Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

BAZ

I don’t mean to look at Simon’s homework as I pass him on the way to the loo. My eyes fall on him because he’s hunched over the assignment, and his blond curls are catching the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window. How could I not look? From there my gaze just wanders to his paper, where it is immediately evident he doesn’t know the basic rules of Latin. I shouldn’t be surprised. I tear my eyes away and proceed to the loo.

When I come out, he’s still hunched over his work, but now his head is in his hands. It’s a ridiculously pitiful sight. I sigh.

“None of those answers are correct,” I say. He growls.

“I know, Baz.”

I head back to my bed to resume the book I’d been reading. “It’s no wonder you’re failing.”

He growls again, louder this time, and then he turns to glare at me. His eyes are a deeper blue than usual. “If you’re not going to help me, at least have the decency to leave me alone.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking for my help, Snow?”

He glares at me for what must be a full minute. I never look away, mostly because I’m captivated by him when he looks like this. Eyes flashing, jaw set. Suddenly, his death-stare transforms into one of unmistakable surrender, and he drops his head.

“Yeah. I guess I am,” he mutters, so quietly I doubt I would have heard him if not for my vampire ears.

Well, this is new. I’ll be damned (probably already am) if I’m going to pass up an opportunity to stand close to him, though. It’s a decadent kind of torture; one I don’t get enough of.

I sigh my most put-out sigh and go to hover over him.

SIMON

Baz puts his hand on the back of my chair and leans over my shoulder. I try to listen to him as he launches into what might as well be Greek (ha!), but I’ve been enveloped in his scent and I can’t stop staring at how long and pale his hand is as he points to this and then that on my paper. I try to rein my mind in, to focus on what he’s saying, but all I can do is inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Just drink in that amazing smell that is so him.

I catch myself thinking about that word - amazing - and how it really is true for him. He is utterly amazing. And when I realize I’m thinking that, I panic. Where did that thought come from? Why am I even noticing his scent? (How long have I noticed it?) He’s my sworn nemesis. He’s evil. He’s a vampire.

He’s a boy, for Merlin’s sake.

And all I want to do right now is touch him.

This is why it’s dangerous to let myself think.

BAZ

I don’t think he’s hearing a word I’m saying. He hasn’t indicated that he’s hearing me. What he has done is to start to glow. Just a little - not like when he’s about to go off. This is different. It’s a softer glow, more like embers than flames. The power rolling off of him is gentle waves, not tsunamis. I wonder if he knows it’s happening. I wonder why it’s happening. Is he scared? He doesn’t smell scared. Fear has a distinct scent, and there’s no trace of it right now. In fact, the smell coming off of him is...unprecedented. Just like the way he’s glowing.

I wish he’d figure out that he’s doing it and stop, because it’s making me a little giddy.

Or maybe I’m just getting giddy because of how close he is right now. My fingers on the back of his chair are less than an inch from his shoulders, his neck. They feel warm from his heat.

Crowley, I’m a goner. He must never know what he does to me.

He leans towards me, just the tiniest bit, and the magnetic feeling between us intensifies.

“Snow!” I snap. I expect his glow to fade; I expect him to flinch. Neither happens. Instead I realize he was staring at my hand, because I watch his eyes wrench away from it as he turns his head to look at me. He blinks, slowly, and bites his bottom lip, and I melt into a puddle. I hope he doesn’t hear how shaky the breath I take is.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Crowley help me, he’s looking at my mouth. Not my eyes. My mouth. I swallow over a lump that has suddenly formed in my throat. “Simon,” I say, and it comes out much softer than I mean for it to. His eyes meet mine, then.

SIMON

I’ve never been this close to Baz when I wasn’t trying to punch him. I try not to think about it, but it’s exhilarating. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of my body and every inch of his. I can’t stop staring at his lips - how have I never realized how soft they looked? Except it doesn’t feel like a new idea. Maybe I have noticed. He says my name - not Snow, but Simon - and it sounds like a song coming out of his mouth. I shift my gaze up to his eyes and realize I’m not breathing. I try to take a breath but I feel like everything is in slow motion, like my heart is in my throat, like I’m burning up with…

Desire. I’m burning up with desire. I want to touch him so much, I’m not sure I can keep myself from doing it.

Since when do I want to touch a boy? Since when do I want to kiss a boy? Since when do I want to kiss Baz? Because that’s what it is, too. I don’t just want to touch him with my hands. I want to kiss him. I want to push my fingers into his hair and...

I don’t. I don’t want any of that. I have to stop the thinking.

It’s never been so difficult.

He’s never stood this close.

I inhale sharply and I’m flooded with his scent. This is all completely new. (Or is it? Am I just now realizing it because he’s so damn close to me?) I can’t look away from his eyes. They’re a stormy sky.

“Sorry, I…I...” I can barely find words. I had a speech issue, and words still fail me sometimes. Especially if I’m overwhelmed. “I got distracted,” I finally say, and then, without meaning to, I tack on, “You’re distracting.”

I look away, because I’m suddenly embarrassed and a little bit shocked. I can feel his sardonic amusement, and I glance over at him without turning my head. He’s smirking at me, one eyebrow raised so high I swear it’s almost disappeared into his hair. Which is hanging in his face in that way I love. (His hair. Fuck. I’ve definitely noticed that.)

“I’m distracting?” he asks. I shake my head.

“That’s not what I meant. I...just tell me again, okay? I’ll listen.”

He huffs out a laugh, but he doesn’t sound impatient, which is weird. He starts in again. The need to touch him intensifies. I try to shut off my thoughts.

If only he wasn’t standing so close.

BAZ

What is he doing? If I hadn’t been the one to initiate this entire exchange, I’d think he was luring me into some sort of trap. Not that he’d be clever enough to think one up, but still. It’s hard enough being this close to him; I’m already fighting every fibre of my being, because they’re all yearning to kiss him. And now I swear a second ago he was about to kiss me. And he’s looking at me with his eyes all punch-drunk in a way I’ve never seen them, and he’s glowing at me...and he has the nerve to say I’m distracting him. And then he blushes, for Crowley’s sake, which is somehow both adorable and devastatingly sexy at the same time.

This is madness. What are we even doing? He hates me. With a passion. He passionately hates me.

But he doesn’t look like he hates me right now, with his eyes darting to me all furtively. When he tells me to explain again, I know I should roll my eyes and storm away, but instead I lean a little closer. Just to take advantage of whatever the hell this freak moment is before it’s gone.

I start talking. Explaining what he should have learned at least three years ago. He’s not listening. He’s not even looking at the paper. He’s watching me talk. I inhale, deeply, and meet his eyes. Whatever game he’s playing (does he play games? I never thought so), it’s working. I’m disintegrating right here beside him.

“Do you want my help or not?” I ask him. He just stares at me, all wide-eyed innocence. I try to turn on a scowl, but I can’t quite get it right.

SIMON

Baz is scowling at me, but it doesn’t have the same power it usually has. Or maybe I’m just immune to it because he’s so fucking beautiful. How have I never noticed? (I have.) His hand is resting on my paper now, because he’s just looking at me. I look at him. I look at his hand.

I need to touch him.

“What are you doing, Simon?” he asks then, so quietly I can barely hear him. I like his voice like this. I like the way he whispers. I want to make him whisper to me more.

I reach out, touch his long, pale arm. I expect him to jerk away at best, hit me most likely, spell me at worst.

He does none of these things. He’s completely still. I let my fingers rest near his wrist. We both look down at it, at the place where I’m touching him. We’ve never done this before - touched without animosity. I trail my fingertips over the bones of his wrist and he flips his hand over so it’s palm-up. I don’t think he means to do it. My fingertips are on the inside of his wrist, where I can feel his heartbeat. We’re both staring at my hand, wondering what it will do next. I let my fingers crawl into his palm, trace the creases there. They fascinate me.

BAZ

The way his fingertips are barely grazing my palm is going to drive me mad. It’s such a feather-light touch, it almost tickles. Almost. My stomach has dropped to the floor.

SIMON

“Simon,” he breathes, and it brings me to my senses. All my senses. The light is weird. Intense. I can actually hear the air in the room. His skin beneath mine is cold. His cedar-and-bergamot scent consumes me. All I need now is to taste.

“Focus,” he murmurs, and I think he might be talking to himself as much as he’s talking to me. I nod, and pull my hand away. It causes something akin to physical pain, but I do it because this is madness. I don’t trust him. I don’t even like him.

Except, I do. Of course I do. He’s the most amazing guy I’ve ever known.

That’s been true since...always. Why didn’t I ever realize? (I did.)

I take a deep breath, let his scent fill me up, push through the high, and nod. “I’m focused,” I say, and I try to mean it. I do mean it. But I try to mean it about Latin.

He clenches his hand, where my fingers just were, into a fist, and nods stiffly. Then he takes a deep breath himself - is he feeling this, too? - what is this? - and starts talking again. He leans a little closer to me and I nearly swoon, but I make myself listen. This time, I hear what he’s saying, and it makes sense.

BAZ

After a minute of repeating everything I’d just said, he interrupts me. “That’s all it is?”

I roll my eyes, ever aware of how close my fingers are to the back of his neck. My hand still sizzles where he touched me. “That’s not all it is, Snow. Latin’s complicated. But that’s what you’re doing wrong in this assignment.”

“Why didn’t the teacher ever just teach us that?” He actually sounds affronted, the dolt.

“I’m sure he did, Snow. Maybe you were just distracted by him.” I want to smack myself; why did I throw that back in his face? That was the most beautiful thing he’s ever said to me.

Old habits, I guess.

He rolls his eyes, but to my relief, he also laughs. When he turns his face up to look at me again, we’re no more than two inches apart. Neither one of us moves away, and suddenly that feeling from a few minutes ago is back with twice the intensity. His glow comes back even brighter than before. I’m going to kiss him. I’ve got to, consequences be damned.

Fuck. Consequences.

SIMON

The way Baz explains the Latin stuff is so clear. He makes it seem so easy. But that’s quickly old news, because just when I’ve gotten myself under control and truly focused on Latin, I make the mistake of looking up at him, and he’s right there, and his eyes lock onto mine. He’s got this look, like he wants to attack, and I should get the hell away from him. Instead I’m distracted by a lock of his hair that’s hanging down, almost brushing against mine. I want to brush it back.

Since when do I want to brush his hair back?

I want to. I’ve always wanted to.

I’ve tried so hard not to think, and now it’s all going to shit. Now I’m just a mess of thinking and feeling and wanting.

I reach out to brush it back, and he jerks away like I was aiming to hit him. His eyes go from electric to ice.

“What are you doing, Snow?” he asks. He huffs and steps back. I was touching him, just a minute ago. He let me.

What happened?

He looks at me, hard, and his eyes are full of some story I’m dying to hear. He’s closed off now, though.

The moment is over.

What just happened?

BAZ

It came down to this: kiss him or walk away.

I almost kissed him. I think he might have kissed me back, and that's what stopped me. Because that's not something we can do. I don’t know why he was just touching my hand like that (Crowley, that was amazing), but he hates me. And I hate him.

And even if we don’t, we're supposed to. He’s the Mage’s lapdog and my family is at war with the Mage. We don't call it that (at least not often), but that's what it is. So there is no future for Snow and me other than flames. There never has been, regardless of whatever weird intensity has been present in our relationship from the beginning.

That weird intensity was hatred. (This has always been my strategy: keep saying it and maybe someday I'll believe it. It hasn't worked so far, but I don't have a plan B.) We hate each other, as we should. The fact that I’m in love with him is just yet another byproduct of how fucked up I am. OF COURSE I’m in love with my mortal enemy. It’s so quintessentially me, to want what I can never have. To feel like something other than what I am.

I glare at him (the look on his face is breaking my heart) and turn on my heel. Go back to my bed. Pick up the novel, throw it down again. Fuck this. This is too much pain.

I go to the door.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, almost in a whisper. My hand freezes on the doorknob for one second, because I wish that were true. Aleister Crowley, I wish that were true.

“Baz,” he murmurs, and that does it. I cannot hear him say my name with that….tenderness.

“You’re helpless. You’ll never get it,” I hiss, and yet I hesitate, because I still don’t want to leave him. I don’t want the moment to be over. I think I’m about to cry. “You’re pathetic, Simon.” I hope he doesn’t hear the devastation in my voice. I let the door slam shut behind me.

It’s only once I’m in the Catacombs that I realize I called him Simon.

Chapter Text

SIMON

I don’t know what happened earlier. I lost my mind, apparently (this is what happens when I let myself think), and I managed to piss Baz off without knowing how (this is just par for the course).

I pick at my dinner, which is so unusual it immediately raises a red flag for Penny. She’s firing questions at me, trying to find out what’s wrong.

“I had a fight with Baz,” I finally say.

She looks at me like I have two heads. “Simon, you have a fight with Baz literally every day. What’s different this time?”

I wanted to kiss him this time, I think, but there’s no way I’m telling her that. There’s no way I’m telling anyone that. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it.

Except now that I let the thought in, it won’t seem to leave.

How long have I wanted to kiss him? I truly don’t know, but I feel like the answer is somewhere in the “very long time” range.

“Nothing’s different. I’m just tired of it,” I say.

“Tired of what?”

“Tired of fighting with him. It’s exhausting.” I sigh. “It doesn’t feel right.”

I get the feeling from the way she’s looking at me that she wants to say something else. She doesn’t, though. She just puts a hand on my arm and smiles.

I push away from the table. “I’m going to go on a walk,” I say, and she jumps up, too.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, Pen, but I just want to be alone. If you don’t mind.”

Her brow furrows. “Are you sure, Simon?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

I can feel her eyes on me as I walk out of the dining hall.

BAZ

I don’t know how Bunce manages to find me the minute I emerge from the Catacombs, but she does. I’ve finally gotten myself back together after pretty much completely losing it down there thinking about Simon touching me. Simon almost kissing me. I swear that’s what it was.

Or maybe my years of longing have finally made me go around the bend.

That would be better than the alternative, honestly. Because if Snow were to set his bull-headed mind to wanting me (as if that’s possible, what with him being straight and me being a monster), I’d be doomed. There is simply no way I wouldn’t give into it. And then what? I cannot even imagine what my father would do. He’d probably kill us both.

That might be unfair. I don’t think I’ll ever live up to my father’s expectations, but he’s never actually been cruel to me. I don’t think he’d kill me. He might kill Simon, though.

That’s what they want. What they all want - all the old families. They want Snow out of the picture because he’s the Mage’s ace in the hole. He’s the most dangerous weapon of all time. And I’m his roommate. Oh, the excitement that was inspired when the crucible cast us together. Finally, they all said. Finally, we’ll have a clean shot. I’ve been waiting on their orders for years now, knowing it’s inevitable.

Knowing that’s the day I’ll die at Snow’s hand. Because there’s no fucking way I’m putting out the sun.

But it won’t ever work. I can’t engage him in a to-the-death battle if we’re snogging each other. If we’re...well, if we’re not enemies.

I can’t let myself go there. It’s not possible, and that brings me too much heartache.

I had a good little screaming session down there. I cried a bit, I’m sorry to say. Then I sat on the cold, damp floor for a while, just letting myself calm down. I drained a couple of rats. I did some deep breathing.

And now Bunce is standing here in front of me, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked in such an impressive mirror of myself I almost want to congratulate her.

“What happened between you and Simon?” she demands without preamble.

I am so not going to do this with her. I roll my eyes and have every intention of walking away, but...I can’t. Because she’s never confronted me after I fought with Snow before. Not even after the chimera. Not even after the stairs.

“What did he say?” I snarl, trying hard to sound like I don’t care. Her eyebrow only climbs higher. She’s not intimidated by me - that’s something I respect about her.

“He said you had a fight, but that’s a regular occurrence, so I want to know why he’s acting so weird about it this time.”

Because we actually connected today. Because we came a hair's breadth away from snogging, I think.

“I cannot begin to fathom what goes through Snow’s head, Bunce. If anything,” I say, and try to step around her. She steps to the side to block my path. I sigh, and can’t help myself, because I’m dying to know. “In what way is he acting ‘weird’?”

“He won’t eat,” she begins, and I cock an eyebrow.

“You’re right. That is weird,” I say, and I’m gratified that her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh.

“And he went to go be by himself,” she adds. “He doesn’t do that, Basil.”

“Not my problem,” I say, and this time when I breeze past her, she lets me go. I try not to wonder about what she just said.

“He doesn’t want to fight with you anymore” she says to my back. I stop. I don’t turn to look at her, though. I just stand there. “And I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t really want to fight with him, either.”

I do turn, then, my sneer in full effect. “Well we don’t really have a choice, do we, Bunce? Being that we’re on opposite sides of a war.”

She doesn’t contest my use of the word “war.” She’s smart enough to understand the dynamics at play, and what’s coming.

Instead, she asks, “Whose war?”

She holds my gaze as I stand there mutely. Finally I find my voice. “You know whose war,” I say.

The look on her face is gentle. Kind. I’m not used to being looked at that way, and it throws me off. “Yes. I do,” she says softly. “And it’s not your war, Basil. And it’s not Simon’s.”

“He’s the Mage’s trained poodle, Bunce, and you know it.”

“Hmm. And whose trained poodle are you?”

I glare at her, and then I turn around and storm away. Because I’ve got no answer to that.

Why is Bunce always right?

SIMON

I’m sitting by the moat, just looking out into the black water. There’s an emptiness in my chest that’s new. I think I preferred suspicion and resentment, but it’s like that saying. Once you look behind a door, you can’t decide to not know what’s there anymore. Or something like that.

I throw a rock in the water to watch the ripples.

“You’ll attract merwolves that way,” a cold voice says. Except it’s not that cold, not really. My heart speeds up. I turn around to see the shape of Baz highlighted against the evening sky, stars twinkling behind him. I stare up at him, at his face lit by the reflection of the moon on the water.

After a moment, he sits down beside me. Closer than necessary. I kind of lose my breath for a second because I just want to touch him again. Why was I never warned about this? About the longing that starts up and just eats away at you once you let yourself…

I mean, I wanted Agatha, sure. She was beautiful, and sweet, and a little distant without seeming to realize it. Totally enticing.

But it never felt like this. I never felt like I was being magnetically pulled to her.

There’s a long silence. It feels long to me, anyway. Maybe it doesn’t to Baz. Maybe vampire time is different. Something occurs to me and before I stop to think about whether it’s a good idea, I ask, “How old are you?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. In the starlight, he’s so pale he seems to glow.

“Seventeen. You know that.”

“How long have you been seventeen?”

He stares at me for a full minute before erupting into laughter. It’s a sound I’ve never heard, and I love it. I love it so much.

“I was born seventeen years ago, Snow,” he says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. “Why do you persist with this vampire fantasy?”

“Why do you keep denying it? I obviously don’t hold it against you.”

Apparently he has nothing to say to that. We sit in silence for another minute and then he says, quietly, “I don’t actually think you’re pathetic.”

Now it’s my turn to have nothing to say. I stare into the water, watching the moon’s reflection. After a moment, he goes on.

“I actually think you’re a lot smarter than you think you are.” His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him. I look over at him then.

“What did I do earlier? Why did you suddenly get so mad?”

From where we’re sitting, the moon is shining directly at us, so I can see his eyes when they dart to me, then just as quickly return to the moat.

“It’s not you I’m mad at,” he finally says, almost in a whisper.

Again, I don’t know what to say. For all the thinking I was doing earlier, my mind feels like a blank now. I don’t know how to process any of this.

“I’m supposed to kill you, you know. And I don’t mean that as a threat,” he adds on quickly, because I’d opened my mouth to retort. “I mean it’s just reality. I’m supposed to kill you. You’re the most powerful weapon the Mage has - you’re the most powerful weapon ever, and the old families will never win as long as he’s got you in his pocket.” My heart goes cold. I knew this, at least vaguely, but hearing him say it outright is disturbing. “I’m actually supposed to kill you.” This time when he says it, he sounds like he can’t believe it himself. Then he huffs out a humorless laugh. “As if that would ever happen.”

It’s like he’s not even talking to me now. He’s staring into the water, a million miles away, like he forgot I’m here. I try not to move so I don’t spook him. It feels like what he’s saying now is important in more ways than are obvious.

“And I don’t just mean it wouldn’t happen because you have a good chance of beating me in battle. You do. But what I mean is…” And I must have been wrong that he forgot I was here, because in that moment he looks me full in the face. “I would never actually hurt you, Simon.” He holds my gaze. “I can’t.”

I’m so disoriented it takes me a minute to respond.

“But the voice thing…”

“I didn’t know what that spell would do.”

“And the chimera…”

“That was just for a laugh. I knew you’d beat it.”

“You pushed me down the stairs!”

“I didn’t. I hit you and you tumbled.” He swallows, like he’s nervous. “I was fucking terrified that I’d actually hurt you. I’ve never been so relieved than when you picked yourself up and started swearing at me.”

I stare at him. He stares at me.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I finally ask. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I know, now, that I’ve always thought so.

He takes a deep breath. “A thing Bunce said to me.”

“Penny?”

“Yes, Snow. She’s the only Bunce at this school.” After the intensity of the last few minutes, I’m actually kind of relieved he’s sounding like his arsehole self again.

“What did she say to you?”

“She asked me whose trained poodle I was.”

A laugh escapes me before I can help it. “She asked you that?”

“Only because I’d just called you the Mage’s trained poodle,” he says. His tone is defensive but his face is amused.

“And being called a trained poodle made you decide to come spill all your weird political secrets?”

His smile fades, and he sighs deeply. “Yeah,” he finally says. He looks at me again. I look at him. We’re quiet for a while. I want to take his hand, but after what happened earlier, I’m not sure whether that’s a good idea or a terrible one.

Instead I ask, “Does this mean we can be nice to each other now?”

He surprises me, then, by putting his face in his hands. “Crowley, Snow. That’s a dangerous idea.”

“How so?”

He lifts his face to sneer at me. “Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? If we’re friends, someone’s going to get angry. A lot of powerful someones. Your precious Mage included.”

I open my mouth to argue, but find I can’t. There’s a sneaking fear in the back of my mind that he’s right. I think I’ve known that a long time, too.

Instead I say, “So?”

He looks at me like I’ve got two heads. “That’s it? So? What about the danger that puts us in, Snow? What about the corruption, and the…”

“Baz. As for the corruption, isn’t pretending to hate someone you actually care about just a way of giving into it? I mean, isn’t that a form of corruption itself? Isn’t that what Penny meant?” He says nothing, so I push on. “And I get the danger part, but…” I can’t help but grin. “I’m the ultimate weapon, right?” I shrug. “Let them bring it.” To my joy, he laughs. And then he reaches out and touches my shoulder and I’m eager for it; I incline towards him, reaching for him, but he suddenly withdraws. Pulls his hand away.

“That’s not all, though, Simon.” He sighs again, looks back into the moat. “I don’t know if I can be friends with you.”

“What do you mean?”

He keeps staring into the moat for so long, I’m not sure he’s going to answer. But suddenly, I understand. I understand what was happening earlier. I understand what’s happening now.

“I don’t want to only be friends, either,” I say, and my heart is pounding because of what a risky thing it is to say. What if I’m wrong about what he’s thinking?

Well, it’s not like I have a lot to lose. Worst case scenario, he storms away, starts acting like he hates me again, and we’re right back where we started. At least I’m used to that dynamic. This honesty and peace is nice, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

He doesn’t storm away, though. He takes a shaky breath and looks at me again. For the first time I can recall, he looks...vulnerable. “Yeah?” he asks, so quietly I can barely hear it.

I grin. “Yeah,” I say, and then I do reach for him, and he reaches for me, and we actually hug. It’s not exactly what I was expecting, but it just feels so...perfect. I pull him against me as tightly as I can, and I can feel him doing the same, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

It’s still not enough, though.

Not nearly enough.

BAZ

For the second time today, it feels like Snow wants to kiss me.

For the second time my choice comes down to kiss him or walk away.

I kiss him.

I’m never going to walk away again.