Chapter Text
Baz:
It was a routine room inspection. Typically, I just look around for contraband. A quick scan for illegal cooking devices, alcohol stashes and the like. Simon’s room is a deplorable disaster as usual. The only clean area is a path on the floor from the bed, to the bathroom, to the wardrobe, to the door. Every other horizontal surface in this room is strewn with clothes, paper and books. The walls are a nonsensical hodgepodge of band posters, concert flyers, newspaper comics, and photos. He lives like an animal.
Simon is splayed across his bed, pencil behind his ear, eating salt and vinegar crisps (Are those mine? WTF?). He glances up from his physics book, “To what do I owe this honor Mr. Baz?”
I’m pretty sure he’s being sincere with the “Mr. Baz” shit. Not a trace of snark or sarcasm. I’m his age for snake’s sake, I just happen to the RA of this god-forsaken shithole dorm. It’s not like I’m the queen.
“This room is a shit show, Snow. Are you hiding a body in here?”
Did Simon’s eyes just widen a little?
In the ensuing silence, there’s a pop, like a pebble thrown at glass.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, scanning the room.
Simon sits up in his bed, eyes definitely wide. “What was what?” He stammers.
Well, this just got interesting.
I hear a brief crunching sound, like gravel shifting.
The color drains from Simons face, turning his skin a lighter shade of tawny, his moles lonely sentinels in stark contrast to the surrounding skin. It’s lovely, really, like tiny archipelagos in a sunset sea.
Focus, Baz.
I shoot Simon my finest glare, “What. The fuck. Are you hiding, Snow?”
Now that I think about it, does this room smell fishy ? I had initially attributed the scent to masculine funk, but this has a marine edge to it. Fishy and gamey.
Snow has jumped to his feet and is in my face now. Well, technically three inches below my face, but somehow his presence seems to inhabit the space. He just fills it with sheer will, and I want to melt.
My heart races as I take a deep breath, I fucking hate conflict in general. Conflict with Simon is particularly difficult because it’s simultaneously edged with, well, an overwhelming desire to knock him down and snog the living daylights out of him.
“Don’t you need a warrant to search this room?” Simon exclaims.
I exhale. Slowly. I growl (probably a little louder than necessary) “No, you imbecile. This is uni, not the real world. I’m the RA here, and I get to do what I wish.” I stretch to my full height and glower down at Simon for full threatening effect. Truth be told, I just want to run away and let him be, but I have a job to do.
I reluctantly turn my back to Snow and search for the source of the noise.
“Can we just talk about this, Baz?” Simon changes tack, imploring now.
I ignore him and eye a particularly large pile of clothes on the dresser.
He grabs my shoulder as I make my way to the pile.
“Baz, STOP.”
I whirl on him, my shoulder on fire where he touched it. Fuck this. “The university has a strict 'no animals in the dorm rooms' policy. It is my responsibility to enforce such policy, so back the fuck off and let me do my job.”
I sweep aside the pile of clothes to reveal an aquarium, over half filled with dirt, with a glass lid. The surface of the dirt consists of a lovingly arranged warren of sticks and plants, a wide, shallow bowl of clean water and a bowl of what looks like dead shrimp and egg shells.
“Dammit Snow, what is this, a terrarium?”
Simon’s cheeks redden. He looks at his feet.
“It’s a crabitat.” He replies.
“A what?”
Simon shoves his hands into his pockets, looks up at the popcorn ceiling, and takes a breath.
“Crabitat. For Calvin and Hobbes.” He exhales.
“Are you even speaking English?” I ask
He looks at me now. His eyes are blue. The color of a clear spring sky after a week of rain. A brilliant blue that I want to dive into, get lost in. Fuck. Are those tears?
“Calvin and Hobbes are my pet hermit crabs. I’ve had them for months, and I love them. They’re actually really cool, and for fucks sake Baz, can you please just pretend you never saw this?”
I think he’s actually about to cry. He looks adorable right now. Full stop.
I cock my eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” (What am I even doing right now? I’m resorting to bribery. What’s next? A life of crime?)
Simon brightens. “I’ll help you with your calculus homework. I see you working on it all the time in the library. You don’t seem to enjoy it.”
“Nobody enjoys calculus, you dolt.”
“I do.”
I curve my lips up and down and scrunch my eyebrows at him incredulously. “There’s something wrong with you.”
I allow myself to think, yes! Fuck yes! Teach me math. In your bed. Or mine (fewer crumbs). All night, until we fall asleep together and I wake up in your arms and smooth the ruffled curls off your forehead. Then you kiss me with your moles and your morning breath and call me darling. We skip class and snog all day, until our lips are sore. Rinse and repeat.
I do not allow myself to think about Simon noticing me at the library. Intuiting that I absolutely abhor calculus and anything having to do with math. Hours spent, trying to make sense of it all. What did he notice? Why did he notice?
“I know.” Simon interrupts my reverie. He smiles. “I love math. It just makes sense. It’s constant and predictable.” He looks away, “Unlike pretty much everything else in my life.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about. He’s the golden child, here on a full academic scholarship. Internet famous for pulling a bunch of kids out of a fire at a care home years ago. He’s charming, devastatingly handsome, kind, and everybody loves him. Including me (in case you haven’t figured that out yet).
Fuck, what’s that look? He seems…sad? Thoughtful? This conversation is quickly leaning towards relational. The last thing I need is to talk about his feelings .
Time to change the subject.
“Aren’t crabs insects? You can’t love an insect, Snow. Get rid of them.”
Simon lowers his eyebrows, “They’re arthropods. They’re funny and cute, and I do love them, so you can fuck right off.”
Then he takes my hands. Why is he taking my hands? I should punch him. (I won’t punch him. I won’t hurt him.)
He’s looking into my eyes again. I can’t escape his piercing, devastating gaze. I lean away. Can he see my pulse racing? I’ll do anything for him. Anything.
“Baz. You’re right, they’re just glorified bugs. They’re not causing any trouble.” His voice is like butter and honey, “Nobody will notice them.” He actually smirks at me, “It’s not like they’re going to shit on the rug or chew up the furniture.”
“It’s against the rules.” I respond. Weakly.
“Please, Baz.”
Puppy dog eyes.
Fuck.
“Fine. Keep your disgusting creatures, but you will help me with my calculus homework.”
“Deal." Simon proclaims.
He’s still holding my hands. Has he forgotten that he’s holding my hands? Has he forgotten what it means to hold hands? He smells like bacon and intensity and looks like something I want to lick. Everywhere. I’m going to let him keep his ridiculous comic strip hermit crabs and he’s going to tutor me in math.
Crawley, what have I gotten myself into?