and smashed it into the mirror. Shards of glass exploded from the vanity, cascading across the floor. Dimly, he registered the blood flowing between his fingers, the fragments embedded in his skin.
“What the fuck, Snow?”
Simon whirled around. He thought he’d shut the door, but Baz was standing behind him, sneering. His eyes widened as Simon turned, and all too late, Simon thought of the hood.
“S-Simon -” Baz choked, and Simon stumbled back, tugging it back over his head.
“Get away Baz,” he snarled, but his voice was shaking. Damn him.
Baz waved his wand at the room, “As you were.”
Then he lunged at Simon, pulling the hood off once more. “What- what the actual fuck, Snow? Who did this to you?” His voice was low, angrier than Simon had ever heard it. He attempted to struggle backwards, but Baz - curse his bloody vampire strength - propelled him forwards and shoved him onto a bed, that Simon recognised as decidedly not his.
“Snow. Simon!”
Simon looked upwards. “What?” “Who. Did. This?” Simon shrugged. He could feel tears welling up behind his eyes. He couldn’t cry, not in front of Baz. He shook his head. Baz sighed. “Look. Just let me get you changed. You’re covered in blood. Then I can fix your hand.”
Simon shrank backwards, shaking his head furiously. “No.”
“Snow, I swear I’m not bloody plotting, just let me fucking help you!”
Simon risked a glance at Baz. His roommate was standing over him, nostrils flared, eyes wild. He felt something within himself crumble. He held his arms out to Baz - “Go ahead.”
Simon pretended not to think whilst Baz undressed and then redressed him in a pair of his ridiculous silk pyjamas. He pretended not to hear when Baz hissed at the words etched into his forearm. He pretended not to see the way Baz’s eyes narrowed at the bruising splayed across his skin. When Baz was done, Simon lay down, drawing the sheets over his head.
“Not now, Baz,” he whispered. “I’m tired.”
Penny woke to someone thundering on the door. Trixie was glaring at her from across the room. Penny groaned as she stumbled out of bed. “Crowley, I’ll be there in a minute.” She grumbled. She was expecting Simon, back from his trip for the Mage - at least, that’s where she expected him to be. Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard from him, which was very unusual. She was surprised then, to find Baz standing coolly in the corridor. “Bunce.” He snapped. “You need to come with me.” He began walking away without waiting for a reply.
Penny slammed the door shut behind her, and raced down the corridor after him. “What are you talking about, Basil?” He didn’t reply. Penny followed him, grumbling, to the top of Mummer’s House, careful not to let him see how she got through the wards.
When she stepped through the door into the room of her best friend and his arch nemesis, Penny gasped.
Simon was just sitting up sleepily in Baz’s bed, the light of the morning sun swirling around him. He frowned. “Pen? What are you doing here?”
Penny rushed forward, leaving Baz to sit at the end of his bed, fists clenched. In the morning light, the bruising was violent and harsh.
“Simon! What happened? Did Baz-”
Baz cut her off with a snarl. “As if I would be this sloppy, Bunce.”
Penny stared at him, calculating. Whatever the result, it seemed to be good, for Penny turned back towards Simon. “Seriously Si, who did this to your face?”
Simon shook his head fiercely. Behind them, Baz shuffled closer. “It’s not just his face, Bunce.” His voice was disgusted as he flicked his wand at Simon’s shirt.
Penny let out a choked cry as she traced the F A G G OT carved into Simon’s forearm. Simon was staring fixedly at the blanket before him. He didn’t want to look, to see the revulsion in their faces.
Baz went on, gesturing to Simon’s blanket laden legs. “They’re also pretty butchered.” His voice was icy; it made Simon shiver.
Penny sat back, drawing the blankets up to Simon’s chin. Simon was shocked when he felt a tear drop land on his head. “Pen-”
“Please just tell us Si, so we can help you.” Penny was crying, but her voice was fierce.
Simon shifted his gaze back to the blankets. “It was at the care home.” His voice was small, defeated. “I -I was with a-a boy.” Baz made an odd choking noise. Penny glared at him.
“Anyway, there’s this mage gang, in the care homes. Their parents are benefactors, so they tag along to 'help out'. I always used to be put with them when I was a kid. They really h-hate me. Because of my magic, I think. They found me with this boy, and well- you can guess what happened next.”
Baz leaned forward around Penny. “Who are they?”
Simon frowned at him, confused. “I already told you Baz.”
“Their names.”
Simon pushed himself backwards to lean against the headboard, clutching the blankets to his chest. “Why does it matter, Baz?”
Baz cracked his knuckles and smiled darkly.
Simon was thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand, Pen,” he hissed at her the moment Baz left the room. They had become some sort of trio. Baz and Penny had refused to go to class; instead they insisted on healing Simon’s injuries - although they hadn’t been able to totally remove the crude word that was hacked into his skin. From there, it only got weirder. Baz and Penny somehow managed to procure a whiteboard, and had spent hours debating the correct way to deal with the Davey Brothers.
Penny looked at him over the frames of her glasses. “Understand what?”
“Baz. Penny, he’s got to be plotting.”
To Simon’s surprise, Penny started giggling.
“Penny, I’m serious! Why else would Baz be - be helping?”
Penny took a deep breath. “Si. Look at the facts.”
Simon opened his mouth to speak, but Penny held up a hand.
“He let you sleep in his bed -”
“-he forced me onto his bed!”
“He - the boy who battles it out for top of the class - just skipped a whole day of classes. In 7th year, no less.”
“So he’s got a really big plan!”
“He then spent an entire morning trying to heal you -”
“This is Baz, Pen. He’s probably got an elaborate plan in place. I tell you, he’s plotting.”
Penny lost her patience. “Simon. How many cruel words has he said to you today?”
Simon’s jaw dropped. “He-he hasn’t said any. Penny, what does this mean? What’s his motive?”
Penny just winked at him, as Baz breezed back into the room, plate of cherry scones in hand. He handed them to Simon, who accepted them in shock. What was Baz up to? Why else would he be here, if it wasn’t to bring about Simon’s death?
“Snow. Bunce. I think we should do it tonight.”
Penny gave Baz a look. Simon couldn’t decipher it. “And with what plan, Basil?” She asked.
Baz took a deep breath. “There are two parts. The first - Simon has to be found by them. He has to be vulnerable.” Simon lent forward. Was Baz blushing? They were glowing a beautiful dusky pink, the bastard. He always looked so bloody perfect.
“Second -” Baz hesitated. “Simon throws the final punch.”
Simon stood up from the bed, fast. “I’m not hurting them, Baz.”
Baz sneered at him. “Not physically, Snow. You show them the one thing they won’t be able to stand: reality.”
Simon bit his lip. “Do you think that will work?”
“Of course it will work, Snow. My plans are brilliant.”
Penny spoke up from behind them. “One question. What precisely is this reality?”
Baz was definitely blushing. Simon couldn’t stop staring. Crowley, how much had he drunk?
“Well, that’s where it becomes a little difficult. I actually know of these Davey Brothers. They’re relatives of Niall’s.”
Simon snorted. “Of course they are.”
Baz glared at him. “They know who I am. They respect me. They fear me. So if they were to see me in a compromising position, they would have no choice but to accept it.” Penny nodded slowly, eyes sparkling.
Simon was lost. “What do you mean by ‘compromising position’?”
“It means that you and me - we’d have to pretend, for a little while at least -”
Penny clapped a hand across her mouth, shoulders shaking. Baz turned away from her deliberately.
Simon was bouncing on his toes. He couldn’t stand all these pretenses. “Pretend what, Baz?”
“I’d have to pretend to be your boyfriend.” The words spun out into the air, and hung there, shivering in the silence.
Simon walked through the darkened bar, trying to hide his fear. It was hard though, when everyone seemed to be staring, analysing. Curse Baz, and his ridiculous clothing.
Both Baz and Penny had decided it was too risky to wear school uniform, and so Simon found himself stuffed into a stupidly tight pair of jeans and a heather coloured v-neck that hung way too low for his liking. He felt exposed, ugly - and not in the conventional sense. Every step he took led him closer to them, and it filled his mind with a self-loathing so powerful it seared.
Another punch to the gut. Simon curled further in on himself, trying not to cry out. It would only make it worse. Then suddenly, he was being straddled, arms and legs held down by those around him. The ring leader - James - leant forward, until Simon could feel the breath against his cheek. “I bet you like this. You do, don’t you?” James ground his hips down once. The boys behind him jeered. “How about that fairy? I bet you loved that.” Simon turned his face away, tears rolling down his face. James grabbed him by the chin, forcing Simon to look into his eyes. “Fucking faggot,” he hissed. “You don’t seem to get it, do you?” There was a scrape of metal, and suddenly, James was holding a pocket knife. “I think you need some help. I think you need a daily reminder of how worthless you really are.”
“Fairy!” The voice echoed through the din of the room. Simon’s heart clenched. He started walking faster. Get to the back entrance - that was what Baz had said. Behind him, he could hear chairs being scraped backwards, footsteps marching towards him.
He reached the back door, and slammed himself against the far wall of the small courtyard. When he turned around, James was standing before him, smirking. “Well, well, well. Who knew the fairy was so desperate? Come back for more, slut?” The boys behind him guffawed.
Simon drew himself upright shakily. “I'm not a slut. I’m not a faggot, either. I’m just a boy.” James rolled his eyes, and suddenly, Simon found himself pressed against the wall, struggling to breathe. “Of course you are. You’re nothing.”
James stepped backwards, and drove a fist into Simon’s stomach. “You know, I don’t think you’ve got it yet. I think you need to be taught another lesson.”
Simon glanced blearily up at him from the ground. “Get away from me!” He hadn’t intended for magic to come into his voice, but suddenly James was on the other side of the courtyard, buried under a pile of his cohorts. He rose upwards with a roar, and threw himself towards Simon.
“What is this, gentlemen?” Baz’s voice cut through the rubble of noise like a blade. James stumbled in his rage, and spun around. “B-Baz-”
Baz strode across the courtyard, and tugged Simon to his feet. He slipped an arm around his waist, and pulled him into his chest. James stared in shock. “What are you doing, Baz?”
“I could ask you the same question.” Baz said icily. Simon stared up at Baz from his place against his chest, which was surprisingly warm. Baz’s eyes were dark as he snapped, “Why were you assaulting my boyfriend?”
There was a deadly silence.
Baz pressed a kiss against Simon’s forehead, before tugging him behind his back. “I should think,” said he, as he stepped slowly forwards, “that my property was obvious.”
“Really, Baz, we had no idea-”
“That is no excuse.” Baz hissed. He was flush with James now, who appeared to be attempting to shrink into the ground. There was a sudden flare of light - Baz was holding a flame in his hand. James’ eyes widened in horror; his lackeys were trembling. Simon had an absurd image of a god dealing with his followers fly into his mind at the sight; Baz standing powerful and tall before them.
“Do you think it is wrong for me to have a boyfriend?” Baz snarled. Simon was taken aback at the intensity of his words. What was Baz’s motive?
James shook his head violently. “No-no Baz.”
“Then why is it so wrong for Simon?” Baz had never called him Simon before.
“It isn’t Baz, I’m s-sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough. Not after what you did to him.” Baz’s voice had become feral, animalistic. His hand drew closer towards James’ face.
“Basil.” Penny stood in the doorway, and Simon breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “I think you’ve taught him what he needs to know.”
James spun around to face Penny. “Thank you, thank you! I promise, Baz, I’ll never hurt people for being gay again-”.
“Oh, do be quiet,” Penny snapped, and punched James in the face. He crumpled to the ground. “Don’t go near Simon,” she hissed, before striding away.
Baz followed, arm draped across Simon’s shoulders.
The moment they entered their room, Simon had Baz pushed up against the wall.
“What the fuck, Snow?” Baz snapped.
“I want to know your motive,” Simon said breathlessly.
“My what?”
“I want to know why you’re helping me, Baz.”
Baz sneered. “Who said I was helping?”
“We both know you are, Baz,” Simon growled. “So tell me why.”
Baz struggled, and shoved Simon backwards. He fell onto Baz’s bed, panting. “Tell me, Baz. You’ve changed, and I want to know why.”
“Get off my bed, Snow,” Baz snarled.
“Make me.”
Suddenly, Baz was leaning over Simon, pressing him into the covers. “Get. Off. My. Bed.” He was breathing heavily, lips parted. Simon stared up at him in confusion. Baz wasn’t looking him in the eye. What was going on?
And suddenly, he knew.
Simon shifted upwards onto his elbows, and slid his mouth against Baz’s ear. “Make me,” he whispered.
Baz let out a moan, and pulled Simon onto his lap. Their mouths met with a clash of teeth, but to Simon it was deliriously perfect. Baz kissed him hungrily, hands tangling in his curls, fingers sliding under his shirt. They parted, breathing heavily, and Simon thought he might pass out from the taste of Baz’s lips alone.
“B-Baz-” he breathed, and Baz sighed.
He pushed them backwards, until they were tangled in the covers, Baz hovering overhead, dragging kisses down Simon’s neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured.
Simon gasped as Baz bit at his ear. Baz. Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz. His name became a chant in Simon’s mind, one that he exhaled with kisses against Baz’s shoulder.
“This is so much better than fighting.”
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Simon jerked awake, heaving uncontrollably. His face was wet with tears, though he couldn’t say when he had begun crying. The voices still echoed in his head, the taunts of fairy and faggot as powerful as the scar currently burning against his skin.
There was a rustle of sheets behind him, and an arm slid around his waist. “What is it love?” asked Baz.
Simon shook his head. “S’nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Baz tugged at Simon’s waist until he turned to face him. “Was it the dream again?”
Simon nodded, burying his face against the cool silk of Baz’s pyjamas. Baz pressed a kiss to his forehead, before picking up Simon’s left arm.
“What are you doing, Baz?”
“Shh, love. Just let me do this.” Baz brought the scarred arm up to his lips, and pressed a kiss against the warm, tawny skin. “You-” he began to kiss his way down towards the wrist, “-are wonderful, kind, and the most compassionate person I have ever met.” He tugged Simon up to face him. “You are more than his words, love. I want you to remember that. And when you wake up, I’ll always be here.”
Simon shakily wiped at his face. “I love you, Baz.” The words slipped out without warning; Simon’s eyes widened.
Baz stared at him in shock. Simon attempted to slip out of Baz’s arms, but he tightened his hold. “Simon,” he purred. “I love you too, you numpty.”