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I looked over at the suit hanging on the wardrobe on Simon’s side of the room and scowled without meaning to. See, part of me wishes that I could ignore the fact that the Leavers’ Ball is coming up and focus on exams, but the bigger (and admittedly stronger) part of me is persistent in constantly reminding me of two things: Fiona’s advice to “ Shoot your fucking shot, Basil - what have you even got to lose ?” (my dignity) and the fact that I’m most definitely running out of time to shoot my fucking shot because how exactly does one go about asking out his enemy after eight years of nonstop fighting?
The thing is, these two things have been chewing my ear off for the last year - more so when Agatha broke up with Simon (while I was still missing, no less) last October, so the running out of time excuse had probably run dry by the time I started using it. Admittedly, the arch enemy excuse is a weak one, too. Since the whole Humdrum and Nicodemus debacle in December, Snow has been significantly - and disturbingly - a lot more tolerant with me. Bunce, too. Hell, even that was a lie; I’d dare say that I’m friends with the two of them.
Sometimes I think about whether it’s more difficult to be friends with Snow than it was to keep up a facade of hating him. One the one hand, I’m allowed to smile around him now - that makes my life a hell of a lot better, but now that I’ve lowered my defences around him it’s quite a bit of work to not catch myself making love-eyes at him. (Dev and Niall have both picked up on it now, and they won’t let me forget about it.)
“What’s with the face?” Snow asks, having looked over from his bed.
“Leavers’ ball.” I tell him the truth, or at least a bit of it.
“What about the leavers’ ball?” he asks, propping himself up on an elbow. I look over at him and Aleister Crowley, is he trying to kill me?
“Does it matter, Snow?”
“Well if it’s making you that mad, then yeah.” he pushes his hair out of his face and I look away, blinking slowly. I sigh heavily and force a laugh.
“It’s just annoying, isn’t it? Everything about it really gets on my nerves and everybody makes such a huge deal about it, it gets so tedious.” I look back at him slowly, and he nods once.
“I guess. So, you’re-- you’re not going then?” he asks and -- what the fuck is that supposed to mean? The rational side of my brain is telling me that it was just a question, it isn’t supposed to mean anything, that I’m being a moron; but the other side is telling me that he sounds disappointed. Tell him you’re going, Baz.
“No, I’m not.” I say, finally.
“Oh. Okay.” he says and fuck . Have I made a mistake? I can hear Fiona’s voice at the back of my mind - persistent and annoying - asking me what I have to lose, but honestly, I could lose a lot.
“Why, are you?” I ask coolly, as if I’m not internally stressing out. I can feel my magic rising in the back of my throat, like it does when I get nervous.
“Uh-- yeah, I was- I was thinking about it, yeah.”
“Oh, yeah. Have fun.” I say flatly. Did I sound too mean? This friendly-but-not-too-friendly attitude is completely draining, especially recently.
“If you-- change your mind,” he says, turning back to his book. What is happening? “Then Penny, Agatha and I are going as a group if you wanted to come along? Only if you want, I mean, like no pre--”
“Yeah. I mean, I’ll think about it, okay?”
Correction: I won’t stop thinking about it.
That’s all my mind does for the next four days - fantasies about how Snow will look under the fairy lights are apparently more important than my final exams. How he’ll look and the idea that we could dance together and maybe then would I tell him how I feel. But it’s stupid. Stupid enough that I’m suddenly twelve years old again, daydreaming about the boy with blue eyes and imagining every possible thing that will happen when we kiss - shit. If .
After days of imagining everything that could possibly go wrong (never what could go right - that’s a pathway to false hope), I finally talk to Simon about it. “Snow,” I ask, not needing to make it a question.
“Hm?”
“I’ll tag along, to the ball. Only because my father will kill me if I don’t go.” he smiles, and Merlin and Morgana, I wish I could make him smile like that with everything I say - I could write entire sonnets about that smile.
“I knew you would. What are you gonna wear?” he asks, and he sounds so genuinely interested that it makes me want to set myself alight.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ll probably just get my dad to drop something off. I’m not buying something new.” I shrug.
“It’s tomorrow night, you know?” Shit.
“Yeah, I know.” I nod. “He drives down the motorway in the morning, anyway. It’s fine, I’ll have something.” Or at least I’ll have to, won’t I?
*
Flash forward to tomorrow night and I’ve got the suit (deep purple with a black tie - not my best look). And I’m keeping my cool but completely regretting my decision to come along. My what could possibly go wrong list is growing subsequently, and I’m considering just staying behind and --
Simon walks out of the bathroom in that suit that’s been hanging on his wardrobe for weeks, and fuck. Aleister Crowley, Merlin and Morgana, fuck he looks good. I’ve spent eight years pining over him but I’ve never been taken aback like this.
“Uh, Penny and Agatha will be here in a minute. Are you ready to go?” I blink myself away from staring at him, though it does take some work.
“Yeah, yeah I’m ready.” I say, trying to think of something to fill the desperately awkward silence. “Y- that suit looks nice. You really suit that colour.”
“Oh, thanks!” he gives a small smile, but he looks embarrassed and the tips of his ears turn pink. We sit in the silence for a few more seconds before there’s a sharp knock at the door.
“Heey!” Bunce sings as Snow opens the door. She’s wearing a long, yellow gown and has white flowers braided into her hair. “I forgot that Ags can’t get up here, she’s waiting downstairs.” She laughs, motioning down the hallway. “You both look so great,”
I chuckle nervously. “Thanks.” We both say it at the same time.
“So are we all ready to go?” I ask, and both of them look at each other before nodding. “Let’s go.”
The ball is exactly how I imagined it - and not a bit less terrifying than I pictured. The entirety of the eighth year is here, plus all of the staff, and the music is blasted up loudly to drown out everybody’s conversations, causing said conversations to creep louder and louder. I can feel the music thumping in my chest - or is that my heart - and as pathetic as it sounds, I don’t want to be separated from the others.
“This is -- wow.” Simon says, a little breathlessly, and I’m the only one who hears.
“Yeah. It’s loud.” I nod, trying to look at least a bit at ease; I don’t want my stress rubbing off on everybody else. I try to blend in, which is more difficult than you’d think, especially when you feel like you’re sticking out like a sore thumb everywhere you go. I linger with Wellbelove when Bunce and Snow go off to dance, and with Snow when the others go off to the bathroom. I generally steer clear of the dancefloor - I already feel as if I’m drawing enough attention to myself as it is.
“Snow, I’m gonna go outside for a minute.” I say, having to lean a bit closer than I would’ve liked (still not close enough) and he nods, mumbling something about coming with me.
We walk to the drawbridge, looking out over the Great Lawn. I lean against the wall and take out a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it.
“They’re bad for you.” he says, nodding towards my hand.
“Vampires don’t get ill, Snow.” I shrug, glancing over at him. It’s rare that I ever talk about it these days, but when I do, he doesn’t make a big deal, just quietly acknowledges it. I know that he wouldn’t use it against me these days; it’s one of the things I love about him.
“Fairs. Can I try some?” he asks, already reaching over to take it from my hand.
“You’ll get lung cancer, Snow.” I counter, letting him take it anyway.
“The day that I get lung cancer from this one cigarette, Baz, I’ll give you a million pounds.”
“Deal,” I say, looking away with a smirk. I look out over the lawn, the sun hasn’t completely set yet; the sky is the same colour as Snow’s suit. I look back at him, under the light of the stars, he’s coughing and pretending to enjoy smoking, and I laugh softly, taking the cigarette off him and throwing it in the moat. He laughs sheepishly, and I think for the billionth time how I’m in love with him, I’m so far gone and I’m not sure if it can get any worse than this. He gives me a look that I don’t quite understand, and I think: this can definitely get worse.
“Baz can I-- can I tell you something?” My stomach drops to the center of the Earth for a second before I nod warily. “Ok, it’s just..” he trails off, then stops.
And then he kisses me.
And it takes me a moment or two, but I kiss back and Crowley, did somebody spike the punch with love potion? I don’t know what’s making him do this or why, but I decide that I don’t need to think about that right now because I’m kissing Simon Snow and he’s kissing me and this is not the worst case scenario that I imagined.
I pull away, and he blinks, before stepping back. “I’m not good with words,” he whispers, smiling a little. “Sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t apologise.” I bring my hand up to his jaw and I look him in the eyes, probably for the first time tonight. “Don’t apologise, Snow. Just do it again,” I laugh, a little breathlessly and he kisses me again, Simon Snow kisses me again .
And when we finally pull away, and we can still hear the thumping of the music from the hall, and the sun has gone to sleep and it’s just us - I smile softly. “Can we not go back in there for a while?” He nods. “Let’s go for a walk,”
And we walk in the Wavering Wood, there’s fireflies lighting up the trees and the path has been charmed to glow, giving off a soft golden light. “How long have you-?” I ask, quietly.
“Years, now.” he sighs. “Since we were 15.”
“You were dating Ag-”
“Don’t.” he laughs. “Please.” I nod, laughing quietly. I can’t stop smiling (it’s disturbingly out of character) and neither can he, by the looks of it.
Maybe this is the best thing that could happen.