Chapter Text
Simon
“Okay ... Dare,” I huff, my voice flat with boredom. “But I swear to God, if you guys make me eat any more vile shit, I’m leaving.”
“Alright, alright. Don’t have a hissy fit,” Josh mocks, holding his hands up in a false surrender. “We won’t make you eat anything else. Just lemme think.”
I wait, glancing between the two of them - Both of their faces knotted with concentration. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure why I agreed to play. I’ve always hated Truth or Dare. It’s juvenile, and boring, and it only ever leads to me embarrassing myself. But, with Penny and Agatha both on holiday, I don’t exactly have many other options. Unless I want to go downstairs and play Mario Kart with the younger kids - Which I definitely don’t (I always win. It gets pretty boring).
“Okay then,” Nathan says, a wicked grin breaking across his face. God. I’m going to regret picking dare, aren’t I? “I dare you to egg one of those posho houses on Church Lane.”
“Nathan. No,” I groan. “What if I get caught? I could be in serious trouble. Come on! The worst I made you do was steal a bloody biscuit. Egging somebody’s house is hardly the same!”
“Come on, Simon,” Josh drawls. “It’ll be a laugh. Don’t be a chicken.”
I roll my eyes, throwing my head back in frustration.
“Christ. Fine. But you two are coming with me. There is no way I’m going alone.”
“Sure thing. We’ll be right with you - Don’t you worry,” Josh assures, his voice dripping with mischief.
I regret every single decision that has led me here - Trudging down some posh twat’s drive, egg carton in hand, with my idiot friends hidden behind a tree a few metres back. I mean, what kind of imbecile agrees to egging a strangers house, just because of a stupid dare. Well, apparently me. But I am definitely regretting it now. This was an undoubtedly terrible idea.
My eyes scan the area nervously, checking for signs of life. There are no cars parked out front, and none of the windows are open (Even though it’s a stupidly hot day) - So, I figure I’m in the clear.
I come to a stop a few metres in front of the house’s porch. Although, thinking about it, it’s not really a house at all - It’s a bloody ginormous, gothic mansion. It’s incredibly intimidating. I mean, it’s got gargoyles and everything, for Christ’s sake! Looking at it up close, I can hardly believe that somebody actually lives here - It's probably some musty, old vampire or something. I swallow anxiously, trying to push that thought to the back of my mind. Not the vampire thing, obviously. I know vampires aren’t real - I’m not scared of that. But, I am scared of whoever does own the property. What are they gonna do when they realise that their precious mansion (Which probably cost them, like, a billion pounds) has been egged. I’d be livid.
Do houses like these have CCTV? Probably. Fuck. Is it illegal to egg someone’s house? Also probably. But it’s definitely illegal to trespass. Although, I don’t know if standing in somebody’s driveway really counts. But if it does, and they do have CCTV, then they’ve already caught me doing that. I really should’ve worn some sort of mask (Even if Josh and Nathan laughed at me) - But, it’s a little late for that now. So, Screw it. I’m already here. And, I’m probably already on tape. So, I may as well do what I came here to do. At least it’ll get Josh and Nathan off of my back.
Hesitantly, I open the carton and pick up an egg. Pulling my hand behind my head, I steal a quick glance backwards to ensure that I haven’t been ditched, and launch it straight into the heavy oak of the front door. A laugh bubbles up inside me, adrenaline surging within my chest. I’m probably a terrible person for finding something that is most-likely an actual, legitimate crime fun - But, the scandal of it all is providing me with an intoxicating rush.
Grinning, I load the final egg into my hand, hurling it towards the front door carelessly. A mere millisecond later, the door swings open, revealing a red-faced, white-haired man, all dressed up in a posh suit. Oh fuck. Powerless to stop the imminent disaster, I watch, horrified, as the egg smashes against his brow bone, splattering yolk across his face. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” He yells, his voice booming.
Petrified, I let out a high-pitched, girlish squeal - Dropping the empty carton on to the floor. I’m completely frozen - My muscles seizing up uselessly, as I stand gawping at him. I whip my head around, watching as Josh and Nathan dash away, leaving me trapped, all alone. Desperately, I turn to run, be he claps a hand around my wrist - Pulling me back into place. Mega fuck. Panicked, I shake my arm wildly, desperately trying to loosen his vice-like grip.
“Do you know who I am?” he shouts, the veins in his neck bulging. Unable to find my voice, I shake my head. “I’m the Chief Constable!” Mega, mega fuck. Of course, I'd be stupid enough to pick a cop's house. I've really fucked it up this time. “And this,” he continues, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Is vandalism!”
I gulp, trying to shake myself free again, to no avail. He scowls, grabbing onto my shoulder, and tightening his grip further (My wrist will probably be bruised tomorrow, although that’s the least of my worries right now).
“I’m really, really sorry, Mister,” I whimper, my voice wavering pathetically. “This is a huge misunderstanding. I’ll fix it - I swear. Please just - Please don’t arrest me.”
His jawline tenses as he grits his teeth. “Pray tell me, how this is a 'misunderstanding ',” he spits.
“Uhhh,” I stall, completely stumped. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. How the hell can egging somebody’s house be a misunderstanding? I dart my eyes around, desperately hoping to spot something that can help me out. And that's when I see him. A tall boy, roughly my own age, leaning against the door-frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed against his chest, and an amused smirk plastered on his face. “My ex lives here,” I sputter out. Stupid moron. Why the fuck would I say that? The boy raises an eyebrow, flashing me a quick toothy grin. “Really shitty breakup, yeah,” I ramble on. “Sent me loads of rude notes, wouldn’t give me back my stuff, kept threatening to spill my secrets. You know how it is.”
The man shakes his head, clearly taken aback. “What on earth are you blathering on about, boy? There is no girl your age living here.”
I chuckle sheepishly, looking down at my trainers, my face flushing with heat. Right, Yeah - I didn't really think that one through.
“It’s alright, Father,” A deep, velvety voice interjects. “He’s one of mine.”
I risk glancing upwards. The boy from the doorway is standing beside us now - His grey eyes assessing me coldly. I meet his gaze, furrowing my brow in question. What is he on about? His lips quirk upwards into a knowing smirk, as he runs a hand through his hair (It’s fairly long for a bloke, just brushing the tops of his shoulders. But, unlike mine, it looks really silky - So, I understand why he wouldn’t want to cut it).
“Basilton,” the man whispers, his tone warning. “I’m not in the mood for your games. Just look at what he did!”
“It’s no game, Father,” the boy (Basilton) replies, airily. “I left him a particularly scathing voicemail the other day. You know how I can be. I believe ... I likened him to a Neanderthal, actually - Which, as you can see, was clearly an astute judgement. It must've got him all riled up.”
“Either way - That does not excuse the vandalism of our home, Basilton.”
“I know,” he breathes. “I’m not saying that it does. Just … Let me handle it. I shattered the poor little lout’s heart - He just wanted a little bit of revenge, that’s all. It's a harmless prank. There is really no need for all this drama. You’re being excessive, Father. Getting so riled up over a petty, little crime is unbecoming of a man of your status, you know.”
I can practically see the tension vibrating between them - The man’s face flushing a violent shade of red. I don’t think it’s embarrassment, though - I think it’s rage. And, to be fair to him, I think that’s understandable. Basilton is awfully cheeky - Adopting a daringly condescending tone. He sounded like he was chastising a toddler, not speaking to his Father.
For a moment, I think there is going to be a scrap, but, to my shock, it actually bloody works! Reluctantly, the man pulls his hands back, finally freeing me from his grasp. I puff out a relieved breath. Thank God for Basilton!
“I will deal with you later,” he hisses, jabbing a finger into the centre of the boy’s chest. “But if you insist on bringing people like that into our lives, then it’s only fair that you be the one to clean up their messes.”
“Perfectly fine with me, Father,” he deadpans.
And, with that, he turns - Storming over to the door, and slamming it closed behind himself. Leaving me and my merciful stranger alone.
“Thank you so, so, so much,” I gasp out, turning to face him properly. “I am so sorry. My mates dared me to do it, and I’m a complete idiot, so I agreed. I don’t really know why. And I’m just - I’m just so sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin things between you and your Dad. And, I’ll clean it up, I swear! And … I’ll make it up to you. I mean - I don’t know how. But, I will.”
“Stop bumbling,” he says, gazing down at his nails, bored. “We can agree on the fact that you’re clearly a moron. But, don’t fret about ruining 'things' me and my Father - That was done long before you arrived. Just … Clean up the mess and we can forget that this ever happened.”
“Right. Okay,” I say, wearily. “But I mean, seriously thank you. For going along with my lie, I mean. Sorry if it - I mean like, sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Or you - You know, felt like you had to. Cause I mean … You didn’t have to”
“Don’t mention it - It’s perfectly fine. It didn’t make me uncomfortable, and I’m well aware that I didn’t have to do anything. I actually rather enjoyed the opportunity to rile my Father up - So, no need to apologise.”
“Right, well … Brilliant,” I say, smiling up at him. “You’re the best, Basilton.”
His face twists into a grimace. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh shit, Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed. “I thought that’s what your Dad said.”
“It is. I just … Don’t really like being called that,” he murmurs.
“Oh . Well. Um. What should I call you then?”
“Well you shouldn’t really call me anything. You’re the guy that just egged my house - Not my friend.”
“Yeah. I know that. But, I mean - Can’t you just say, anyway?”
“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated. “If you insist. Just call me Baz.”
“Baz,” I echo, the smile audible in my voice. “I like it. It suits you.”
“Hmmm,” he hums, noncommittally. “I’ll be sure to tell my Father you said so. I’m sure he will appreciate your approval.”
“I’m Simon Snow,” I say, ignoring his remark, and sticking my hand out towards him. “And, I promise, I don’t normally vandalise people’s houses. I’m good. I’ve never even got a detention, Honest. Well no, I mean, I got one in Year Seven - But it wasn’t my fault.”
Unimpressed, he glances down at my hand as if it were a personal affront. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to leave me hanging (Which would be totally mortifying. I’ve already made enough of a tit of myself, I don't need him to reject me as well), but then he reaches out, gingerly taking my hand in his, and giving it a curt shake.
“Charmed,” he deadpans. “Now that all the pleasantries are over, I really think you should get a move on with the whole cleaning thing. I won’t be able to hold Father off forever, you know.”
“Oh right, yeah. Course. I’ll get right on it. Uh … I don’t really have any … Cleaning stuff, though. Sorry. Do you have, like, a bucket or something?”
He glares down at me. “You’re a disaster,” he sighs, rubbing his hands against his temple exaggeratedly. “Vera probably has what you need. Let me go and ask.”
“Okay sure. Brilliant. Thanks,” I chirp. I have no idea who Vera is, but I don’t think Baz would like me asking, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Wait here,” he says, his voice threatening. “If you run away, I will be very angry. I know your name now, Simon Snow. If it comes to it, I can and will hunt you down. So stay put.”
“Aye Aye, Captain,” I tease. He tries to suppress it, but a small, half-smile breaks across his face. It only lasts a second, Baz quickly schooling his face back into a scowl, but it’s enough to calm the anxiety flurrying within my chest slightly. “I won’t move a muscle, promise.”
Baz
Snow looks nervous. He’s bouncing his leg anxiously, his face curled into an adorable little pout, and a hand tugging at his unkempt curls roughly.
“What’s wrong with you?” I tease, placing the bucket down besides his scuffed trainers.
“Baz!” He breathes. “I have to go. I’m so, so sorry.”
“What? No!” I protest, outraged. “You said you’d clean it up. That was the whole agreement. I go along with your little hair-brained scheme, and lower myself to fulfilling the role of your ex-boyfriend, and you clean up the mess you made!”
“I know, I know. And I will, I swear! Cross my heart,” he says, tracing an 'X' against his breast. “But, I have to be home by eight.”
“Eight? Really, Snow? How old are you?”
“Uh ... Seventeen. Why?”
“You’re seventeen years old, and your parents still won’t let you out after eight?” I ask, disbelieving.
“Uh yeah. Well, sort of.”
“Why? What happens if you miss your curfew? Do mummy and daddy not read you your bedtime story?” I goad, puffing my lips out into a faux, sympathetic pout. “I’m sorry, but you have to clean this mess up.”
“I know. But I just … I’m already late. And I seriously can’t be late. Look,” he says, digging around in his back pockets, and pulling out a crumpled receipt. “Uh … Do you have a pen?”
I roll my eyes, pulling out a fountain pen, and thrusting it towards him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, flashing me a quick smile, and scribbling onto the paper. “Here. This is my number,” he says, holding the receipt out to me. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to clean it. I promise. If I don’t show up, you can just keep calling me till I do. Or … You’ve got my name, too - I’m sure that’s more than enough information to take a hit out on me.”
“Hmmm,” I hum, unimpressed, snatching the paper from his hand. “Be here eight A.M sharp. Capishe?”
“Uh yeah … Capishe?” He drones, clearly confused.
“Very well then. Run on back home. I’d hate for you to get into any trouble.”
“Okay. Yeah. Uh ... Cheers” he huffs. “You’re the best, Baz. I’ll make this up to you, I swear!”
“Whatever,” I chide, keeping my tone flat.
“Later then, Lover,” he calls.
“Don’t call me that,” I spit, aggressively.
“Okay. Okay,” He chuckles, warm laughter transforming his face - His eyes crinkling up slightly, as a small dimple pops besides his lips. “Later, Ex-Lover, then. That better?”
“I think you know that it’s not,” I groan, shaking my head. “Just get out of here. Before I change my mind!”
With a beaming grin, he turns, jogging down the driveway and back out onto the street - Leaving me alone. I glance down at the receipt - His number scratched onto the paper in barely intelligible handwriting, and a small, crude smiley face drawn next to it. Bloody nightmare . Despite myself, I chuckle lightly at the absurdity of it all. Simon Snow … What the hell have I gotten myself into?
This Summer has ticked by unbearably slowly. At first it was fun - A welcome change from the monotony of term time. But the novelty quickly wore off. Every day is the same - I wake up, I read, I play FIFA with Dev, I study, I eat, and I play with Mordelia. That’s it. Same old, same old. But today - Today was far from usual. As pathetic as it may be, it was probably the most fun I’ve had in weeks.
Which is why, I find myself here - Sat on the end of my bed, phone in hand, deliberating with myself over whether or not to text him. My calamitous little criminal.
I mean, he did give me his number. I doubt he'd be surprised to hear from me. I could message him under the guise of confirming that he hadn't given me a fake one. That would be believable … Surely? I inhale deeply, regaining my composure. It’s just a silly, inconsequential text - Nothing to get worked up about. If he doesn’t answer - So what? It’ll make no difference to my life.
With my mind made up, I hammer out my message quickly - Hitting send before I have the opportunity to change my mind.
ME (21:42): Committed any crimes since we last spoke?
I stare down at the screen, anxious. This is definitely weird. Why did I think this was a good idea? What sort of person decides to have a friendly chat with the guy that egged their house, for Christ’s sake? Father would be bitterly disappointed, if he knew.
Just as I’m starting to spiral, my phone screen flashes up with a reply. And then another. And then another. And then another. It’s him - It has to be him. Nobody I else know texts like such a lunatic (I'd have blocked their number ages ago if they did).
SS (21:43): Nah. Not yet.
SS (21:43): Maybe l8r.
SS (21:43): And again … Sorry bout that.
SS (21:43): And thnx for covering for me. That was really nice of you :)
I grin, relieved.
ME (21:45): Yes, well. While I appreciate your gratitude, if you don’t show up tomorrow there will be hell to pay.
ME (21:45): And do you really have to type like that?
SS (21:46): Aha yep :D That’s how everyone texts. Not my fault.
SS (21:46): And I know. I know.
SS (21:46): Trust me. I’ll be there.
SS (21:46): You can count on me :)
ME (21:47): Whatever you say, Snow.
SS (21:47): Yeh :)
ME (21:51): I have a question for you.
SS (21:52): Oh yeh, really? Shoot.
ME (21:53): I was having a little look at the receipt you gave me, and I was just wondering why on earth ONE PERSON would need to purchase SEVEN packets of scones, all in one go? Is one of your friends getting out of juvie, or something? Having a little party?
SS (21:54): Oh nah lol.
SS (21:54): Those are for me.
SS (21:54): Whenever I get given my pocket money I always go and get a few packs.
SS (21:54): They’re delicious. Trust.
SS (21:54): I’ll bring you one tomorrow :)
ME (21:55): Right, I see. Fair enough, I suppose.
SS (21:55): Aha yeh :)
I pause, unsure of how to reply. I guess, I could ask him what he’s doing - Although, that would probably be a little strange. It’s almost certainly best to just leave it. I’ll see him tomorrow, anyway - I’d rather not embarrass myself before then.
But, just as I’m about to put my phone down, it buzzes again.
SS (22:01): What’s ur full name?
I furrow my brow in confusion.
ME (22:03): Why?
SS (22:03): Cause I wanna add you as a contact.
SS (22:03): And my phone wants a surname.
SS (22:04): And also I’m just curious.
SS (22:04): Based on “Basilton” it’s probs well posh!
SS (22:04): I bet your name is double-barreled. You seem like a double-barreled kinda guy.
SS (22:05): Come onnnnnnnn Baz. Spill.
SS (22:05): I wanna knowwwww. Plz.
SS (22:06): You know mine. It's only fair!
SS (22:07): Don’t ignore meeeeeeeeee. Plzzzzz.
ME (22:09): You’re an imbecile.
SS (22:09): Ahaha. Whatever you say.
SS (22:09): Seriously, tho. What’s your name?
ME (22:10): Will telling you shut you up?
SS (22:10): Oh yeh. For sure.
SS (22:11): For a bit anyways ;)
ME (22:12): Fine.
ME (22:12): My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Happy now?
SS (22:13): HOLY SHIT!
SS (22:13): Yep! I’m very happy now!
SS (22:13): I knew it would be posh.
SS (22:13): Haha that’s wicked.
SS (22:14): Tyrannus. Really? Like the dinosaur?
SS (22:14): I’ve never even HEARD of that!
ME (22:14): No, Snow. Not like the dinosaur. My parents aren’t morons.
SS (22:15): Oh lol. Fairs.
SS (22:15): Speaking of your parents, your dad is well scary! I thought I was gonna have a heart attack earlier.
ME (22:17): I’m aware. I grew up with him.
ME (22:17): Anyway, I thought you said if I told you, you’d shut up for a bit. You don’t appear to have shut up at all.
SS (22:18): Oh yeh lol. Sorry.
SS (22:18): I just got excited.
SS (22:18): Your name is wicked tho! Seriously.
ME (22:18): Whatever you say.
SS (22:19): Aha yeh.
SS (22:19): Anyways … Imma head off to bed now. No more talking from me!
SS (22:19): Lucky you!
SS (22:19): Early start tomorrow!
SS (22:19): Cleaning some posho’s house.
SS (22:19): Lol.
SS (22:20): G’night Baz.
SS (22:20): See you tomorrow :)
ME (22:20): Good night, Snow. See you then. Don’t be late!
SS (22:21): Wouldn’t dream of it ;)
With that, I shift - Putting my phone on to charge, and laying myself down onto the bed. Helplessly charmed, I find myself smiling up towards the velvet canopy of my bed goofily (Despite my best efforts to suppress it).
Tomorrow is going to be a good day.