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In the middle of eighth year, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch finally realized he would never grab the affections of Simon Snow. Through the eyes of his broken, battered, and undead soul, Baz agonizingly watched as Agatha and Simon grew closer in the final days of the year – kisses on the hand and cheek became more affectionate, more caring, more in love than Baz had seen before. Something between the golden couple had changed after Simon saved Welbelove at the end of their seventh year. The perfect blonde-haired maiden had officially fallen for the Chosen One, and Baz’s hopes were all squashed with a perfect, pink-toed foot as Welbelove whisked Simon Snow into her arms and promised him sweet nothings that tore into Baz’s heart with pretty pink nails and an icy stare. His hopes fled: crushed and battered, narrowly hanging on to the shredded bits of Baz’s heart, desperate to be the next “chosen one.” He watched a small fight from the Mummer’s House window that Simon insisted on opening every day – despite how much it irritated Baz. Chilly air wafted into the room as he looked down at the lawn, frowning.
The two were throwing their hands in the air, mouths moving in rapid succession as they bantered back and forth. Baz was reminded of when he and Snow fought on the daily. The quick, witty responses with Baz countered with Simon’s slow, stuttering scramble to find words to express his emotions. Snow’s face brushed with a rosy hue that always sent Baz’s heart racing, and he blamed it on the shouting. Agatha and Simon looked like that now: Agatha’s perfectly painted lips snapping responses with little trouble, and Simon’s reddened face as he struggled to find words. Baz silently wished that the fight would become so intense that the two would break up and move on so he could finally have his shot with Snow. He always knew the universe wasn’t in his favor. He doubted that shot would ever come.
Shortly after the arguing became quieter – Baz couldn’t hear them, despite his vampiric hearing – he watched as Simon slumped his shoulders and mumbled something that could only be an apology. Welbelove approached him slowly, gripping him in a tight hug as she murmured condolences in his ear. Baz turned away as they leaned towards each other.
Eighth year finished about how Baz expected it to: Baz succeeded in defeating Bunce with narrow marks, sending the violet-haired woman into a ferocious frenzy, Simon continued to accuse him of plotting, Agatha walked around the school in all her beauty and maidenhood, and the golden couple grew only closer and closer. Baz had stumbled into Mummer’s House one day while Simon was in the room and, if he had a normal human’s vision, would have missed the quick shuffling as Simon attempted to discreetly hide the ring he was holding in his palm two seconds prior. He believed his heart crumbled into dust that day.
Simon Snow was going to propose to his perfect maiden, his destiny, and Baz would be left in the dusty pile of Watford memories known as “nemesis.” He had quickly darted out of the room as soon as Snow slipped into the bathroom, biting his fist as he clambered through the Forbidden Forest to hide his aching sobs. At that moment, pain radiated throughout his entire body as he thought about Agatha’s tanned finger carrying the weight of a diamond worthy of Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the hero, Baz’s first and only love’s admiration. And Baz would be left alone with his vampirism and self-loathing. He sucked down about half a dozen rats that night to distract himself from the twisted strings in his undead heart.
There was this one night in the middle of winter that is officially scarred into Baz’s brain, his memories, and his entire being. Snow hadn’t gone to the Welbeloves for Christmas, electing to stay at Watford to catch up on his studies – a very un-Snow-like thing to do – and it was the first winter that Baz had stayed at school to avoid his homophobic father and the pressure of being the perfect Grimm-Pitch. Snow had come back drunk one evening after a night of being out on the town – without the Mage’s permission of course. Baz could smell the booze and vodka on Snow’s breath before the man had even stepped foot in the room and a million possibilities had run through his head.
Could this be his chance?
What if Snow can’t remember anything?
What if I just kiss him… for the memories?
Kiss, bite, or kill?
Baz watched as Snow stumbled about the room, laughing drunkenly at what he called an ‘ass-shaped moon’ as he stared out the window. Eventually, Baz snapped at Snow to get a hold on himself and attempted to intently read his textbook, trying – and failing – to absorb the words on the page because Snow was right there. Through the smell of booze Baz could taste the scent of cinnamon and fire and Snow. And Baz was sentimental. It was Christmas. Christmas carols wafted through the streets and through the boys’ window, igniting a feeling of nostalgia and festivity. And Baz was so, so in love with him. He blamed the Christmas carolers.
So, he stood.
And he placed a kiss right on Simon Snow’s pink, perfect mouth with the perfect teeth and the perfect smile. He tasted of alcohol and mint toothpaste, engulfing Baz’s body in an extreme amount of love as he finally snogged the man he’d been wanting to kiss ever since the bloody bloke had walked up to him on the first day of their first year, golden-spun hair wildly out of place and a bright childlike smile that was powerful enough to destroy entire armies. And the kiss was perfect. Just the right amount of chaste, Simon’s slightly chapped lips warm against his cold ones, a pale hand in golden-spun curls, and heat radiating throughout his body as he pressed closer to Simon.
Then Simon pulled away, wide-eyed and stammering, and the moment was over. Baz’s lips still held the warmth of the Chosen One, and his body was practically on fire with the heat. But the moment was over, so Baz bit his lip to swallow his tears and gently maneuvered the Chosen One into bed, placing a risky but loving peck on his forehead, and bolted outside into the snowy, frozen air to cry his heart out in peace.
Simon Snow will never know the agony Baz was in that night, nor would he know how much that memory meant to him. All Simon Snow would remember is a hazy night filled with booze and Baz’s presence. Nothing more, nothing less. Baz’s perfect, solid moment of true affection with Simon Snow never existed in Snow’s memory. When Simon woke up, he remembered little: just how much he hated drinking due to the hangover, and the open window kept blowing in crisp, freezing snow.
Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch would remember everything about that night with an aching undead heart and lips that can no longer be labeled as “virgin.”
Graduation was simple and sweet, full of tears and joyful laughter as the mages began to apply to universities to study Normal subjects or attend mage colleges. Baz gave his speech perfectly and effortlessly, keeping his gaze on Snow to a bare minimum as he raised his glass to the graduating class with promises of making the Watford Reunion in the next few years. Once the applause ended, he walked off stage with a heavy heart as he adjusted his cap with a small flick of his wand. He glanced around the ceremony with little purpose as he sipped a cup filled with green punch. As always, his eyes caught on golden-spun hair.
Simon was standing in the back with Bunce and Welbelove, his mouth full of his last sour cherry scone until the reunion, and he looked absolutely dazzling. It’s obvious Welbelove had a say in his attire – the dashing gray suit hugged his frame perfectly, contrasting amazingly with his golden curls and plain blue eyes. He can’t say that he blames her for the suit, although that’s where his sentiments for Welbelove end. He glances over at Welbelove, not surprised to see her appearance look as elegant as ever. Her slim blue dress followed the curves and length of her body effortlessly. The color was the exact shade of Simon’s eyes. His heart clenched. Just before he looked away to go greet the main guests – just to confirm that Basilton Grimm-Pitch is an amazing host – he notices something shiny glittering on Welbelove’s finger. Instantly, he feels his stomach sink. Snow had proposed. The golden couple would be married soon.
And so, for the next few years, he lived with his Aunt Fiona in their flat as he ignored flirt after flirt from other men, focusing only on those with blonde curls and blue eyes. However often he gave in to their flirting and swiped a snog or two, he refused to sleep with them. Somewhere, in the back of his head, Baz hoped that when he attended the Watford reunion Snow would be there, single, and finally able to return his affections. He knew it wasn’t possible, but his crushed hope still sat there, feebly waiting for a certain man to revive it from its fragile state. It pleaded with him to find the golden-spun disaster. He promptly ignored it.
The Watford Reunion came up quickly. It had been five years after Baz had seen Simon Snow, and he had pushed the memories of the Chosen One from his mind. He was almost positive he didn’t love the golden-haired boy anymore. So, he attended the reunion in his best suit – a favorable dark green suit that highlighted his grey eyes and pale face, not that he was hoping for someone to notice, of course – with high hopes that it would go well. He hadn’t seen any of his peers from his time at Watford throughout the years, and he looked forward to seeing how they had changed.
It wasn’t until he pulled up to the school that he remembered his graduation. Agatha and Simon were engaged. He ignored the small prick in his heart as he put the gear in park and stepped out, running a hand through his hair. He wore it loose now, rather than the smoothly slicked-back style he sported in school. The embarrassing style haunted him now. Throughout the first hour at the reunion, he had relaxed and began idle conversation with some peers he barely knew from his Political Science class. His hands had stopped twitching at the fear of Simon Snow’s outstanding appearance with his perfect, blonde wife on one arm and a dazzling child on the other. His heart had calmed down, proudly keeping a steady beat.
He was wrong to relax.
Baz’s fear was correct. Simon Snow walked into the reunion with a big grin plastered on his cheeks – Baz’s favorite smile, although it was never directed at him, only Bunce and Welbelove – and Agatha Welbelove (or is it Snow now?) clinging to his bicep with a small smile on her glossy lips. Two little golden-haired children darted past the beautiful couple – twins – laughing and cheering as they played what Baz could guess was a game of tag. His heart ached as he saw them, flanked by Penelope Bunce and her husband on her arm, her wild curls surprisingly natural. His eyes grazed over them quickly in his attempt to hide shock. In all, the four seemed happy and dazzling. Meanwhile, Baz had struggled to make it a year without Simon Snow’s by his side. He turned away from Bunce’s hawk-eyed stare, her gaze scrutinizing Baz in a way he can only describe as wary. Baz could only guess she was trying to evaluate both his time away from Watford and why he had abruptly turned from the sight of the golden couple and their perfect little children.
“Basilton.” Bunce’s voice announced her presence with a strangely friendly tone. Baz curled his fingers into a loose fist, shifting his posture to look at Penelope without any indication of his emotions towards the Snow family.
“Bunce. I can only guess that you’re still pursuing top marks in your classes and attempting to rid the world of any person who might be on your level,” he said slowly, trying to hide the lump in his throat as he caught sight of Simon pressing an affectionate kiss on Agatha’s lightly powdered cheek. Not that she needed the makeup to look amazing. His soul gave another plead to march over there and whisk him away.
“It’s been five years, Basilton. Are you really going to keep at the offensive despite not attending Watford anymore?”
“It was just a question.” Baz trained his gaze on Bunce’s eyes, forcing himself to ignore Simon’s heart-fluttering appearance of a light button-up shirt and messily rolled up sleeves. His hair was even styled brilliantly. He’d grown it out on one side and it was neatly combed down. Agatha’s doing, most likely. It still looked as amazing as it did five years ago. Curse the gods for creating Simon Snow.
“Well, you’re right anyway. Come on, don’t you want to see Simon after years of bickering over nonsense like ‘Chosen Ones’ and magic? You’re both adults now, you can handle a little light discussion over something as simple as the weather.” Baz squeezed his fist tighter.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not.” And with that Baz was dragged over to the family with perfect genes, struggling to remain calm as two pairs of eyes – one brown and one blue – gazed at him with overjoyed expressions. His hand twitched involuntarily. He was pretty sure there were tiny crescents in his pam now.
“Baz,” Simon breathed, shocked. “How have you been?”
How have I been? Well, Snow, I’ve dreamt of you every night for the past five years – and none of those were what you would consider ‘appropriate friendly behavior.’ Also, how dare you breathe my name like that. It’s going to be a fantasy now, you know. Your fault, not mine.
“Fine. And you? It seems you’ve got your life together, Snow. I’m surprised you have it all figured out before most of the graduating class.” Baz gestured to the other graduates, all of which were either drunk, high, or drowning in college assignments. Simon didn’t take the bait, a small smile forming on his full, pink lips. Not that Baz was staring.
“Well, Ags and I got married a few months after we graduated.” Baz’s heart sank even further than before, if that was even possible. His soul continued pleading helplessly. “Cherry and Angela were conceived not long after. Then we both got into university. Been studying physics, actually,” he paused and stared at Baz as if the boy was going to scoff at him. “I’m almost ready to start grad school.”
Simon really does have his life together. What does Baz have? A broken heart and an economics degree for Normals that give him a large sum for his paycheck every week from his job as a CEO in an office firm. He doesn’t have a bloke to kiss and hold each night, or kids to run around and chase after and yell their names when they get into trouble. He has practically nothing, whereas Snow – his love, his nemesis, his everything – has everything. Everything but Baz.
Baz grew conscious of Bunce’s staring as she analyzed him. He had just turned his head to bestow her with an award-winning Basilton glare when her gaze brightened with discovery and his veins filled with ice. She knew. Of course she knew. He was staring at Simon breathlessly and with parted lips, trailing his eyes down Simon’s dark blue suit that hugged his frame – his arse looked marvelous, by the way – and brightened his ordinary blue gaze. She had figured Baz out in a span of three minutes, watching as Baz’s gaze softened when he looked at Simon and hardened at the sight of Agatha and the kids. How his heart broke just a bit more with every smile and peck on Agatha’s cheek. How, when a small, pale hand and blonde-hair pressed curiously into his thigh – one of the twins – Baz’s entire expression dropped as he looked down at Snow’s creation because he knew that he would never have his own children, especially not with Snow. She knew because of the way he stared at the glittering rings on the couple’s fingers, as they shined with every twist of the joint, and saw the shattering of hope in pale, gray eyes that told a story of love for someone he could never have.
Bunce said nothing during the conversation, only giving Baz a gaze full of wonder and pity as he continued to look at every part of the golden couple’s relationship with agony. He was lucky when, as soon as Agatha started detailing their first night on their honeymoon, Headmaster Bunce called for Baz’s reunion speech. Little does she know that she just saved Baz from excruciating pain. The sickening feeling in his stomach grew with every word that poured out of the perfect, blonde’s lips. He was grateful for the interruption.
The speech was simple and sweet, promoting good health, success, and luck to the graduates, and a call for graduates to start enrolling their children into Watford’s first year program. Thankfully, no one noticed Baz’s small choke-up during that announcement as he caught sight of one of the Snow twins pulling on Agatha’s dress lightly for attention, reminding him that Simon Snow, the Chosen One, the golden hero of Watford, was married and had children attending Watford in a couple of years. And Baz had no one, not even a pet, to call his own. After his speech he quickly left the podium, hurrying to his car to avoid any more conversation with the Snows and their perfect little toddlers. Maybe he should get a cat or two.
He was stopped, however, by Penelope Bunce throwing out an arm to stop him in his path, her dress swinging around her ankles as she abruptly cut him off. Baz stopped right in front of her – if he had been walking any faster he would have barreled straight into her.
“What is it Bunce? It’s a four-hour drive back to my flat from here, and I haven’t got the time to deal with your pestering if you’re just going to brag about your high marks.” He attempted to use his most irritable tone, though it came out soft and weary. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to escape before she could announce her discovery. About Snow. About his feelings.
“I know you’re in love with Simon,” she said suddenly. Even though he had suspected this, the words still sent a cold shock deep into his veins. Her gaze softened a bit as he avoided her gaze, attempting to step around her without knocking her off her feet. Though she wasn’t in heels, she was still short, and Baz didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her – to hurt anyone but himself. “Basilton, how long has it been?”
He clenched his teeth together. Not once has he spoken about his feelings to anyone, and the stress and emotions tried to crawl up his throat, desperate to finally reveal themselves. All the agony, the crying, the suffering, the watching from afar.
“You have nothing to prove that,” he choked out, grateful his voice was mainly steady. He would die of embarrassment if his voice cracked now, exposing his feelings.
“What about your expression right now? Or your face at graduation when you turned completely white when you saw Agatha’s ring?” Fuck, she knew everything, didn’t she? He didn’t even know he paled at the sight of the diamond ring on Agatha’s tan skin. Bunce’s voice softened. “Or how about the way you look at Simon when you think no one is looking at you?”
A sob escaped his throat, quiet, but still noticeable. Bunce rested a small hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know what it’s like, being gay and watching the only bloke you love snog some golden girl who doesn’t even know how to appreciate him for who he is.” His voice began to rise to a shout. “How it feels to watch him every single night for the past ten years,” her eyes widened, “knowing he will never feel the same about you!”
Bunce gripped his shoulder tightly. “Calm down, Basilton, he’ll hear you.” Baz looked at her with tear-stained cheeks.
“Then let him. Let him know that all I ever wanted was to comfort him when he came back to our room completely soaked in blood and holding an expression of defeat that no person of seventeen should have to bear. Let him know that all I want to do is hold him and never let go because it’s what he deserves!” Baz raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes as his voice fell to a whisper, tears streaking his pale, undead cheeks. “Let him know that I have always been in love with him, and will probably be until the day I die – if I’m not already cursed with immortality. Let him know that I would be so much better for him, but he’s happy, so I would never intrude on that.”
“Baz.” Her voice urged him to stop. He could only assume Simon was walking towards him, concerned, but he couldn’t stop now. The emotions were spilling out onto the floor, leaking from his broken, tattered heart after so many years of concealing how his hope ached to be with Simon Snow.
“Just let him know that I never wanted to be enemies. That I love him, and all I could see when I was near him was how much I wanted to be human, to be a woman, to be alive so I could be with him. But I can’t. And I know this now.” Footsteps sounded on the crisp grass behind him as his voice failed to the smallest whisper, light enough for only Bunce and the person behind him to hear.
“I just wanted to cherish him.” Bunce stared at him with her intelligent eyes, all critical and pitying, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He spun around abruptly, preparing to shout, scream, to hurt Simon exactly as he had been hurt – only to find Agatha standing there with a friendly, tired smile: one he had only seen directed towards Simon. It was the kind of smile a sister or mother would give to their relative, one that brought comfort and understanding. Baz stared at her with his tear-stricken face and swollen eyes, and she just smiled that smile, all golden and perfect.
“Baz,” she murmured gently. “He will follow me soon, in about two minutes or so, if he is on time.” He knew what that meant. She was giving him a way out. A way to run away before Simon Snow could see Baz’s true self, the broken shell of a man once so in love he casted ‘On Love’s Light Wings.’ to save Simon’s golden, golden life on that cliff so many years ago. So, he smiled at her – a true smile, one that had never been seen by Snow or his family – and lightly squeezed her shoulder as he strolled past her. Tears dried as he walked towards the crisp, winter wind, trying to call him back to a certain Simon Snow, but he continued towards his car and climbed inside. From out his windshield he could see Snow walk up to Agatha and lightly grab her elbow with a small peck on her tanned neck. Baz smiled. The hope waved a white flag feebly as it surrendered.
Simon was happy.
Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch started his engine and drove into the darkness, away from the bright, exhilarating Watford Reunion and its graduates. Away from the sour cherry scones that will always remind him of golden-spun curls and ordinary blue eyes. Away from Agatha and her soft smile. Away from Bunce and her analytical gaze that he can only interpret as her way of understanding and accepting him for who he is. Away from Cherry and Angela, the two twin golden-haired girls that carried Agatha’s corn-silk colored hair and Snow’s dazzling blue eyes. He drove away from Simon Snow – his love, his soulmate, his sun – and left his agonies behind him.
The hope forgot about Simon Snow a year later.