Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

SIMON

I hate everything about Oxford. 

Everyone tells me I don’t belong here. I think they’re probably right. 

You see, I’m your standard sob story: orphan, grew up in care homes with no friends, regularly bullied because I’m the only smart kid around who actually wants to study. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to uni, just like the rest of the care home kids. 

Getting into Oxford was supposed to be my happily ever after. Instead it’s just the beginning of my nightmares.

They made me believe I am the smart kid. Apparently not!

Within a week of being here, I’ve only found out that apparently, I can’t actually read, I probably have five whole brain cells if we tried to count, and all these posh twats from public schools think I’m a charity case care leaver who only got in so the uni can brag about “Accessibility”. I’m just a stupid chav who got lucky.

I hate it here.

The only thing I love about Oxford is Watford College (okay the people here also sucks) - but it feels incredible living in actual Hogwarts innit. Red bricks and medieval stone walls, cloisters and gothic vaults and all that jazz.

Also hall food is fucking spectacular, and my room is old and cozy and makes me feel like I’m living in a period drama.

I didn’t even know you’re supposed to pick your college, I just kinda ended up here because I was indeed handpicked for an interview from one of those outreach programmes, by the college master himself. (Maybe I am a charity case after all.)

I guess I also love the gown we get to wear to fancy dinners and stuff - I’m disappointed we can’t actually wear them around 24/7, like in actual Hogwarts. I got a second hand one, as long as it’s long and flowy and pitch black just like in the films, I don’t really care. 

As you can tell I’m obsessed with Harry Potter - maybe that’s the only reason why I came here. I knew they filmed it here, in Oxford. Harry Potter was a big part of my scarce cultural education.

They had only two box sets in the homes - Dr Who series 1-4, and all of the Harry Potter films. I love Harry Potter the character himself, I just can’t stop projecting myself onto him. Tragic backstory, being the special one, rising through the ashes. That sort of stuff.

Except I’m not doing well in Oxford right now, hardly a powerful wizard, am I?

Oh, and I absolutely adore Penny, my only friend at Watford. She lives in the staircase next to me, so once we started being friends, we never stopped hanging out at mine anytime neither of us were in a lecture.

Penny found me at a Fresher’s party, when I was standing in the corner of the college bar looking lost.

We immediately clicked - she’s basically the Hermione to my Harry. The Asian version of Hermione, from Croydon.

She tells me she befriended me because I’m relatable, out of the ocean of rich white kids with trust funds. Penny is like one of the three Indians in Watford, but she ‘hates socialising with other Asians’ apparently, so we’ve just stuck together through Freshers.

It’s not true that we’re the same though - Penny is definitely way smarter than I am, she only thinks that she’s not good enough because of the historically elitist system that makes her feel inferior to the private school kids. (See? Basically Hermione Granger.)

We’ve made a habit of going to hall together, but after week 2 the coordination got difficult because we do different subjects (she studies PPE, whatever that actually means, smart arse), so we started making meals in my kitchen together. And so we hang out in my room together too.

Penny hates her staircase, that’s why she always uses our staircase’s kitchen instead, and spends all her waking hours in my room instead of hers. I don’t mind spending so much time with Penny, I think both of us secretly miss living around a lot of people all the time, but I don’t get it. Her room is nicer than mine, and it’s not like my staircase is exactly nice .

We’ve got annoying second years on my staircase too, and a fellow living on the ground floor who we’ve got to be wary of, and my goddamn neighbour, Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

Jeez Louise. I hate Baz Pitch so fucking much.

He’s the Etonian wanker that lives right next to me, even his name sounds posh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not wearing something that looks like a version of a suit. (I myself own one single suit, and it sucks. It’s from M&S and it doesn’t even fit properly.)

He’s just always sneering at you, saying mean things in that posh accent of his, being a general snob.

And I have the misfortune of studying the same subject as him, as well as living right next to him. He just makes me feel so incredibly dense. He’s always done all the readings, as well as casually mentioning this rare French poem or some shit that might be relevant, on top of writing perfect essays every single week. Not everyone had the luxury of knowing French, or actually having books to read, or having after school tutoring since the age of 10.

Fuck him, and his perfect private school education and his overall charms. 

Our supervisor thinks I’m an idiot compared to him - the fact that I’m paired with him for classes is literally my biggest misfortune as of date.

(Forget about mysterious dead parents and generally being broke - Basilton Grimm-Pitch is my biggest misfortune.)

At least I don’t have to speak that much, when he takes over most of the class showing off what he knows. I’m already so bad at speaking without having the stereotypical Oxford genius next to me. 

I hate that guy. So much.

BAZ

Simon Snow is a downright mess. And I might have unfortunately started crushing on him. (I think.)

Simon Snow is one of the other History freshers in Watford, who also lives on my staircase, and also in the same supervision group as me.

Since the first day we met, he always looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Fiona helped me move in, because this year she’s coming back as a fellow to teach anyway (at Trinity College, traitor), and I didn’t let my parents come because I know they’ll cause a fuss.

Snow was alone on move-in day - he looked so lost, bless him, in his baggy jeans and all his belongings in a sports kit. He stutters and touches the back of his neck a lot, a field of freckles on show. I tried to shake his hand, but he just stared at it, not knowing what to do with my hand.

He couldn’t pronounce my name from the tag on my door either, so I let him call me Baz, because I’m weak when it comes to golden haired blue eyed boys. I don’t blame him, my father is bloody ridiculous at naming his children. In my opinion Daphne lets him get even more carried away with it - my mother was posh, but hardly as posh as my father. My sister is called Mordelia for God’s sake, I have no idea where he got it from, and even I don’t know how to properly pronounce my other siblings’ names. 

Simon Snow was an entire production at matriculation dinner. We sat opposite each other, because we were sitting in our subject groups, and alphabetically we were right next to each other (hence being in the same supervision group).

I’m registered under Pitch, instead of Grimm-Pitch in uni. I wanted to honour my mother - but if I’m being totally honest, part of it was to also make sure people knew who I was. 

We were also sat directly next to our Director of Studies, one of the oldest fellows in Watford, so it was equal parts amusing and painful to make polite conversation with him whilst he clearly patronises Snow too.

Snow was incredibly out of his depth - his suit snug in the wrong places, and his gown trailing under his arm every time he clumsily reached for the butter on the table. He loves the bread and butter, practically inhaling it once we scrambled to sit down after the excruciatingly long Latin prayers before the meal. 

I heard him bewilderedly whispering to himself, “I’ve never been to a three course meal,” and struggled to hold in my snicker. 

Snow is what everyone calls a charity case - the state school kids with a chavvy accent and subpar grades who got in anyway (personally I think it’s tosh that everyone should be held to the same standards despite systematic privilege, but the boys at Eton are always self entitled as fuck).

I knew as much when he stared at the table particularly hard when the College Master rambled on and on about all the ‘ Accessibility ’ efforts to accept ‘disadvantaged’ students (it’s all for show, of course). I don't particularly like the Master. If my mother was alive, she would've been the first Mistress of Watford instead.

I tried to be sympathetic to Snow, because after all, I’m my mother’s son, so I should know a thing or two about fighting to get what is rightfully deserved.

Natasha Pitch was a bloody legend - she was the first and only female student at Watford thirty years ago, and then the first woman to get a doctorate at Watford five years after.

Watford College is about the most backwards college in Oxford, but my mother made history here. It was the only reason why I directly applied to this pathetic college, to be honest, when I could’ve just joined Dev and Niall at Christ Church.

At least the silver lining is I’m the only Etonian in Watford this year - I’ve had enough of that crowd, after a lifetime of depressing boarding school and enduring the same group of (unbearably moronic) people since forever.

Snow obviously didn’t know what to do with all that cutlery in front of him, and only got even more confused after two glasses of the free flowing wine (it’s absolutely revolting, the college wine).

I tried to show him, staring at him pointedly before reaching for the correct fork, but he just scrunched up at his nose back at me with an angry expression. I think he thought I was making fun of him. Oh well, suit yourself, Snow.

Snow always eats like he’s never had food before, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true, seeing how his cheeks hollowed out above his jaw.

He’s filling out nicely after two weeks of hall food, growing into his shoulders deliciously. (I know I’m hopelessly homosexual and doomed for life, but I can’t help it.) 

I have no idea how he tolerates that bland crap, but he always leaves the kitchen in such a state that I wouldn’t argue against him going to hall and never cooking for himself instead.

The messiness is one thing that I absolutely cannot stand - I have sent multiple passive aggressive emails over it (because how else am I supposed to contact him - Facebook? I am not adding Simon Snow on Facebook), and it ended in a shouting match.

With the wall of our bedrooms between us, because he refused to open his door after I knocked for an entire minute.

I should’ve known emailing Simon Snow was a lost cause - it isn’t like he ever checks his emails and turns up to classes on time anyway. More often than not, Snow leaves me alone with our supervisor, smiling at each other awkwardly since Snow is always ten minutes late, blaming it on being forgetful or getting lost. (He’s wasting my precious education. Some people actually enjoy studying and want to get the most out of uni, for God’s sake.)

And when Snow does turn up, he hasn’t done half of the reading, and responds to the questions with mostly intelligible stammers. It’s painfully pathetic. 

I actually sincerely think Snow has some sort of a problem, like a learning disability. He is atrociously bad at speaking, and struggles to even read out loud. He’s always jittery, eyes wide staring at everything and nothing at once, bouncing his knee in the seat right next to me until I go mad.

It reminds me of Niall, he’s mildly dyslexic (or is it the ADHD that makes the difference?) and does all the things Snow does when he’s nervous. It’s completely fine to have a problem - Niall is extremely bright and doing just fine, with the right support.

I tried to suggest it to Snow, after a particularly disastrous supervision class.

I don’t mind admitting, everything that comes from me sounds mildly like an insult (I’m socially illiterate in the way that Snow is actually illiterate - what did you expect from a closeted gay with a dead mum from a single sex boarding school), but Snow definitely took it like I just insulted every fibre of his being.

He’s quick to bite back and emotionally repressed, stubborn to admit that he’s struggling - classic straight boy behaviour. Simon Snow is a lost cause. 

I assume that he is probably straight.

1) Have I ever wasted my time and emotional energy on someone who’s not straight? I’m pathetic like that.

2) He wears nothing but ill fitting trackies and baggy jeans. The best he could do is double denim. Not to perpetuate stereotypes, but he is a walking fashion nightmare.

3) Ever since Freshers Week, Penelope Bunce is always plastered at his side, annoyingly inhabiting our kitchen every waking hour even though she actually lives in the staircase next to us and has her own kitchen there. It’s gotten to the point where I’m so used to seeing Bunce that I absentmindedly let her in behind me once, and she followed behind me self righteously as if she belongs here.

I don’t actually mind Bunce that much or am actually jealous of her - I doubt that she and Snow are actually an item anyway.

Bunce seems too smart for him (what does this say about me then-) and besides, they’re college married.

I was actually there when the proposal happened - Bunce was just ranting about how she has no other friends other than Simon Snow, before excitedly proposing that they should get college married. They were being recklessly loud in the kitchen, snorting and chucking down ciders, as if I weren’t trying to make dinner in peace in the corner. 

College marriages are just about the most pointless thing I’ve encountered in Oxford. I myself have two college mums, a pair of lovely second year girls who were overly excited to mentor me and induce me into Watford life, but I don’t see the point in finding myself a college spouse and voluntarily signing up to mentor first years next year.

I can’t believe Snow is already getting a college spouse in week three - I highly doubt he will make it to second year without dropping out, getting rusticated or at least changing course to something less intellectually demanding. (Not that History is even that difficult.)

I suppose Bunce and Snow does make a nice pair - college spouses usually aren’t romantically involved anyway, and from my understanding is more akin to some sort of buddy cop duo. You see, if a pair of college parents date and then decide to break up, it would leave their fresher children horribly confused and abandoned from all the induction. The JCR practically forbids it.

I was surprised to hear that Dev and Niall are actually entertaining the idea of marrying each other if they couldn’t find any girls to befriend by the end of Michaelmas, I didn’t think that they were that laid back (they still don’t know that I’m gay, no one from school does), but it’s an entertaining idea. 

Having a best friend who is a girl aside (more like his only friend), Simon Snow just exudes straight boy energy. Not just any straight boy, but one that is disastrously dumb and messy. I really stooped low this time.

I constantly surprise myself with how disappointing I can be. 

PENNY

Basilton Grimm-Pitch is not actually that bad as a person. Well, he is posh, and snobby, and probably annoyingly smart, like everyone else in this god forsaken uni, but otherwise, he doesn’t seem all that bad.

I guess I don’t live on the same staircase as him like Simon has to, so I’ll just have to take Simon’s word for it.

I know all about terrible neighbours - I can’t stand to be in my staircase to ever see, or even hear what Trixie’s up to. (Trashing the kitchen, shagging her girlfriend - which would be none of my business if I couldn’t hear it. But I can . Yikes, I know.) 

That’s why I hang out in Simon’s room all the time, and use their kitchen instead. And that’s how I know of Baz.

But then I see him at the protest right outside the Great Gate, the only familiar face amongst the group of Watford students, and my opinion of him is redeemed just a tad bit now.

We’re protesting to get that racist colonial sculpture down from the front of the college - I’m surprised to see Basilton there, having associated him with the rest of the annoyingly entitled rich white Etonians, but I go to stand next to him anyway (because I have no other friends, and Simon went on a date with Agatha). 

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he returns the look effortlessly, wordlessly sharing a stack of his flyers with me. We follow the chant every now and then, and reach out to strangers to give out flyers.

I can’t help but look at him a bit, in his smart trousers and Doc Martens (limited edition and probably extremely pricey, according to the stitching) . I can’t tell is it intentional, but it’s weirdly endearing to think of this bougie boy pretending to be relatable to working class culture.

“What. Surprised to see me here? Don’t forget that my mother was Natasha Pitch, Bunce,” he says, with his impassive as ever expression.

Right, Dr. Natasha Pitch. My feminist hero, a legendary Watford College alumni, she was the first female student enrolled in Watford College, the last college to allow female students in. (I’m so unlucky to get pooled to the most conservative college, but I just scraped my grades to get in, so I can’t really complain.) They have an oil painting of her in the library, it’s incredible. I think she died young, but her younger sister is also a professor and teaches in Oxford now, at another college. 

I never connected the dots - perhaps I would’ve guessed that they were somewhat related, but never that she was Baz’s matriarchy. (That’s badass, my future children better take my last name too.) 

“Yeah, to be honest, you don’t really look that white,” I quip, trying to be funny.

It doesn’t hurt to make friends with one other person other than Simon, right.

Baz lets out a rare laugh, almost caught in surprise. 

“It’s okay Bunce, you don’t have to flatter me. I am quite pale, I accept that I’m basically white passing,” he smiles ever so slightly, I would dare say amicably.

I’ve decided actually don’t mind this particular Eton boy that much.

“You know what I mean,” I bite back quickly, because boys inspire anarchy within me and I always have to have the last word. (I feel bad, maybe that’s why me and Simon get along so well. He’s so bad at talking.)

Baz only smirks in response, in his signature cocky rich boy way, so I guess that’s good enough.

I’m right though - Baz has smooth black hair and deep set eyes, and I vaguely remember that Natasha Pitch was half Egyptian. 

Being a descendant from a feminist prodigy doesn’t mean that Basilton Grimm-Pitch isn’t a privileged fuck, and I still antagonise privileged boys from private schools with a passion, but Baz isn’t all that bad. Not really. 

Chapter Text

BAZ

I refuse to believe that Snow is going out with Agatha Wellbelove. 

(Well, at least now we know for sure he is straight.)

This is an absolute nightmare - and it’s not only because I’m jealous. (I’m not.)

I have heard of Wellbelove before uni; I have heard of her (parents) before from the club, and she was probably at Niall’s massive St Patrick’s Day party last year. She is unbelievably, perfectly boring: butter blonde hair, with no real personality except for being a horse girl and good at everything else she does (I know that she at least plays for college lacrosse and football), and is annoyingly rich and unaware of it.

I have no idea why she would be interested in Snow (I have several, but I have an appalling taste in men and no one should follow in my footsteps).

I think it could be some Common People -esque superiority complex mixed with naive curiosity, but I just can’t imagine how they would  work.

It’s almost hysterically hilarious to imagine. (Smile through the pain Basil, smile through the pain.)

I have no idea how they even crossed paths in the first place; Wellbelove studies English at Oriel and Snow definitely doesn’t mix with any of her social circles.

I’m almost tempted to ask Penelope, who more often than not has become a permanent fixture in our kitchen, even when Snow isn’t here (out dating Agatha Wellbelove, God forbid). I have begrudgingly accepted Penelope Bunce as an honorary resident of our staircase now, even though I have no idea how she finds the kitchen an acceptable workspace, with Snow’s mess sprawling all around. 

Penelope is actually decent company, although I’m usually wary of getting cozy with anyone. (Also, I don’t think my upbringing of single sex boarding school really equipped me with interaction with girls.)

I ask about her classes, because I’m a nerd like that, and she’s actually very smart and interesting, and almost as much of a nerd as I am. I respect that - people who actually like learning for the sake of learning, and I think Penelope enjoys me not talking down to her and speaking to someone who is her intellectual equal (no offence, Snow). 

She eventually tells me about Snow and Wellbelove without prompting anyway, because she is chatty and must be well bored with how much Snow is neglecting her lately.

Apparently Wellbelove just approached the two of them one day at the Waterstones Cafe (Penelope can only work so often at our kitchen, and Snow is a fiend for all sorts of baked goods), out of the blue after weeks of recognising each other from passing.

Penelope also thinks it’s a colossally bad idea, theorising on how Wellbelove just wanted to venture out of her bubble of upper class white kids, despite initially encouraging Snow because he’s never gone out with a girl before. (I bookmark that for later in my mind.)

I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it's an ill match - I was starting to go crazy with how unhealthily obsessed with Simon Snow I am. 

Maybe I am a bit jealous. I’ve been even more easily irritated by Snow than usual - I wrote an email to our Director of Studies complaining about how he is affecting me as a supervision partner, and have called the porters several times for noise complaints. The only way I know how to take out my feelings is through annoying bureaucracy.

I’m only barely sorry for getting Penelope in the crossfire - they are indeed unnecessarily loud at all times, the walls are thin and I can’t write my bloody essay with Simon Snow’s distracting laughter booming through the wall.

By the end of term, Snow and I are practically mortal enemies. We can’t see each other without Snow snarling at me (I hate myself for hyper fixating on the little crinkle at the bridge of his nose every time he does it), and me dramatically rolling my eyes with my entire head in return.

That’s excellent, that way he’ll know not to get too comfortable around me, in our staircase. I would hate to see Wellbelove and him together; maybe if I call the porters on him for enough times, he wouldn’t dare to shag her in the room right next to mine. I would actually set the fire alarm off before letting that happen.

I am not going to listen to Simon Snow have sex with a girl.

SIMON

Agatha broke up with me.

I don’t really know what to do, except to squat at the fire door to our staircases until Penny came back from her supo (I can’t stop calling supervision classes that instead now), and I didn’t know what else to say except exactly that.

“Agatha broke up with me.”

Penny bends down to hug me, and we stay like that for a while, awkwardly squatting at the entrance. 

Baz almost trips over us when he leaves to get dinner with his pals at Christ Church, cursing and rolling his eyes as usual.

I didn’t know Baz had other friends outside Watford, but I guess he probably has lots of friends from Eton who came to Oxford.

I only had Penny and Agatha, and now it’s just down to Penny.

I’m not actually upset, I don’t think. Dating Agatha had been nice, in that abstract life is going socially acceptably well kinda way, but I don’t think I actually fancied her that much. I think she is pretty, in the way that magazine cover stars are pretty, but you never think about actually dating them.

She’s too posh and proper - I just didn’t really know how to act around her, and she’s too polite to point out when I’m doing things wrong. I hate that. At least Baz always makes sure to point out all the ways that I’m being an idiot, strangely that gives me more comfort than tiptoeing around Agatha.

I guess deep down I always feel like I’m not actually good enough for her - it was low key a relief when she called this off, because I’m frankly exhausted from trying to keep up. 

But her not wanting me made me feel like I’m not good enough too, so it just sucks either way.

Agatha as a girlfriend is just an embodiment of Oxford as an entire experience so far: a far away concept that is perfect and too good to be true.

I’m actually properly gutted that I won’t get to stay over at her house for Christmas too. Not that I only stayed in the relationship for her big house in the countryside, but I was hoping to get out of the headache of finding somewhere to stay over the break. I’m already 18, so I can’t go back to the homes, not that I particularly want to. I'm practically homeless.

I begged Penny to take me in, but it was a firm no. Her family is big and her house is small, and I think she’s slightly embarrassed by them. In the end she compromised, so I’m going to stay in college as long as they let me, and go to Croydon to see Penny for the few days of actual Christmas, since the Bunces don’t celebrate anyway. I hate being a bother, but I really didn’t have any other choice.

I’m still pouting and sulking by Christmas formal - it really doesn’t help that Baz is sitting right next to Penny, but apparently Baz is her friend, and we don’t have any other friends, so I just have to play nice. I can’t believe she didn’t tell Baz to play nice too.

I’m just in a bad mood from the break up - it doesn’t help that Baz loves to tease about it - and honestly having a Christmas celebration in November (who the fuck does that) is just plain weird.

But Watford hall food is the actual love of my life, so I can’t find it in myself to really complain.

I fill the gap in my heart with turkey, gulfing it all down together with the absolutely luscious gravy, and end up scooping all of Baz’s pigs in blankets onto my plate too.

He yelps and complains loudly, but is all cry and no bite - Baz doesn’t eat that much anyway, so he lets me steal his food, especially when he goes a bit unfiltered loud and unexpectedly soft, after going through his bottle of bougie wine.

I don’t understand him at all, it’s low key worrying, but I guess maybe all rich people just hate eating. 

I don’t usually pity myself that much - I’m an orphan and sometimes life is just the way it is - but it’s still quite depressing as I watch everyone eventually go down for the Christmas holidays.

Baz’s aunt came to pick Baz up the day after the term ended. She can’t be older than 40, and looks like an even scarier version of Baz aside, has white streaks in her dark ponytail, wears a leather jacket with five hundred pins on it, and all in all looks nothing like a Law professor. I only know that she is one, because Penny told me and is shamelessly hanging around just to spy on Dr Fiona Pitch.

Knowing that Baz came from a long line of unnecessarily smart people just makes me resent him more - I bet his parents also met in Oxford, and just like Dev Grimm (Penny met him in a lecture? Apparently he looks like a whiter, shorter version of Baz, which just sounds dreadful), all his other friends in Oxford are probably just his extended family.

I’m scowling on the stairs when Baz hauls a suitcase out of his room, hardly breaking a sweat and flicking his hair out of his eyes in my direction.

“Budge up, Snow. Are you not going home? Even your parents are tired of your mess?” he comments offhandedly, but I can’t help but scoff in disbelief. That was well mean.

“I don’t have parents, Baz. I’m an orphan,” I all but spit out, and he actually looks taken aback. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Simon,” he blinks, not exactly apologetic, but at least there’s no bite in his voice anymore. 

His aunts rudely calls him a brat and for him to ‘get his arse in the car right now’ from the bottom of the stairs, so I guess it runs in the family.

Baz wordlessly made the rest of his way down, before looking back up at me, a sweep of smooth hair hiding half of his face.

“Merry Christmas, Snow. I hope you have a nice time in college and at Penelope’s.”

“You called me Simon before!” I stand up and whine after him, but all he did was give me the finger without even looking back.

I still smiled at Baz’s retreating figure even though he’s a rude git.

Agatha texts me on Boxing Day, when I’m at Penny’s watching Netflix in her bed. I guess she’s bored in her mansion with all her polite family members at a dinner party. (I’m not bitter at all.)

‘Hey Simon, I was just thinking about us, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I hurt you.’

‘Its ok’ 

I don’t pause the show that Penny isn’t really watching either, trying not to think too much about it. I highly doubt Agatha is trying to get me back. I’m not even sure if I want that.

‘I just thought you should know that it wasn’t you, it was me.’

I need to hold back an audible scoff. This is so cliche it’s actually annoying. I just want her to stop feeling sorry and stop texting me, so we can pretend the last month didn’t happen.

‘I think, I don’t really like boys at all? That’s why we couldn’t go out anymore, I didn’t think it was fair on you. I just need time to figure myself out.’

“What does this mean?” I must’ve said it out loud, because Penny jumps, and turns to look at me in confusion.

I show her the text, because I didn’t know what else to do. Penny reads the conversation, frowning, and says nothing for a while.

“What… What does she mean that she doesn’t like boys? What?” I ask, because I’m incredibly stupid.

Even Penny has to shoot a side glance at me.

“It probably means just that, Simon. I feel bad now, I don’t know if I should have read this at all,” Penny worries her lip, and passes my phone back. 

“So… like Trixie?”

I think about Trixie and her girlfriend - because the entire building knows about them, and they’re the only gay people I know in real life. It’s easier to make sense of it this way. 

“I mean, in some ways, probably, yeah. Not that we know that Trixie is a lesbian just because she has a girlfriend, but,” Penny shrugs, as if she’s making perfect sense.

I can’t help but type out a text back immediately, before I could overthink it. 

‘So do you like girls then?’ 

I debated tagging a smiley face at the end, because I don’t want Agatha to think that she just told me what is probably a massive secret and I just ghosted her because I'm not okay with it, but a smiley face seems too creepy.

‘No? I don’t think so anyway. I don’t know what I like, I just know what I don’t.’ 

Well that’s confusing innit. But I don’t really care or mind, it’s straightforward enough to understand.

It’s kind of a relief, actually, to know for sure that it was indeed not my fault that Agatha doesn’t want me as a boyfriend. I’m way less annoyed about the break up now. She’s not really rejecting me as a person, because I’m not good enough. It’s just because I’m a boy, and well, that’s just how it is. 

(I think I liked the idea of a girlfriend more than Agatha herself, so I guess all is fine.)

‘I’m sorry, Simon.’

‘Nah its fine u don’t have to say sorry. Im actually glad that u didn’t break up with me *becoz* of me lol’

‘Well it sorta is becoz im a boy. But you know what i mean’

‘Can we still talk and hang out and stuff tho? If thats ok with u’

I thought about having a second person to go study in coffee shops with, and decided that Agatha isn’t that bad to hang out with. I’m terrible at talking with her, obviously, because I’m so unrelatable compared to her poshness, but Agatha doesn’t need me to talk when we hang out, and I like that. 

‘Uh yes I guess. Only if you promise that there’s nothing more to it.’

‘No offence but, sure. Can i still come to the football club pub nights tho? I like your footie friends’

‘Wow Simon Snow, thanks for only dating me for my friends. But yeah, sure.’

Agatha is already easier to talk (text) to when she’s not my girlfriend.

This is great. I don’t need that pressure on me, and now that I know she doesn’t even fancy guys, I don’t feel like I have to impress her anymore. 

“Simon? You okay?” Penny asks, when I continue to text Agatha back and forth, keeping her entertained through her posh people Christmas things.

“Yeah! It’s calm,” I smile easily, scooting back to watch whatever episode we are on now.

Penny narrows her eyes at me in suspicion, but I’m genuinely not upset. I have never been less not upset for the past few weeks.

“So… you’re feeling fine about having dated a lesbian?” She asks bluntly, because Penny is always like that.

I shrug.

“I mean, I don’t think Agatha is a lesbian either, but yeah. Whatever. I actually feel better now about the whole break up,” I say truthfully, and Penny just looks confused, but doesn’t ask for more, which is usual for Penny. 

I guess she’s still guilty about having known this second hand from me, when Agatha probably didn’t want me to tell anyone. Oh well, it’s not like I have anyone else to tell anyway.

I’m really not that bothered about the whole lesbian thing (or not-lesbian, whatever. Not straight). Like, I know gay people exist, even before uni - I know very little things, but I didn’t exactly live under a rock.

Well, I know Captain Jack Harkness from Dr Who, and he seems to flirt with everyone, regardless of whether it was a boy or a girl. It’s not that hard to understand (despite popular misconception I am actually capable of understanding simple concepts, thank you very much).

I haven’t actually really thought about it that much myself - I was too busy trying to study and not get into fights, you see.

And the more I think about it, I don’t think I really liked Agatha at all in that way. Like yeah, girls are hot, but I haven’t actually met anyone that I really want to like, go out with. I guess it’s just because I’ve never dated anyone before Agatha. I just kind of jumped at the opportunity. But now that it’s over, I honestly think I wasn’t missing out on much?

Maybe I don’t actually really like girls, just like Agatha doesn’t really like boys.

I’m not saying I’m gay - I honestly don’t think I am. I don’t really think about guys at all, I don’t think I ever have.

Maybe I’m just not that bothered at all like Agatha. Hmm.

I’d love to talk to her more about it when we get back, but I doubt Agatha Wellbelove particularly fancies an intriguing chat about her sexuality with me.

I’d ask Penny, but I don’t want her to think I’m gay.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s just another thing to fret about on top of all this stress I already have to deal with, innit.

I don’t know for sure yet, so I don’t really want to talk about it. 

That’s my newest tactic in supo s with Baz now - just not speak until I know for sure what I’m talking about. It’s better for the both of us anyway - he can ramble on about German literature or some shit whilst I desperately try to note down all the extra references he makes.

I’ve finally found the advantage of grouping with Baz now, he’s so smart and desperate to show off that I could just soak up all his extra knowledge. This will come back to help me for exams, so that’s the silver lining.

I wonder if Agatha minds talking about my essay with me, now that we’re friends again. She doesn’t do History, and neither does Penny, and I don’t really have other friends, but Penny refused to help. I thought I liked History - but everything is such a struggle. I bet Baz has already done his essay, annoying genius that he is.

He’s probably just lounging around in his mansion right now, sipping expensive champagne with other adults that he’s not scared of holding a conversation with. 

Baz is so annoyingly perfect. I bet he has not once worked up till the deadline, or get dumped by a sort of lesbian girlfriend, or found himself homeless and couch surfing.

Not that I want to be him, but I just - I want to be better than what I am right now. I’m a mess and he’s the exact opposite. I just want to be good looking and smart and bloody perfect.

This is getting grim. Maybe I should follow Agatha and Imaginary Baz’s footsteps and get myself a drink too.

Chapter Text

BAZ

I don’t know why I did it. 

I am not quite sure what I was going to do about my whole gay problem - I’m way beyond self denial now, have been since fifth form - and I guess I didn’t exactly expect myself to stay in the closet forever, that’s terribly depressing (I am terribly depressed, to be fair), but I just never see the point in changing the status quo. 

I remember very vaguely imagining that maybe uni will be a fresh start, and I can just suddenly become this self assured gay boy, make new friends and forget that the first eighteen years ever happened.

But it obviously didn’t work out like that - half of my year in Eton basically ended up in Oxford anyway, and even though I don’t really associate with any of them except for Dev and Niall, I can’t really ever escape from the first eighteen years of my life. There’s people from school, and the children of all of my parents’ friends, and obviously my mother’s legacy in Oxford is far and wide. (I do love that, but I didn’t want to taint her legacy more.)

I suppose in uni they have those LGBTQ networks, where it’s all cutely unionised, and leftists gather in their communist bubble to eat rainbow cakes together, or something. It’s not that I’m a horrible centrist who doesn’t want to meet people outside of my usual cohort (let’s be real, I despise them, and they probably despise me), but I’m just terrible at making new friends.

I’m self aware enough to know that I’m not exactly likeable. Sometimes I feel like Snow, tongue tied and stammering - I’m just better at hiding it behind all that pride and prejudice branding I’m going for. That’s the thing about being gay - it sets you up for lifelong acting skills. 

I don’t even know if I ever want to tell anyone about it. Maybe I should stay in the closet forever after all, given the sort of things I hear around me, especially now, when the entire Grimm clan is over for Christmas.

I don’t think that my father would actually disown me or kick me out of the house - I’d be fine anyway, I could just bug Fiona for the rest of my life. She’s too soft for me. I have a baby brother, and I don’t think anyone is actually that fussed about passing the family down or anything like that - the Grimms are a big family anyway. 

It’s being a Pitch that really bothers me. I don’t think I could love anyone more than my mum - not that I really knew her, she died when I was five, but I love the idea of her. A smart, determined, charismatic woman who never let anyone else tell her no. Pitches are a long line of academics and influential people, and I think even my father is obsessed with carrying on the Pitch family. He loved Natasha Pitch before the world fell in love with her - and he never forgets to remind me that whatever I did, I did it as Natasha Pitch’s only son. That’s why I have my mother’s name. I mean, obviously, Fiona exists (even though she would burn the Parliament down before having a child ), and the patriarchy is long non-existent in the Pitch family, but I still feel disappointed in myself in this grand, lifelong way.

I’m not even sure if the pressure is from my family or myself. 

I’m getting sidetracked. I do that a lot recently - getting overly bothered about the gay thing.

I think it could be because of how often I’m thinking about Snow lately - I haven’t really had a particular person to hyper fixate on since I was fifteen, and even back then, it was more an all consuming obsession on whichever boy happened to be around me, silly and hormonal and irrational. (Not like my doomed crush on Simon Snow is highly rational.)

I don’t know what exactly it is about him. 

I’m lying. I know exactly what it is about Snow. I have a list.

We can start with the way his lips are always parted because he’s a mouth breather, and he pokes his tongue out slightly when he’s concentrating and trying to spell the titles of the extra reading I bring to supervisions.

Out of everything in the gorgeous nightmare that is Simon Snow, that’s my kryptonite. The fact that he tries so hard and actually values what I have to say, despite his frustrating antagonism against me. (It’s not that frustrating; it actually is one of the only joys in my day to day life. I’m screwed in the head, I know.)

I guess that’s why I did it.

Dev and Niall were hiding out in my room after the stressfully massive Grimm Christmas dinner (I have no idea why Niall is here, but Dev always invites Niall to family things, and Niall always comes with, so here he is), and every time the three of us are together, we talk about uni. Obviously, when I think about uni, all I can think about is Snow.

“I’m gay,” I blurt, out of the blue, between the gaps of conversation that were totally unrelated. 

I have imagined this before, I’m not actually that out of my mind to be so reckless. If I were to tell anyone, Dev and Niall seemed like the safest bet (not like I have any other friends that I’m actually close to). I’m related to Dev, so it’s not like he could be personally offended by me creeping on him, and by elimination Niall is technically my best friend. Let’s be real, I’m not his best friend anymore, so this is well awkward - but I used to be closer to Niall than Dev is, having roomed with him for two years in a row back in Eton, and Niall is about the least intimidating lad I ever know. So I don’t think he’ll react that terribly. Even if he had a problem with it, Niall is too nice to be confrontational.

Niall is not reacting at all, except for blinking in disbelief with his big hazel eyes from where he’s sitting at the corner of my bed. Dev is on a similar trajectory, jaw comedically dropping as he stares at me. 

“Oh. Right. That explains a lot,” Dev eventually settles on, scooting closer to me from where he was sitting at Niall’s feet.

I scoff and roll my eyes, making an entire theatrical production out of it, pretending that my heart isn’t lurching out of my chest. 

“What do you mean explains a lot ,” I say in only partly faked offence, shoving at Dev. He raises an eyebrow at me, hardly guilty.

“You literally have never spoken about a lass ever in your life. And you’re fucking dramatic all the time. Your thing with the hair - and just like, everything,” Dev waves a general hand at me, and I don’t know should I be genuinely offended or not. 

“I can’t even tell are you being homophobic or not…” I squint my eyes at Dev, because all of this is going too easily.

And also, I am offended about the hair thing . I do not have a thing with my hair. 

“No it’s not.” He concludes stubbornly, rolling his eyes like I do.

Niall is still quiet and unmoved in my bed. I risk a peer up at him, and except for the slight flush that clashes with his red hair, I can’t really gage his reaction at all. It might not even be an embarrassed blush - I honestly think it’s just the prosecco. 

“Niall? You alright there pal?” I ask, as casual as I could, although Dev doesn’t seem at all worried about the fact that I just came out to Niall as well as him.

“Uh, everything’s good,” Niall isn’t making eye contact with me. He glances at Dev briefly, the two of them looking at each other for a moment, and the both of them erupt in hysterics for no reason.

I am so bloody confused.

I’m not sure if I am losing my mind or the two of them are, but eventually Dev takes pity on me, because I must look equal parts mad and scared right now. Dev ends his laugh with a snort, and turns to look at Niall again.  

“Are you going to tell him? Or should I.”

Tell me what? Jesus John and Mary if these two tell me they’ve been shagging this entire time I would actually pass out. (Also, how dare Dev. He is not allowed to get cuffed before I do, unless it’s with a girl. I thought I was the gay cousin, there’s no way Dev isn’t straight.)

“Baz… Baz Baz Baz. I’m bisexual,” Niall breathes out, before choking on giggles hysterically again.

Fuck. What a couple of idiots we’ve been. I’ve been friends with Niall since lower fifth, and we were roommates for two years; if only we actually talked like functional human beings, maybe I wouldn’t be so repressed and depressed right now. What are the fucking odds. 

I think back to our friendship throughout the years, and wonder would anything have happened between us, if I weren’t so deep in my own little bubble of angst and self loathing. I consider Niall with his fiery red hair and freckled cheeks - I guess we’ll never know.

The two of them are still smiling at me with a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck. Alright,” I eventually choked out, which only made them laugh harder.

“When did you tell him? And why him, not me,” I point at Dev accusingly, and tag a pout in the end.

I thought I was closer to Niall than Dev - my cousin definitely is not the sensitive type that you can trust. Not like I’m exactly warm and welcoming, but I’m still offended.

“I only told him after we came to uni. Especially, uh - I pulled a guy at Freshers so that was a big no brainer since Dev saw,” Niall admits sheepishly, and I am actually shocked with my jaw open. 

“Niall! You slag!” I yell scandalously, only teasing.

We’re all laughing now, Niall’s eyes crinkling up in the corners as he doubles over in my bed. Us three are truly the biggest losers in the galaxy - no wonder these two are the only people I’m still in contact with in uni.

I’m actually almost expecting the two of them to out themselves as a couple - which I’ll only be mildly surprised by at this point, but Niall sits up and jabs at Dev.

“How does it feel to be the token straight?” Niall asks stupidly with a hearty laugh, earning another eye roll from Dev (I guess the eye rolls came from this side of the family then).

“Inferior, probably,” I answer without a beat. So, not a couple then. 

Telling someone is actually not as disastrous as I thought. Largely, nothing has changed. It’s not like I’ll start talking about actual feelings or whatever - at this rate I’m bringing my crush on Simon Snow to my grave - but it’s nice to know that they know and we’re still pissing around as usual. 

I still cannot believe that Niall is queer too.

I mean, I’m not surprised, we have very similar energies, in the way that Niall is quiet and reserved, but unlike me he’s a bit more jittery and visibly nervous, blushing more often than not (I think it’s the ADHD thing - or something like that), and he laughs a lot more than I do. It’s kind of infuriating how cheery Niall is, in light of the new revelations - I didn’t know you could like boys without wanting to set yourself on fire every waking moment, but I guess Niall doesn’t have the same self importance complex as I do.

Dev says that being gay in the Grimm family is not as big of a deal as I make of it in my head - but again, he’s not a Pitch as well as a Grimm. He does agree that my father would be less than thrilled though. Everyone knows what a man Malcolm Grimm is. I actually feel bad for him, in an objective way - a gay first born is really not what a man needs, especially when said son is the only living legacy of a dead first wife who overshadows him, even in death.

Also, I think we can all just agree that any father would be less than thrilled about a gay only son. Niall’s opinion is invalid in this matter - he doesn’t live with his dad, and anyway, there’s still a fair chance he’ll end up with a girl - Niall only stared at me pointedly at that. Alright then.

I also cannot decipher whether Niall is intentionally flirting with me ever since the mutual coming out, or is this just the real Niall finally coming out of his shell.

I still have no idea why am I seeing him at every Grimm function this holiday - trust me there’s a lot of them, I swear there’s a Grimm family in every other shire, and they love to take turns to visit - honestly I would be surprised if Niall and Dev aren’t actually cohabiting outside of term as well as in college (they happen to live in the same corridor, that’s why my ex-best friend and my cousin had suddenly grown inseparable).

Niall is always unabashedly throwing innuendos at me and shoving me with a giggle, that sort of thing - maybe he acts like this with everyone. I don’t really have an out personality like he does - whether people knew or not, I’m still repressed as fuck and refuse to talk abut boys at all cost. 

We’re at the stupid New Years Eve party at Dev’s, and naturally Niall gravitated towards me the entire night, because as well as all the Grimms being there, even more random family members from Dev’s mum’s side has arrived, and Dev has no time to entertain us.

Fiona was here at one point - honestly I don’t know why my father bothers to invite her or why does she bother to turn up. By this point I’m pretty sick of Grimms too - I swear I have been seeing cousins and uncles every other day since Christmas. 

I pull out a stray ciggy that I stole from Fiona’s jacket pocket before she left, and light it when we’re sitting on the porch right outside Dev’s living room.

You can see most of the Cotswolds from Dev’s garden.

It’s cold, Niall is huddling in even though I’m blowing out smoke, knee bouncing right next to mine as usual. It reminds me of Snow sitting next to me in that tiny supervision room on the top floor in Watford. 

I don’t usually smoke, not anymore since I grew out of it after my Eton days, but every now and then, I want one when I’m drunk. I didn’t really keep count exactly how much I drank - I swear my father’s third sister owns a distillery or some shit, there’s always booze around and I don’t remember much of being sober throughout the strange limbo between Christmas and New Year.

I am aware of how not sober I am right now - I’m letting out little hiccup giggles every time Niall says something stupid, which he does a lot every time he’s tipsy.

I’m glad that Niall is tagging along with Dev this break for whatever reason - I enjoy having a friend for real, if I were to be honest. I like Niall, and now we’re less awkward and distant than when we were fourteen.

I look at Niall as I hear the one minute countdown begin on the TV inside, right behind us.

He’s loose and unfocused as he peers up at me. I turn away for a moment to snuff out my cigarette, and look at him again.

“Your eyes are blue today?” I blurt out stupidly, out of genuine confusion.

They are blue, even though they’re usually a dark hazel. Freckles and blue eyes - guess where my mind’s wandering to again.

Niall coughs out a laugh, ducking in slight embarrassment.

“Are they contacts? Why are you wearing blue contacts?” I ask again, because my mind is hazy and apparently I like sounding dumb when I’m drunk.

Niall shrugs with a small smile on his cheeks.

“Why not?” 

I can’t stop staring at his eyes.

It’s strange, the colour slightly artificial, but Niall looks different with blue eyes. It’s not that he looks plain usually - but Niall looks different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. I feel like I’ve never noticed Niall, not really, not until tonight, stupid drunk and bored out of my mind.

He’s wearing a striped jumper and a dark blue parka over it, and his skinny jeans have rips in them where they touch my knee even though it's literally freezing out here. Niall’s hair is somehow redder than before, if that’s possible - his hair used to be only a subtle orange that was more blond than ginger. I wonder if he dyes it auburn on purpose now. I don’t stop staring, and I eventually find his weird blue eyes staring back at me, big like bambi. 

I don’t know what I’m thinking when I lean forward to kiss Niall at midnight. (I was not thinking.) 

The worst part is he kissed me back. 

I mean, I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t like it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but Niall is a good kisser - I can’t stop thinking about all the people he must have kissed before me.

I don’t love it either - it’s Niall , he’s cute and all after five drinks, but Niall is very possibly my only guy friend and honestly, if anything were meant to be between us, it would have happened by now. I am terrified of having led him on.

But before I could overthink, Niall is pulling me up from the steps, and he leads me around the house and into the conservatory whilst I’m still dizzy from the kiss. (And the alcohol. Let’s just say it was the alcohol.)

Before I can say anything, Niall is pushing me into the glass wall and kissing me again. I let him, because I’m weak, and because of his blue eyes and freckles and the way he blushes across his nose. A boy is kissing me, and I’m pathetic, so I’m not going to say no. 

“Basil, is this your first kiss?” he has the nerve to ask as he pulls away slightly, tilting his jaw to drag his lips down to my cheek. I don’t understand what he's doing, but I don’t mind it. 

“Fuck you!” I chuckle out in hysteria, because what the fuck is happening right now. On top of all this absurdity, the last thing I need is for my oldest friend to judge my inexperience. 

“Slow down, tiger,” Niall giggles in his usual flirty way, and my eyes widen for a second for the insinuation, but before I could argue, his lips are back on mine again, showing me how to kiss properly, I guess.

His tongue is in my mouth, and I want to panic,  but it’s actually just so good, so addictive. Kissing a boy is nice. I never thought about the way that someone else’s stubble scratches at your chin until now.

Niall is so soft and needy - he reaches up to thread a hand through my untied hair, tucking it behind my ear, and it’s so fucking good.

I don’t do anything with my hands, letting them stay limp hanging by my sides. I don’t want to touch him, because it’s Niall , and I feel weird and wrong - maybe it’s the internalised homophobia talking, but most likely it’s just because we’re mates and I don’t want to take anything that I’m not supposed to.

He can take all of me all he wants though - I hate myself, and I love the feeling of someone liking me enough to want me, and if someone wants me enough I can almost forget how much I hate myself. 

Katie, one of my second cousins, shrieks when she spots the two lads sucking each other’s faces off in the conservatory, having come downstairs for a smoke.

Niall grabs my hand and we run the way we came from, back into the house and upstairs until we’re locked inside one of the guest bathrooms. I sit on the covered toilet bowl whilst Niall settles on the rim of the bathtub. We’re both panting wild - me from the thrill (of excitement? Or genuine fear?) but Niall is just less fit than I am (like Dev, he stopped playing team sports in uni). 

“Do you think she’s gonna tell anyone?” Niall’s stupid blue eyes are wide and staring at me. 

He’s scared for my sake - I don’t think he really gives a fuck about people’s opinion of him, given his track record. That breaks and warms my heart a little simultaneously.

I really really hope Niall doesn’t fancy me, I don’t want to break Niall.

“Dunno. It was my fault anyway, don’t worry about it,” I say in a strangely zen manner. 

I’ll panic about this later - I don’t want Niall to start apologising or feeling bad, it was my fault. I made a bad decision, and I’m not even sure if I regret it.

It was a bloody good first kiss, dramatic enough for the theatrics that is my life (in my head). 

Niall is still nervously fidgeting, now having fallen backwards into the bathtub and sitting at one end with his legs folded up. He gets all worked up from time to time, I have seen it countless times, but I’ve never actually had to deal with a panic attack before and really am not equipped to deal with one right now, booze drunk and kiss drunk and possibly outed panic drunk. 

I jump into the bathtub to join him, sitting opposite him on the other end and ignoring the tap digging into my back. I hold out a hand for him to clutch onto, and eventually Niall shakes a bit less.

Niall is constantly fleeting through dumb bravado and moments like this, when he just needs to be held, so I keep holding his hand steady, brushing my thumb across his knuckles even though his palm is clammy.

He finally lets go after a long moment, sighing out a long breath and coming back to his senses. I scoot backwards and wrap my arms around my knees, observing him carefully.

“Let’s never do that ever again,” I declare, once Niall is not in danger of bursting into tears or hyperventilating. He barks out a sharp laugh.

“Yep. Agreed. You are so correct,” he replies, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank fuck.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was amazing,” I quirk an eyebrow at him before he can glower, “But I don’t fancy you. And like, let’s not fuck this up, I already have little enough friends as it is.”

“You mean friend, singular,” Niall snickers, and I kick his feet in retaliation.

“Don’t worry Basil,” he says casually, and I try not the blush at the memory of him whispering my name into my neck earlier, “I don’t actually fancy you either. Sorry.”

“Glad we made that clear.”

“Will people know now? Think that girl will run her mouth?” Niall asks gently, still worried about me.

I clench my eyes shut at the impending headache. 

“Jesus Christ. Fuck,” I groan at the thought of the entire Grimm family gossiping about my queerness. No one is actually going to come after me with pitchforks, but it’s still not a pleasant thought.

“How do you do this? Just go around kissing dudes? This is so not worth it,” I whine, just because I can, and the only thing to make me feel better right now is guilt tripping Niall.

“Oi! I’m well worth it,” Niall protests, shoving me at the knee.

“What is Dev going to say if he finds out - when he finds out,” I think out loud, and immediately wish I wasn’t coherent enough for that thought.

Niall catches my eye, and we curse in unison.

PENNY

Baz is texting me - I don’t even remember how he got my number. The last text was him frantically asking whether Simon was napping through their supo again, back in week 5 - so I guess that's how. There’s no way Simon and Baz are on texting terms, and neither of them really uses something more casual like Facebook, so I’m somehow their messenger.

I guess Baz and I are kind of friendly acquaintances - he doesn’t go out of his way to text me for a friendly conversation, but we talk when we’re in the same space, which is often enough given how I’ve migrated to their kitchen.

Baz surprisingly isn’t texting me about Simon though, for once. 

'Penelope'

'I’ve done something terrible and I don’t have other friends to talk to, so I’m afraid you’ll have to accept this burden'

'I don’t care if you don’t care, I just need to tell someone before I go crazy'

'So first things first, I’m gay'

'There’s been some fuck up and I got outed to my entire family. Let’s just say it’s not something that I can deny'

'It’s been tense. I don’t know what to do'

'I mean I don’t think I’m actually in physical danger or anything. I don’t think anyone can really threaten me to be honest'

'But it’s just awful'

'I apologise that this is coming to you out of the blue. I don’t have many friends I can trust and obviously there’s Dev but he is also in the family. You seem sympathetic'

Bloody Hell. I don’t know how many coming outs I can take in one holiday season.

(To be fair Agatha Wellbelove technically didn’t come out to me - I still feel guilty about that.)

I wouldn’t have guessed that Baz Grimm-Pitch is gay. I mean, he’s always been kind of a two-dimensional Etonian character to me.

I don’t really know how to react to this - I can abstractly imagine that Old Money families wouldn’t abide well with a gay son in the family. And I’m pretty sure Baz is the only Pitch of his generation too, so that must count for something.

Baz has bombarded me with all these texts in the middle of the night - the last timestamp was at 3:24am. I sit up in my bed, having had a long overdue sleep in after kicking Simon out yesterday, and contemplate a reply.

'Happy new year Baz. I’m so sorry to hear that. How are you feeling?'

'Also thanks for coming out to me. I appreciate your trust'

Basilton texts like he’s emailing, so it makes me awkward too. Agatha is similar - all the correct punctuation and stuff, with no abbreviations. I’m too used to replying to Simon’s long and rambly stream of consciousness texts, I’m self conscious about my text speech now.

Not that that’s important at the moment - I’m more concerned about whether Baz is going to get kicked out from home. 

'Morning Bunce. I’m heading back to college today, so I guess it’s going alright all things considered'

'I just had to get out of that house'

Watford is closed between Christmas Day and New Year, and I sent Simon on his way once he’s allowed back. No offence to Simon, but there’s already six people in this tiny house, and it’s extremely awkward trying to watch him and my parents interact. I don’t even know who accidentally offends the other more - and I’m too tired to deal with it. 

I don’t know if I should tell Baz that Simon is already back in college - it’ll probably put him in a foul mood. Baz already sounds depressed and probably slightly volatile, I don’t really want to think about their petty row when they see each other again.

I do feel bad about Basilton though - he seems so lonely and keeps to himself a lot, this can’t be easy for him.

Maybe I should warn Simon to try and not piss Baz off.

But I have no idea about the etiquette of talking about other people being gay - obviously me and Simon already screwed up with Agatha (not that she is actually gay), I don’t think I’m supposed to tell Simon. I highly doubt Baz would want me to. 

I keep texting Baz, because I don’t know how else to make him feel better. This is a bit of an emotional burden, I’m not going to lie, but at least he’s not overbearing and doesn't really expect a reply.

I ended up asking him questions so he’ll reveal more, because I’m nosy, and I also don’t have that many friends to entertain myself with. (And I’m procrastinating my essay.)

Apparently he got caught kissing another guy at a large family party. I guess that is probably the scandal of the century in Old Money family standards - although I can easily draw comparisons if that were to happen at an Indian gathering. You’d be disowned and skinned alive.

I keep prying, because who could you possibly snog at a family gathering, and he lets slip that it’s someone who also goes to Oxford. Well, I asked, and he didn’t deny it. He says it was a friend of someone’s - I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone our age that Baz knows goes to Oxbridge. 

Baz complains about Simon wreaking havoc in the kitchen again, but otherwise isn’t that upset anymore, so I take it to tease him about his relationship status. A bit of normality won’t hurt, I hate it when people are set on ignoring it and pretending it isn’t a thing. 

(I’m pretty sure everyone in the family secretly knows that Premal is bi, but we never speak of it. The silence is suffocating.)

'So… will you be seeing this lad again? He goes to Oxford right'

'I’m not SEEING him, but unfortunately yes, he goes to Oxford too. I guess I’ll still be seeing him around. Hopefully with no more scandals'

'So… just friends? *side eye emoji*'

'I don’t really have much choice seeing how I’ve resorted to talking to you'

'You know I could just start ghosting you right'

'You wouldn’t dare. Who else are you going to talk to, Snow?'

'What’s your problem with Simon LOL. Poor Simon'

'You can ask him the same about me. He started it'

'You guys are so stupid. Men are stupid'

'I’ll have to agree with you on this one'

'So you’re not dating any men any time soon then'

'I mean, you neither, Bunce'

'Touche'

Chapter Text

SIMON

The unspoken fight between me and Baz has gotten more heated since Hilary term started. He’s porter-ing me so often that I’m starting to recognise the same porter who always comes up to tell me I have another noise complaint again.

Well, jokes on Baz, I have made friends with the porter so she doesn’t really tell me off either. Just by my luck, Ebb is the nicest porter in Watford - I’m pretty sure she’s the only woman porter in Watford, and the only one who isn’t stuck up and intimidating. She always just laughs at me and Penny before going back to porters’ lodge. I guess me and Baz’s little row gives her an excuse to stretch her legs.

I call the porters on Baz as revenge as well. Strangely he has been escaping Watford less now, and instead his mate from the other college has started coming to hang out more often.

I don’t know if it’s in spite of me and Penny “making noise” in my room - but they are pretty loud too, I can never really make out what exactly they’re bantering about (what do rich lads even talk about?) but I haven’t really heard Baz laughing until recently, through the wall. 

It’s annoying - a bit unbelievable really, seeing how I have never seen Baz so much as to smirk ever in real life. I don’t understand what could possibly be so funny that the two boys next door sound like all they do is drink beer and have fun without essay deadlines. (I know Baz always finishes and hands them in early.)

At least this way it’s easier to complain about Baz, than using his violin playing as an excuse. Most of the time I don’t even remember to call the porters when he does, because there’s just really nothing genuinely annoying about his violin playing. He’s quite good at it, so you can’t even really tell if he’s just playing classical music out loud from his laptop or is he actually playing it himself. And Penny says it helps her concentrate, so we try to let him be. 

Our kitchen is now getting way too crowded though, because Baz’s friend turns up all the time now. It’s not like I can just kick this dude out. He’s actually a really nice guy, Irish and over eagerly happy, all in all totally unthreatening as much as public school boys go. (They have to have gone to the same school together, I don’t think anyone can be such close friends after a term.) 

Skinny Irish Guy is always standing shoulder to hip next to Baz at the hop, watching him cook even if he’s doing absolutely nothing to help - every time I see them like this I glare at their backs from the dining table. Now no one can use the hob when Baz is because it’s too crowded. As it was, it’s already always an elbow-shoulder-shovel fight every time I want to make food the same time Baz does. I can’t say anything though, I’ll be a hypocrite since I basically let Penny live in our staircase. 

But something about Baz’s friend just unnerves me.I just don’t like him. He’s too… nice . I have no idea what Baz is doing with a guy like that. This guy looks like he does poetry slam and plays guitar in his spare time.

I just kind of expected Baz to do something generically Bad and Problematic in his spare time, I dunno, like going to listen to Katie Hopkins at the Union or joining a drinking society with Tories. (Baz has actually never said anything of the sort, but I just like to believe, to make hating him easier.)

I didn’t really expect Baz to just… crack a cold one with a pal on a Saturday afternoon, hair undone and snuggled into his football fleece. 

His friend just seems so… down to earth compared to Baz, it’s weird.

It kind of pisses me off even more when I see how they match, like literally, wearing the same outfit without realising.

Baz is always wearing trousers with a button up these days - sometimes with braces, even though his trousers are so well fitted that I’m pretty sure the braces are just for looks, and those Docs that he wears almost every day. (According to Penny they’re limited edition. I’m jealous.)

And when his Irish mate stands next to him in the kitchen, it’s like they agreed on a uniform - well he’s not as fit as Baz, even skinnier if that’s possible, with no meat on his legs, so his trousers just sort of dangle at the ankles. Sometimes it’s black skinny jeans instead of black slacks, and Converses instead of Docs, but otherwise, him and Baz look like a well matched duo. 

Baz’s infernal fashion sense always makes me feel inadequate, like it’s another memo that I missed when I came to Oxford. (I mean, plenty of people are normal and turn up to lectures in hoodies - but even by that, they’re private school leavers hoodies.)

And now there’s two of them, and Baz’s friend is also impossible to hate, which is annoying. 

There’s definitely something wrong about Friendly Irish Guy though.

This one time I was just leaving the loo in a towel after my shower (I think it’s weirder for Baz to always get dressed in the cramped shower, it’s literally right opposite our rooms), and I walked right into that guy outside my room, where he must’ve been leaving Baz’s.

He smiled awkwardly, before just outright staring at my bare chest up and down for a full minute, clicking his tongue. 

I’d say he’s checking me out, but it didn’t feel like that? I dunno it was just extremely weird.

He rolled his eyes when he finally stopped ogling, and scoffed “Poor Basil.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Also I am the unfortunate one to be stuck with Baz in so many situations, if anything. And I don’t see what exactly did he extrapolate from looking at me shirtless.

Trust Baz to have one friend besides Penny and he’s a complete weirdo.

BAZ

“You are so messed up, Jesus Christ,” I laugh as I throw a pillow at Niall, who’s taken permanent refuge in the corner of my room as of late. 

It’s so much easier to ignore the fucking blasted landmine that I left at home with the Grimms, once I’m sucked back into term and uni work. I stopped playing for the orchestra this term, but I think I might get the cut for the Varsity football team, so it’s not going all that bad so far. There are good distractions to keep my mind busy.

Ironically the only thing I brought back from the holidays is Niall, apparently.

Niall is purposefully avoiding Dev recently, like I am.

Niall finally spilled that he’s hopelessly infatuated with Dev, which is just proper fucked up, seeing how

1) Dev is generally absolutely revolting as a romantic interest, full offence,

2) we both know he is straight,

3) he is my fucking cousin ,

and 4) who the fuck thinks snogging the darker, taller, (let’s be real, handsomer) version of their crush is a good idea.

Apparently they had several pointless fights over the new year scandal for the rest of the time Niall was at Dev’s house, whilst I was too busy doing damage control in my own home.

(It happened, Niall or no Niall, I’m gay , everyone just has to deal with it.)

At least Niall being devastated about the state of his friendship with Dev meant that we both easily glossed over the extremely awkward fact that we snogged.

Dev is also mad at me - for ruining our three way friendship, why Niall , and just generally me being emotionally constipated and refusing to talk about it. (Trust me, it’s better to not talk about it.)

From what I heard from many of Niall’s rants, I’m not even quite sure what are them two quarrelling for - I had an inkling in the back of my head, but knowing Niall’s disastrous impulsive tendencies, I think it’s better not to stir useless hope within Niall. Dev is probably straight.

So the two of us have just been hanging out at mines, avoiding Dev, which doesn’t help the narrative in Dev’s head that the two of us are dating and ditching him.

Having Niall around is fun - now that we’re both out to each other, I truly feel like I have a best friend in him now. Honestly, it is quite impossible to keep secrets from each other anymore, now that we  literally had our tongues down each other’s throats before.

(I am decidedly over it. I have decided that whilst I may be thirsty, I would never be that thirsty again. It’s Niall . Also the fact that he probably fantasises about my fucking cousin is a big turn off too.)

I never hear the end of it from Penelope Bunce though.

I never knew the extent of Niall being tactile and flirty until now. Every time when Niall is seen so much as to stand less than a feet away from me in the kitchen, my phone immediately buzzes in my pocket, paired with a knowing look from Penelope sitting in the corner. (She shouldn’t even be in our kitchen in the first place anyway.)

But at least she doesn’t say anything out loud - that would be mortifying, and I’m more than relieved that she probably kept what I told her to herself, seeing how Snow is relatively in the dark about the homoerotic tension in our kitchen.

The texts are always a variation of “Is that him????” and “Are you gonna kiss again???” and my answers are a rotation of “No”, “I’m not telling you” and “Fuck no”.

The fact that we’re just good friends aside, letting myself be unbothered by the physical attention I crave so much secretly has been doing wonders for my mood. The fact that Niall is always so casual about it - pulling my hair away from my face from behind when I’m making dinner, poking my knee with a socked feet when he’s doing his reading from across the room, just bumping my shoulder as he squeezes in between where I eat my dinner and where Bunce is typing up her notes - it’s friendly, it’s flirty, it’s nice .

Although I’m pretty sure I’m just Niall’s stand-in not boyfriend until he forgets about Dev (honestly why Dev), he makes me feel more normal. About the whole gay thing and my infernal feelings about Snow and just the yearning for something, anything.

Niall bickering with me in my kitchen and using “my tongue has been in your mouth” as a retort for everything isn’t exactly what I want, but it is what I need sometimes, I guess. 

Me being more self aware about my emotional constipation and the depths of repression doesn't mean that I’m ever spilling about Snow to Niall though.

But still, It doesn't stop him from running his mouth about Simon Snow, ever since he caught Snow glaring at us when he slipped an arm around my waist as I made pancakes. (I’m sure it looked very romantic, but Niall was actually threatening to throw me out of the window if I burnt his pancake, so.) 

From then onwards, Niall has been spinning stories about the sexual tension between me and Simon Snow - which I’m pretty sure is one sided, but if it keeps Niall entertained and refrained from talking about my goddamn straight cousin, I’ll tolerate it. With how much Niall is teasing me about my neighbour, you would’ve thought he’s more obsessed with him than I am. Niall has dubbed him a himbo - which I entirely agree is a fact, if I were to be honest.

At least Snow has finally managed to turn up to supervisions on time this term, even if he still contributes absolutely nothing, except for being distracting and less than an inch away from my side in that stupidly tiny supervision room.

I overheard his meeting with our Director of Studies at the start of term - it didn’t sound pretty. I was almost tempted to ask Niall about his dyslexia, because I’m genuinely concerned about Snow (and think that he can do so much better, because I’m disgustingly besotted) but I just about keep my mouth shut on that one. Niall is never to know that I’m actually capable of feelings , God forbid.

SIMON

I don’t know how I actually managed to remain friends with Agatha, it’s actually been pretty nice to be honest. We still have almost nothing in common to talk about, but I was right, her football friends like having me around, and I like hanging out with them too.

I guess that’s the only thing me and Agatha have in common, being interested in how she's doing with the uni women’s team. I think she enjoys me being one of the only boys she knows who doesn’t dismiss women’s football. I mean, good football is good football, and our women’s team is actually pretty good.

I would play for the club myself, but I’m pretty shite, and happily gave up after Freshers tryouts. (The team loves Baz, that tosser.)

I tried to make Penny and Agatha become somewhat friends too, because I feel very weird about Agatha always insinuating that I’m dating Penny, and I kind of want to prove myself.

They are somehow even more different than me and Agatha - it’s painfully awkward and actually kind of funny how girls can be all so different. I guess I’ve never really given it any thought. Girls, in general.

Strangely I didn’t feel the urge to pry about Agatha’s whole sexuality thing, even when she brought up dating herself (the non existent relationship between me and Penny) - I just feel like we’re not at that level yet. Besides, I don’t know if Agatha would even be comfortable talking about it. I don’t want her to think that I’m not accepting the break up. I’m actually accepting it surprisingly well, sometimes I forget that we’ve even dated before.

Just hanging out with Agatha every now and then is perfectly enough, especially when it gives me and Penny excuses to visit other colleges, to watch the college matches sometimes. (Unsurprisingly Watford doesn’t even have a women’s team, so there’s no conflict of interest at all.) 

That is why even though Penny still hardly knows Agatha at all, she jumped at the chance to go watch Varsity football, once we found out that Agatha had made the team. It’s a pretty big deal - not a lot of first years get to play for Varsity, and it only happens once a year, when all the uni sport teams go head to head with Cambridge.

(I mean deep down I think all this elitism is stupid as heck, and obviously playing against Cambridge surely shouldn’t be as difficult as actually playing against a bunch of other unis, but hey I can let myself get carried away with the hype.) 

It’s a bit of an effort to go support Agatha - the match this year is at Cambridge instead of Oxford - but both me and Penny are really feeling the Hilary term blues lately, and so are desperate for a day out.

We woke up early to catch the cheap coach to Newmarket, and because we’re broke, we might as well stay and watch all the matches and get a late coach back. I love Penny - we’re always on the same page when it comes to money. I hate it when some people around here spend money like it falls from the sky - I guess it is for them. 

The women’s match are first in the morning so it’s quieter. Oxford made an alright presence in the crowd, considering how we’re the away team, even though it’s mostly parents, and the lads don’t really care.

Penny doesn’t know football very well, but even she was well excited about it. Our women’s team was amazing - it was a landslide win from the start. Agatha was incredible as defence - Oxford barely got one goal in.

She’s just unsurprisingly good at everything she does. I don’t even fancy her anymore, but I can’t deny that her game face, neat blonde ponytail flying after her as she intercepts, was very attractive. 

The women’s team wins the cup, takes photos and attempts to drink bubbly booze from the cup. Penny caught a full length feature of Agatha on her Instagram story throughout the entire match, from start to finish.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Agatha so not like her usual lady-like self before, but she looks happy, so I’m happy. We said hi to her, but soon enough she disappeared to celebrate with her team and entertain her parents, so me and Penny go back to entertaining ourselves, having a few more hours to kill till our coach.

We’re already on the bleachers on the dark blue side (Cambridge's colour is this ugly turquoise blue), and the men’s matches are about to start, so obviously we just stay sitting there to watch another match.

Neither me or Penny feel particularly loyal to Oxford - Penny doesn’t usually care about sports anyways, and it’s not really my team if they didn’t want me, is it? But the noise and the rivalry is fun - even though I have to admit that the Cambridge supporters have better chants. We’re bloody pathetic. They have like trumpets and everything. The best we can do is a drum.

The men’s match is a bit tighter - it was 1-0 by half time, and the Oxford team looks exhausted.

Personally I think they wouldn’t have sucked as badly if I were on the team, or at least, if they’re going to be mediocre anyways, they should’ve taken me on.

Penny, mildly confused but clearly understanding that we’re vaguely losing, is eating a hot dog in despair.

After half time, they swapped out the forward - it took me a while to clock that it’s Baz.

Baz has his hair neatly tied into a ponytail like I’ve never seen before. The football shorts leave little of his legs to the imagination, and I’ve always known he’s hella fit, as if just being a genius isn’t enough, but I guess now we all know . 

He’s fucking ruthless. Within the first five minutes, we already caught up with two goals, both by Baz.

It only goes uphill from here. The momentum has greatly improved morale, and eventually our counter chants are louder than Cambridge’s cheering. Still terrible, though - I believe one of them included Baz Pitch/Son of a Bitch! 

“That’s misogynistic,” Penny mutters. “Also, Natasha Pitch is definitely not a bitch.”

It’s all good fun though - I usually get really bitter about how Baz is good at everything, I really do hate it, but Jesus, he’s so fast. Not all of the goals were scored by Baz, but pretty much a handful of them were.

He looks like he’s barely broken a sweat, flicking his ponytail back gracefully before running across the pitch again.

In the end I’m standing up and yelling along to our incoherent and stupid chants, eyes trained on Baz as he’s so close (so close!) to scoring another just before time’s up. Even Penny has stood up to watch now.

We win by one point.

As Baz kicks the last goal in, I hear a new chorus of shrieks at the front - the girls have returned, and everyone is screaming because both teams have won this year. Everyone on the pitch ran into each other into a massive tackle - we’re pretty high up in the bleachers, but I swear I could see Baz Pitch smiling, even with his eyes crinkling up in the corners.

The team loves him - I mean he was pretty amazing out there - and I don’t stop watching as long as he doesn’t stop smiling. He lets his hair loose and is still laughing when he gets drenched in bubbly - I swear I have never seen Baz like this before. 

I don’t take my eyes off Baz until the team finally files out of the pitch to go holler some more in the changing rooms.

And then I see Agatha, running towards him to give him a hug. What the fuck.

Suddenly the brief moment of not hating Baz is over. So much for not being into guys, Agatha.

And it had to be Baz out of all people, obviously. I mean, maybe it was just a one off thing, and Baz had looked surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. So I tried not to think about it. They’re just high off the win - Agatha’s happy, Baz’s happy. I can be happy about the match too.

I end up spending the entire night excessively refreshing Agatha’s Instagram story for updates.

I don’t really do social media, not until I got into uni and bought myself a smartphone, so I got Instagram because Penny told me to and I never really had a way to get onto Facebook before.

The football club has gone out for drinks and then a club night to celebrate - I wouldn’t care, but I started spotting Baz in Agatha’s stories, and then I couldn’t stop obsessing over my ex-girlfriend. (Is that what’s happening right now? I don’t know.)

She doesn’t sound very drunk, but she keeps trying to flirt with Baz in the video. Baz looks a bit more drunk. More drunk than he’d get in the one or two formal halls that I had the misfortune to sit with him for.

I roll my eyes at a selfie of Agatha next to Baz, their cheeks pressed together and Baz looking sufficiently hammered with his eyes half lidded and looking away from the camera, lips pouting.

I hurl my phone away across the room (on the bed, because I don't actually want to break it).

I can’t believe Baz is about to steal my ex-girlfriend.

I didn’t even think I ever cared about Agatha as an ex girlfriend, not until now. I guess it’s more about the fact that Baz is yet again getting something that I can’t have, because he’s perfect and good looking and bloody amazing at football and everything I’m not.

This is bad because I’m basically objectifying Agatha, but still. Why Baz.

I try to look at that selfie again and it just makes me feel sick. If I start to imagine Agatha turning up at our staircase as Baz’s new girlfriend - the thought actually makes me want to chunder.

It takes me a while to give up on tracking the football club afterparty, but I just can’t sleep, thinking about Agatha. Our breakup feels like a proper rejection now - it wasn’t just because I’m a guy. Baz is a guy and he’s perfectly… well, perfect.

Fuck Baz.

I leave my room to go to the loo just for something to do, and when I’m done, I see Baz sauntering up the staircase unsteadily, wearing his football shirt and black skinny jeans.

(I didn’t know he wore jeans . Also, is that his club outfit? Baz doesn’t really go out, like me and Penny, but the football shirt is kind of terrible in a good way. His hair is wildly loose in waves - he usually slick it back with product, but he looks better like this.)

He looks tipsy even though they must’ve been going at the sesh for at least five hours now. He's blinking more than usual. I notice that he has really long eyelashes for a guy.

I confront him because I’m angry, and hopefully Baz wouldn’t get in the last word for once, now that he’s smashed.

“I know that you’re not a nice person, but stealing my ex-girlfriend is a pretty low blow,” I growl, sounding way less snide than I meant to be.

He screws his eyebrows together almost adorably in confusion for a second, before returning to his default sneer again.

“Wellbelove? Ha!” Baz laughs, almost uncontrollably.

I wonder how has he managed to make me feel stupid again, even when he’s drunk out of his mind. I just keep frowning at him.

Baz rolls his eyes so hard I think it might actually hurt his eye sockets. 

“I’m gay, Simon. Fuck off,” he deadpans, staring at me for an intense second with his wild stormy grey eyes. And then he hurls himself into his room, throwing the door shut behind him. 

What.

(Also he called me Simon again.)

Chapter Text

BAZ

I wake up craving the sweet release of death. 

I hadn’t even been this drunk during Christmas - and obviously, I saw no reason to get intoxicated enough to make bad decisions, ever since New Year’s. 

Winning the match was a perfectly adequate cause for celebration. I know I’m good at football, but it still feels nice to be validated. We finished a bottle of Cava in the changing rooms right after, and from then onwards it was just a long hazy evening with the team. We went out after drinks (with a bit of food for supper on the side), and then even more drinks at a second location before the club, and I must be properly hammered because I even remember dancing. Crikey. 

I never blackout and forget - which is a blessing, but mostly a curse. There are many things in my life that I wish I can forget with a bit of alcohol.

This is the moment I recall the encounter with Snow outside our rooms last night. Fuck. 

I should be more upset by the fact that I’m missing my Monday ten AM lecture right now (I have never missed one, and the History faculty doesn’t record them), but I can’t help but fret about the fact that I just drunkenly came out to Simon Snow last night instead.

Why should it matter? I don’t care about Snow’s opinion of me. (I do. Far too much.) 

Deep down, there is always a fear of homophobia and rejection in me, which would explain my inherent anti-social nature - but maybe if Snow does turn out homophobic it would be in my favour. At least I can finally stop being delusional and get my head out of the clouds in Snow’s sky blue eyes.

It’s still a struggle by the time I get out of bed and make it to the supervision at one in the afternoon, after a brunch of Ibuprofen and regret.

I even put my reading glasses on. I don’t really need them usually, but right now even the slightest strain makes my entire brain hurt. I don’t want to think about how much of a mess I look like today - I managed to get dressed (I’m not a heathen), but otherwise my hair is undone and tied up because obviously the last shower I had was right after the match. I look as disgusting as I feel inside about the disastrous outburst last night.

In a historically unprecedented scenario, Snow is there before me for once, waiting on the top of the stairs for our supervisor. I move to stand on the other side of the door, purposefully avoiding eye contact. (It hurts to look at anything right now, not to mention him.)

Maybe if I look pitifully hungover enough Snow wouldn’t acknowledge the conversation from last night.  

“Baz -” Fuck he’s speaking to me. Abort mission? I can afford to miss one supervision.

“- you’re wearing glasses,” Snow stammers, and I can’t help but scoff, despite my state.

“Yeah. Good observation, Snow. You have eyes, I have less functional ones, well done.”

I sigh dramatically, reaching up to massage my temple with my eyes screwed shut (it doesn’t actually hurt that much anymore, I just wanted to act extra annoyed so he’ll stop talking to me), and then tuck a stray piece of my hair behind my ear, just for something to do. I'm antsy, I just want our supervisor to arrive and get this over and done with.

I’m desperately avoiding eye contact. Now that he knows , I just feel like he’s seeing me for the first time (if that’s even manageable through his thick skull), my entire being laid bare for him to figure out.

I’d die before I let Snow catch on that I’m weak for him.

He doesn’t say anything more, although he won’t stop staring at me. It’s probably the glasses - I do look like a sight today. A total disaster. I’m never going out dancing again.

The supervision was terrible. Snow was more distracted than usual, spacing out and bouncing his knee furiously right next to me, irritating me further. I already could hardly concentrate as it was - the hangover jabbing at my forehead every time I tried to think too hard, and also apparently my essay is shit because I misunderstood the question. Oh well. It's just clearly not my day today. The universe is balanced after the football club's first win in a decade. 

After the longest hour of my life, Snow and I file out of the room silently, me trudging behind him.

The most awkward walk of my existence then commences: usually this would be the time I leave college for lunch with Niall, but obviously I’m going straight back to bed today, and since I have the delight of living where Snow is, this meant walking with him the entire journey. I debated following several steps behind him like a stalker, but in the end resigned to save myself the emotional torture, and just try to act natural.

I don’t say anything as I walk side by side with Snow through the cloisters.

“You weren’t in the lecture today,” he states, not really a question.

I don’t know how to feel about Snow looking out for me in the lecture hall - History isn’t exactly a small subject, and we don’t really interact outside our staircase. I don’t think it’s even personal - Snow just doesn’t interact with a lot of people outside of Penelope, and occasionally Wellbelove, now they're not going out anymore. 

(I always notice him. I worry about how far behind he is - or at least I tell myself it’s just to mentally prepare myself for how unprepared he would be in the next supervision, depending on his lecture attendance. Snow always sits on the front row, which I don’t understand, since he’s almost never taking notes, always looking half bored and half confused.)

I hum in response, intentionally casually. Stay calm, Basil - not long till you’re horizontal again, your bed awaits.

“Well, let’s hope it won’t come up in the exam,” I shrug.

Simon Snow is really rubbing off on me - revolting. I do not feel like giving him any more of my words than necessary today though - don’t want Snow to get the wrong idea and start an actual conversation. I have an inkling where any conversation with Snow will veer towards - although he seems quite set on ignoring the revelation from last night, except for being strangely civil. 

“Uhh, I have it recorded on my phone. If you want it. I have some notes too, but I don’t think you’ll want them, heh.”

He’s stuttering again. Did Simon Snow just offer me his lecture recording and notes? Just as I thought my life couldn’t get any lower - but to be honest, having a lecture recording is a life saver, although I can really pass on his half-arsed notes written in his terrible scrawl. 

Let’s be real, it’s a heartwarming thought, and I am thoroughly alarmed. Simon Snow, what are you doing with my cold dead heart?

The last thing I need is Simon Snow being nice to his openly (not that I have a choice now) gay neighbour. 

I don’t react to his offer. He has no means to send the recording to me anyway - he doesn’t have my number, and I am not adding Simon Snow on Facebook. (I am not as embarrassed of him, as I am embarrassed of myself. I would burn my entire profile if I could, but it would only seem like I’m more bothered than I let slip, and Dev would certainly notice and repost all of my teenage melodrama that he has already screenshot and stashed somewhere for later blackmailing. The thought of Snow finding archives of teenage me - I guess I lied when I said I do not care about what he thinks of me.)

Surprisingly Snow keeps talking. I wonder where has he been hiding all his words until now - usually Snow is content with glares, grunts and shrugs. He’s filling in where I’m usually rendering him speechless with self defence insults - it makes me feel extra sorry for myself today. 

“I record all the lectures, because they’re not online. It’s easier to get it in when I listen to it again. Uh, you know I’m terrible at writing. It takes me too long to take notes during the lecture. So. Yeah.”

Thank Christ we’re finally back to our staircase. I skip up the stairs with the most energy I have harboured today (football yesterday made me achy everywhere too, I just didn’t notice at the time from all the adrenaline), racing past Snow.

“Great to know Snow. Goodnight.”

I rush to slam the door before realising I said goodnight at mid fucking day (because I am indeed going straight back into bed). Bloody idiot. 

I fall back into bed and hate everything even more when I overhear Snow in the corridor telling Penelope to sit in the kitchen because “Baz is sleeping”.

Whatever Simon Snow is doing with my fragile gay heart, he needs to stop.

SIMON

Baz is gay. 

Baz is gay? 

Baz is gay!!!

I literally cannot think about anything else ever since last night. After the initial shock, I could barely sleep. Actually, I didn’t really sleep at all, it was a mixture of rolling around in bed, and going for a run (past the river to the Wavering Wood and back) that kept me awake for our 10am lecture. It was cold - it was really fucking cold. I was out early too, as early as the rowers.

I would have taken a nap after the lecture, but Baz wasn’t there (he’s never skipped a lecture in the history of humanity), so I was up thinking about Baz again. 

About how he’s gay. And not stealing my ex girlfriend.

Baz finally turns up when it’s our supervision, but the state of his night before was visible all over, him frowning at the ground all day long and ignoring eye contact. Usually we would be having a staring contest. I wonder if he even remembers what he said, seeing how much he must have drank last night to get him this hungover. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hungover before - Baz occasionally has a pint or two, mostly only when his mate comes over, but I don’t think he really dares to fuck his body too much. His body is a temple and all that - and when you have training that often, you can’t really drink most of the time. 

Ever since he told me he’s gay, it’s like I’m seeing Baz as a completely different person. Not in a bad way, just. Not who I thought he was anymore, I guess.

I think the fact that he’s definitely not stealing my ex girlfriend really takes a lot away from his evil villain persona that I have conjured up in my head. 

I suddenly realise that Baz is just a gay nerd. 

I mean, he looks more the part today than ever - it’s the hipster glasses. He looks strangely adorkable in them, more like a nerd who is just genuinely obsessed with the Ottoman Empire, and less of the public school boy who’s deliberately trying to one-up me all the damn time. 

I didn’t know Baz wears glasses at all - he must be trying so hard to hide them all this time because he thinks he’s too cool. I think he looks very nice in them. Definitely way less evil. This way, he’s just a gay nerd minding his own business. 

I’m mostly letting my guard down today because Baz is really struggling through the hangover.

His hair is messy and pulled into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck - it’s not that long, so strands of it fall out in a lazy wave hanging off the edge of his glasses. I was almost tempted to reach out and brush it out of his mostly covered side profile. So I can see his face and guess a bit what he’s thinking about. What's in that evil nerdy head of his.

He’s been so weird and quiet today - he must be feeling quite unwell. Or maybe he does remember what he told me last night. Surely the usual Baz would’ve been freaking out angrily and blackmailing me into not telling anyone, or something. (I won’t tell. I would never tell if he doesn't want me to.) 

Maybe he’s too embarrassed after I mentioned his glasses (I was just surprised), but he doesn’t even look that bad today. I definitely would not have the effort to dress up like he did, if I went on a six hour non stop trip to booze-town (all the evidence points towards Baz having drunk a lot. I mean, the confession, but also the fact that he scored like three goals - I’d be surprised if everyone didn’t take turns buying him a drink.) 

He’s wearing a comfy-looking white linen shirt tucked into snug black trousers. The first three top buttons are undone (is he not cold?), but he’s also wrapped in a thick Watford scarf (he is cold). I can see a bit of chest hair, it looks neatly trimmed. (I'm not surprised, Baz is a grooming freak.)

Baz really is a bit blurred at the edges today, isn’t he. 

He didn’t even have the heart to be mean to me even once, which is nice, but he also didn’t have the energy argue back when he got told his essay went off topic. That’s well harsh by Baz Pitch standards - I myself hear it all the time, but I actually feel kinda offended for him today.

I’ve read most of his essays - our DoS (I’m abbreviating all Oxford lingo now, sue me) makes me so I can learn - and they are actually quite good, as annoying as that is. I’m sure the question is just badly worded so Baz misunderstood. (I wouldn’t know. I didn’t even try because I’m still catching up on last week’s supervision work.)

I don’t see him all evening after the supervision. I shooed Penny into the kitchen so Baz could sleep without hearing us, but working in the kitchen makes me even more distracted than normal. 

Baz is gay. I feel like I just found a large clue to solving a puzzle, even though I don’t know exactly what. I want to say it explains a lot about Baz, except it doesn’t really.

It’s not like you can tell that someone is gay. I mean, yeah, Baz is always incriminatingly fashionable, and tries too hard to look like he didn’t try at all (I would say he mostly succeeded, except that he always uses the loo for like eternity every morning), but that stereotype is very outdated, even from where I grew up. I don’t really know how to react then, should I be surprised or not really.

I mean, John Barrowman is proper fit, and so is Baz, but that’s about as much as they have in common. Am I surprised that Baz is gay?

Baz has long hair for a bloke. Is that a gay thing? Blokes can have long hair, regardless. I can’t really imagine Baz not having hair that is at least shoulder length. He just won’t look like Baz anymore. 

Baz plays football though, and that’s not very gay. (I think about all the muscles on show and the short shorts from yesterday’s match.) Okay football is well gay, but still. I just didn’t think - Baz - the star player fresher on the uni team - 

(Being the best player on the team is very attractive, and I can easily see the gay appeal to it. I guess, if you’re into men, and manly stuff - football is pretty much it, no?)

I think I’m venturing into what Penny would call Problematic territory.

There’s just like, a lot of things in the world that I never properly thought about before uni. It’s just, all this stuff is not in my world before, ya know? I feel like hearing Penny talk about her “ironic social justice” is the most learning I’ve done in Oxford, instead of my actual classes. She dumbs everything down real simple for me, so I can learn what’s wrong and what’s right. I can imagine what she’d say right now - Baz being gay probably just means that. That he likes guys. 

I didn’t even give it a second thought when Agatha essentially came out to me. (As something. She’s still not sure, and I haven’t asked since. It's none of my business. I wouldn't feel good either if someone pestered me about the intricacies of my sexuality.)

I’m somehow more bothered when it’s Baz?

Not bothered in the way that it personally bothers me, but just, I vaguely don’t understand. Maybe it’s because he’s a guy. Me liking girls, but also not really - Agatha is much more relatable to me and easier to understand.

That thought is a wild concept that I can’t really process just yet. Baz, dating? Baz liking anyone, let alone other boys?  I just can’t imagine it. 

I guess that’s why I’m being so hung up over gay stereotypes. Baz being gay, in the way that he looks annoyingly put together every day and looks unfairly fit playing football is easier to comprehend than, well, Baz trying to pull a guy or something. (I bet he probably is very good at it. Actually, it’s not that hard to imagine at all. He's smart, he's rich, he always look good without a single hair out of place. And the most surprising of them all, he smells nice. It's his posh shampoo - our loo permanently smells like that now. I like girls when they smell nice. I imagine it's pretty much the same for blokes who swing the other way.)

This is so distracting. I’ve been staring at a blank word document for an hour now.

Penny is furiously highlighting the reading she printed out, downing her third mug of tea. I’m itching to talk to her, telling her everything - but also I don’t know if I’m really allowed. Sure, I technically hate Baz, but it’d be a pretty dick move to spill his secret like that.

Should I even refer to it as a secret? Maybe Baz isn’t even ashamed of it, I’m now ashamed of myself for assuming that for him. I mean, that makes more sense. Why else would he just casually spill that to me?

It’s obviously not a big deal to him. 

Baz is just gay. He’s not here to personally torment me, or purposefully better than me at everything. He’s just different.

Baz is gay…

BAZ

I wake up from my nap in the evening feeling much better, despite having absolutely screwed over my sleep schedule for at least the next two days.

I lie in bed for a moment, reluctant to be seen outside my room since it’s dinnertime and Snow and Penelope are probably causing a ruckus in the kitchen right now. I finally took the time to scroll through my phone after a long screen time abstinence since yesterday. (I’ve been too pumped since the coach ride to the match, and well, everything else was football club history.) 

I groan as I see I have been tagged in several of Wellbelove’s Instagram stories, and she’s happily kept them up to embarrass me on the internet for the past 20 hours or so. I glare at the drunk, blurry selfie of our cheeks pressed together under the neon light of the club, and type out a reply before I can stop myself.

bazpitchthebitch replied to your story: I can’t believe you’ve done this

a_wellbelove liked a message you sent

a_wellbelove: * wink emoji* *kiss emoji*

I debate taking it up to Wellbelove, she’s the reason I’m in this deep shit right now. I can’t even be certain whether she was trying to flirt with me. Acknowledging whatever this is would mean that I would possibly have to come out to her though. 

I’m amicable enough with Agatha Wellbelove - we’ve been slightly more acquainted recently, with all the football club dinners and social events leading up to the varsity match. 

I surprisingly did not hold a grudge against her regrettably being Simon Snow’s ex girlfriend - I’m gay, not a misogynistic woman-hater - but most importantly I’m annoyingly well raised and polite, and it’s in my deep subconscious that I hold conversation when someone’s stuck sitting opposite me at a three course dinner. 

Wellbelove is actually less bland than I thought (maybe I am a misogynist after all, hmm) - her humour could be savagely dark, when we get into bitching about the other people who also appear at the club our parents belong to, her Wycombe Abbey good girl act vanishing entirely once she met her match in misanthropy (me). 

She’s smart, but less socially aware than Penelope in a strangely endearing way (I can almost understand Snow’s initial draw to her adorable naïveté about the world, especially given his upbringing), and can hold a drink (at least to match with me, which really isn't’ very impressive to be fair. We were both absolutely gone by the end of the night). 

I like the men’s team, but I don’t really have friends out of casual acquaintances - so it was agreeable to entertain Wellbelove at these football functions. (As long as I forget that she dated Simon Snow. The more I get to know her, the more I cringe at the thought of them two ever having to even try to be compatible. They must have been terrible together.)

I wonder how such a sheltered girl would react to me coming out. With all the quiet hate she haboured for the people of our usual calibre, I doubt she would bother to tell anyone, let alone use it against me - but to be fair, ever since getting my guts spilled all over the Grimm family, I’m feeling more than a little reckless. There’s nothing worse than I can do now.

bazpitchthebitch: Can we talk about how Simon Snow has gone all feral at me over this? It’s all your fault

a_wellbelove: No way! That’s so strange, he would never.

a_wellbelove: He was so chill about the break up.

a_wellbelove: Simon isn’t the stupid jealous type, he’s never been when it comes to me anyway.

a_wellbelove: Well what did you tell him to defend your actions then? *smirk emoji*

That’s it, Wellbelove is flirting with me. I need to put an end to this.

bazpitchthebitch: That I’m gay and have no interest in getting involved in your past lovers spat

a_wellbelove liked a message you sent

a_wellbelove: *laughcry emoji* *laughcry emoji* *laughcry emoji*

I like her emojis, because I don’t know what else to do.

a_wellbelove: LOL, to think that I really thought I had a crush on you. It’s too good to be true

Fuck, this is awkward. I have no idea how to navigate this, I was just starting to get comfortable being friendly with Wellbelove. I wonder if this is how Simon Snow would feel if he ever knew about my feelings for him (not that I’ll ever let him know), and if he didn’t hate me. I’ve only had to deal with my own unrequited feelings so far - I didn’t have women in my life before. I have no idea how to deal with this. Thank god Penelope finds my privilege revolting - at least that’s one friend who would never make it complicated. 

a_wellbelove: Nowadays it seems like I’m only interested in guys who are queer, if any at all. If we psychoanalyse myself, it’s probably because they’re safe and unattainable

a_wellbelove: Sorry if you don’t like being called queer!

a_wellbelove: I mean, I am too.

a_wellbelove: Queer, that is

a_wellbelove: *rainbow emoji*

Huh. Does she mean that it’s too good to be true that she could’ve been straight and made it work with me? I cannot say that it’s a feeling that I can relate to, I have never once been confused about my sexuality, which is a blessing and a curse when you grew up in an all boys boarding school. 

Does this mean that her and Snow were never real then? (I’m not surprised. I don’t think anyone is.) Maybe she was into men, she might just be questioning recently. And if Wellbelove has a track record for being attracted to inaccessible queer men, surely by extension that must mean - 

Nope. Too good to be true, as she says.

bazpitchthebitch: Queer is fine

bazpitchthebitch: Are you into women then?

I must admit this is a rather riveting conversation. It has been a lonely childhood growing up gay and having no one know - ever since uni, it just seems like I've became a queer magnet, without even actively trying to seek others out. Well, Niall has always been in my life, and now Wellbelove - maybe we’ve just always been drawn to each other, without even knowing.

a_wellbelove: I don’t think so?

a_wellbelove: I don’t think I’m into either, or anything else for that matter, if I’m honest. I’m trying out asexual right now, and I think that might be me.

I like the message, just like how she liked the one of me essentially outing myself to her. Asexual, that’s cool. Personally I don’t understand how you could not be mad about Simon Snow, but I’m glad Agatha Wellbelove isn’t.

bazpitchthebitch: I’m surprised Snow took it well enough to stay friends with you. No wonder he’s lashing out at me then, he’s really all temper and no rationality

a_wellbelove: Nah, I’m genuinely surprised he did!

a_wellbelove: You really need to give Simon more credit

a_wellbelove: Between you and me, I don’t think Simon was that into me either

I leave her on read, because I have no idea how to react to that. The insinuation fuels me with dangerous hope - there’s no way Simon Snow is not straight. I can’t let myself go there, and besides, it would only hurt even more if he were open to dating men, but just not me.

One of these days Simon Snow will be the death of me.

I so desperately want to rant to someone about it - at this rate, probably Niall, because I really have no one else in my life that I can trust and am comfortable with. However I also don’t want to. Not because he's my dirty little secret - I regrettably like Simon Snow so much that part of me wants to scream it off rooftops, but also, once it escapes my lips, I fear that it will become terrifyingly real. As long as I keep it to myself, it’s not that serious at all. 

I finally leave my bed for a shower long overdue, after pathetically listening out for Snow and Penelope, to make sure I wouldn’t be seen. I take all my toiletries and a change of clothes as usual, even though it’s a hassle to get dressed in the tiny bathroom. I think about Snow’s infernal staring for the entire day - I would actually catch on fire from his gaze alone if he caught me in any stage of undress. How dare him to even glance at my direction, especially now, knowing what he knows. 

It hurts when he looks at me, and it hurts even more when he isn’t looking at me.

Chapter Text

PENNY

“Hey Penny, do you think that’s Baz’s boyfriend?” Simon asks in a terribly attempted hushed tone, once Baz and his ginger friend have sauntered off to his room with plates of chilli in hand. 

I’m still trying to eat my dinner, but Simon has already devoured all of his fish fingers and chips in two minutes as usual. 

I don’t know what’s gotten into Basilton lately, he seems to be avoiding the kitchen, not even eating his meals in here anymore. Maybe he’s stressed and more easily irritated than usual, Simon told me that he got shot down in a supervision, for the first time ever since we’re in uni. I imagine it must be hard for Baz Grimm-Pitch - he’s always so sure of himself, and rightfully so.

I didn’t know since when did Simon know that Baz is gay - I have no idea how to react, trying to smooth my features to be as unreadable as possible. Just in case that Simon is running on pure speculation and conspiracy theories (and trust me, he is a fan of Baz related conspiracies), I don’t want to be the person so spill that Baz is gay to him. 

But I’m dying to have that discussion - that boy and Basilton are inseparable at the hip. I’m almost 100% sure that he was the one that he kissed - it’s not like I ever see anyone else associating with Baz anyway. Even someone as gullible as Simon has caught on, so it must mean something. 

“How do you know that he’s gay?” I ask, as innocently as possible. 

Simon is a terrible liar - he’s trying to seem like he wasn’t assuming Baz’s sexuality at all, but he’s just so bad at it. Simon Snow cannot lie to save a life, he wears his thoughts and feelings on his sleeve. Simon might not be a verbal person, but he speaks so loudly through blushes and frowns, and a million other nervous ticks. 

Maybe he’s trying not to out Baz to me just like I am doing vice versa.

“Did Baz say something?” I ask again, and Simon stammers, before finally yielding.

“Uh, yeah. I said something about him trying to hit on Agatha, and he told me he’s gay,” Simon is embarrassed as he admit it, as he should be. 

Stupid Simon - I wonder what’s gotten into him when he did that. He doesn’t usually let jealousy get into his head, and it’s just weird for him to get hung up on Agatha. I swear he didn’t even care that much when they were dating. 

“Don’t let him know I told you though! Oh my god, I feel so bad now,” Simon exclaims when I don’t immediately respond. 

“Don’t worry, I already know,” I reply, and watch his widened eyes recover slowly. 

Simon is really way too easy to read, he’s huffing and sighing in relief with his whole chest. 

“How did you know?” He asked, and I chew on my lip. 

I don’t know to what extent I should reveal the context - Baz still isn’t over his whole family drama, when I tried to pry one or twice, and it seemed quite personal. It’s strange that I know something about Baz that my best friend Simon doesn’t, but those two have an annoying rivalry going on, and whilst they talk (bicker) a lot, I doubt there’s any heart to heart going on.

“He told me, it doesn’t matter,” I brush over it, hoping Simon doesn’t ask further.

“Anyway, now that we’ve established that we both know, can we talk about those two?” I push my glasses up conspiringly, and Simon’s eyes light up eagerly. 

Simon can never back away from an opportunity to talk about Baz - he would never admit it, but he’s obsessed with Baz Pitch.

It’s difficult not to - except for his arrogance that I have now recognised as mild social incompetence (who am I to judge, I was the unlikeable bossy girl at school whose best friend was her English teacher), Baz is charismatic and an intriguing character. He’s smart and witty, he plays violin and football, and he comes from a line of overachieving female academics. If he weren’t gay, he’ll probably have gotten shackled to a girlfriend by week 3 in Michaelmas - to be honest he could’ve gotten a boyfriend too, if he doesn’t have his entire self persecuting complex going on. (I don’t know about the Old Money Grimms, but I’m pretty sure feminist icon Dr Natasha Pitch would’ve been fine with a gay son.)

“So! So, is that Baz’s boyfriend,” Simon’s mouth is gaping into a small O. 

It’s kind of ridiculous how invested he is in this, but I guess neither of us have many other friends’ lives to entertain us, seeing how we’re both single, and Agatha isn’t interested in dating. 

“Honestly? They’re basically acting like they are boyfriends,” I think about all the times I spot the cheerful Irish boy loitering around this staircase, an arm around Baz’s shoulder. He even brings Baz takeaway, for God’s sake. 

The lad’s almost here as often as I am, and he’s not even from Watford. That is some intense clingy behaviour right there, and I can’t imagine Basilton tolerating any human being for so long, unless there’s something more going on between them.

“So they are dating,” Simon looks deep in thought, as if this was the hardest concept to grasp in humanity. 

The poor boy’s brain is working overtime - I didn’t think Simon would be homophobic, but he probably has some serious social conditioning that he has to work through. I mean, I did too, growing up in an Asian community and what not, but it has been a steep learning curve ever since Premal came out to me as bisexual several years ago. 

Simon is frowning at the stain on the dining table as he fathoms the idea of two boys together. He really showcases all his thoughts on his face.

“I think Baz will probably genuinely deny it if we say so. What I think is, Baz is so up in his head that he doesn’t know he’s practically dating this boy,” I state my theory out loud, and it makes Simon even more confused.

Simon doesn’t know the context though - that boy is definitely the one Baz kissed at New Year’s, and from what I gathered, they probably already had some history as friends in school before. I don’t, for a second, ever believe that it could be entirely platonic after kissing someone that you were already close with, who indirectly screwed your relationship with your family, and somehow still be friends .

The pitiful ginger boy is clearly besotted - it’s painful to watch someone who’s in love. Absolutely disgusting. He smiles with all his teeth and dimples, and clings onto Baz like an emotional anchor. Basilton is clearly delusional if he doesn’t see it, or the fact that he himself is tolerating all this behaviour is saying a lot about his own feelings too. 

“How do you not know you’re dating? Like, does Baz just think he’s being friendly ?” Simon is actually baffled, it’s so funny.

“Well, Basilton is a stupid idiot, I wouldn’t put it past him,” I retort, and Simon laughs.

“Baz is not stupid! He’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid, surely,” Simon says, almost a bit starry eyed. 

Sometimes I don’t even know if he resents Baz’s intelligence or is completely enamoured with it. For someone who loves to insult Baz Pitch, Simon sure spends a lot of energy defending him. I roll my eyes. (Baz is rubbing off of me. With the only two people I hang out with being Simon and Baz, by the end of first year I’d be communicating in eye rolls and shrugs alone.)

“Simon, all men are stupid.” 

I hold in the giggle at the angry stammering that I know is coming. I would feel guilty, but I think both Baz and I could agree that riling up Simon is fun. He’s so adorably easy to bait.

“No… I am stupid. Baz isn’t,” here comes the crippling self esteem that I never see coming. 

I pout now, it’s infuriating when Simon does that. I’m not here to validate boys’ insecurities, but I wish he could see that he’s not any lesser than anyone else here, including Baz. (At least their emotional intelligence are definitely of equal and opposite magnitudes: Simon feels too much and takes it out on everything around him, and Baz is a repressive fuck who refuses to acknowledge that he’s a human being with feelings.)

“Simon - stop. Anyway, Baz is stupid, I don’t accept opinions,” I conclude, and nudge my leftover chips towards Simon. 

He engulfs them immediately, his entire face lighting up at the food. All boys are endearingly dumb like dogs, and Simon is the most golden retriever of them all. I love him.

“I just don’t understand how a person could be in a relationship without realising,” Simon backtracks to the topic on hand, and I huff out a laugh. 

I don’t know either, you should ask that dumb boy Basilton.

“I guess he thinks that they’re just friends that hang out 24-7. Friends that make meals for each other, friends that spend a lot of time in his room, friends who cuddle up with each other -” to be honest, that does sound like Simon and I. 

(We will never be like that. Just no. Also, we’re college married and this is very standard college marriage behaviour - we have each other’s backs and stuff. He is my best friend.) 

“- Friends who kiss,” I mutter to myself, but somehow Simon caught it. He doesn’t catch the chip that fell out of his grasp though.

“WHAT?! You think they kissed ?!” Simon is so loud that Baz and his not-boyfriend could definitely hear us by now. 

I nod slightly, and shrug back at Simon, not elaborating further. Simon can have a taste of his own medicine, I can’t tell him any more. Also, there isn’t more to tell - Baz refused to tell me if they had kissed, he doesn’t really talk about the boy when he’s not around at all. 

I don’t think either me or Simon would benefit from speculating what on earth those two are doing in the room next to Simon’s.

I don’t really see Baz around for more than a glance anymore, until I catch Baz alone at 1am, clearing out his wastepaper bin consisting purely of Walkers crisps packets into the kitchen bin. 

I myself am making my second coffee (I have an assignment due tomorrow and I didn’t start until today, I’m totally fucked).

I can let myself into their kitchen now, since Simon pretended to have lost his key and took out the spare from the Porter’s Lodge for me to keep - Trixie has permanently created a biohazard war zone in my kitchen and stolen the kettle, so I don’t even try mines anymore. 

Baz acknowledges me with a tired nod, in his Freshers Week t-shirt and posh looking PJ bottoms. He must be pushing an essay deadline too - I know that he takes an extra module that Simon doesn’t do, so their schedules aren’t completely synced. 

“Alright, Bunce?” He asks, and I crack out a cackle in pure hysteria. He grins back with no life behind his eyes - yep, same. We’re dying a slow death by manic last minute essay writing.

He takes out his mug from the cupboard, and we both wait for the kettle to boil, standing at opposite ends of the counter. 

“I’m sorry that you didn’t get your position on the JCR committee. I voted for you, by the way, and I’m not usually comfortable enough to participate in these things,” he says conversationally, and I smile at him.

Watford College, finally following other colleges’ footsteps, have created new positions on the JCR committee, expanding from the one single ‘Equalities’ officer who was supposed to cover for every underrepresented group - historically it’s been one single white feminist who has to tirelessly fight against the all boys’ club of the JCR.

Obviously I’m all about it - I miss pointless school politics and pretending to make a difference.

This hustings season, I’ve gone for the BME officer position not expecting much - I’m a first year with little to no clout after all, even if I’m one of the handful of non-white people around. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t win the election, but it’s nice to know that Baz voted for me. I know that he’s insecure about being white passing and having white parents (now that Natasha is no longer alive), so he doesn’t usually take part in this sort of stuff at all.

“Aww thanks Baz.” I pour the water into my mug, and pass the kettle to him. 

“Did you vote for the LGBTQ officer as well then?” I ask conversationally. 

Not that there really is a visible LGBT community in Watford yet, seeing how we didn’t have a specified officer for it until now, but Baz is really going out of his way to be antisocial. Maybe if he met more people he wouldn’t be so emotionally constipated and melodramatic all the time.

“No,” he answers, almost offendedly. “You know I just rather pretend to be straight and get on with my life.” 

Baz and his weird deadpan humour, I can’t even tell if he is joking half of the time.

“Is that so? Why did Simon ask me if you and your Irish friend are dating then?” Baz blushes and it’s actually gratifying.

I’d hate myself more for tormenting boys as a hobby, but it’s just so entertaining.

“Snow did what ?” He actually spills some of the boiling water over the counter.

“Yeah, he asked me is that your boyfriend. So, is he then?” I smirk at Baz, who’s scowling now, wiping away the spillage.

“Niall? Fuck no, we are not together,” Baz actually looks disgusted at the thought, it’s hilarious.

“ Niall, huh. Alright, if you say so,” I snort with laughter. 

“Snow really thinks so? That Niall is my boy - boyfriend?” Baz can’t even say that word out loud, that’s how repressed he is.

I nod, finally holding my laugh in.

“Yep, it’s breaking his brain. The current grand conspiracy at the moment,” Baz makes a face at that.

“Do you not want him to think that? I mean, if you’re really that bothered, just clear the air with everyone then,” I shrug as I throw the teaspoon into the sink. 

“- especially Niall.” ( Who definitely thinks you two are happy in love , I don’t say.)

Baz rolls his eyes. 

“Snow can think what he wants, I don’t care.”

He picks back up his emptied bin with one arm, and turns to leave.

“So did you kiss Niall then?” I quip, no doubt that there’s a shit-eating grin appearing on my face right now. 

“Fuck off, I’m not telling you,” He walks out of the kitchen without looking back.

“That’s a yes!” I yell back, and Baz raises a hand to give me the middle finger as he disappears up the staircase.

They totally did kiss.

SIMON

I thought I’d hate Baz less, now that it’s confirmed that he’s not stealing my ex girlfriend (apparently they get along really well, which is strange, but I guess that officially puts me in the same friendship group as Baz then, since he’s chummy with both of my friends). 

But no, he’s pissing me off even more than before. I hate Baz, and I hate his fucking boyfriend. 

Maybe it’s just 5th week blues. (I’m pretty sure 5th week blues isn’t real, I have basically every-week blues from trying and failing to stay on top of work - but let’s just say the deadlines piling up isn’t helping.) 

Baz’s boyfriend Niall is always fucking here. If I weren’t annoyed at him taking up space in the kitchen before, I definitely want to file a restraining order on him now. This one time, I even found his bike lying at the bottom of the staircase - blocking a very vital fire exit and potentially killing us all! I don’t even know how he managed to get that past the Watford gate, Baz must’ve let him in. 

The only reason why I don’t actually report this intruder to the porters is because I don’t want to get skinned alive by Baz. At least he never sleeps over - it seems that Baz is still somehow respectful of the rules. (Officially you can have someone over, but I don’t think Baz would go through the humiliation of signing Niall in at the Porter’s Lodge.) 

I don’t understand why doesn’t Baz just move into Niall’s college instead, it’s so much nicer than Watford and closer to the lecture halls. And we will have much more space here then. Between Penny and Niall, Penny has more of a right to hang around - at least she’s actually from Watford and just around the corner. We won’t have to witness their annoying Public Display of Affection as well then - well, at least Niall’s. Baz is always impassive as ever, just sits there as Niall brushes his hair out of his face or something else equally ridiculous. (Baz hair does look luscious to touch though.)

Niall didn’t even ever bother to introduce himself to me, rude bastard. I had to learn his name from Penny, as well as everything we know about him so far. This is the boy who literally ogled me fresh out of the shower once, and he wouldn’t even tell me his name. They’ve been dating at least for a month now, and I didn’t even know Baz is gay until like last week. I never get to know anything.

I have no idea what Baz sees in him. Niall smiles too much - his teeth are crooked, and his face is always red, like the bad dye job on his hair. He’s so skinny. It’s like he eats as little as Baz, but unlike Baz’s fit abs sculpted by the Greek Gods, you can actually tell Niall is just sadly malnourished. I wonder if I start breaking out into pushups on the kitchen floor, he’d get the hint to get some muscles. Niall is lanky and awkward, on top of being annoyingly cheerful, I just don’t see the appeal at all.

I don’t know what sort of bloke I imagined Baz to be into, but it was definitely not Niall. I think Baz at least deserves someone as beautiful as him - Niall is marginally cute with that red-haired elven thing going on, with the freckles and big greenish-brown eyes, but to me it just looks like cocaine chic. (He’s so skinny! And his eyes are freakishly big! I can’t believe Baz has fallen for his charms.)

Baz can do so much better. I don’t understand why Niall - except that he’s also mildly posh and they went to school together. Maybe Baz has a thing for Irish boys - that’s the only plausible explanation.

We’re somehow all eating dinner in the kitchen together, even though me and Penny didn’t plan on eating together with them. We’re on one end of the table, Penny grumbling at the pasta bake that I made her eat out of the tray together with me - it’s my turn to cook, and Penny low key hates my cooking. But I make it cheaper than she can manage, and it’s 5th week, after all, so considering her bank account she couldn’t really complain. I guess it is cruel to make her eat out of the pan like I do, but I can’t be bothered to do so much washing up later. 

Baz and Niall are on the other end of the table, having takeout burgers that Niall brought. They look kinda posh and tasty. I don’t understand why don’t they just eat out on a proper date, instead of cramming into this dodgy old kitchen at Watford. It’s probably some stupid excuse from Baz about how he needs to stay in and do all the extra reading.

Baz actually wanted to eat in his room - but Niall is complaining about how he doesn’t like eating off Baz’s bedside table.

Well if you hate it that much, Niall, why don’t you just go back to your own college.

We’re pointedly ignoring each other. Penny is trying to make polite conversation with them both, trying to get to know Niall. I have no interest in doing so - I don’t want Niall to think he’s welcome here. I turn to talk to Penny the entire meal, so I don’t have to look at the two of them.

They’re such an annoying couple.

Baz is mostly acting like normal, not saying much except bickering with his boyfriend and rolling his eyes. He’s just being mean in a friendly way as usual, like he does with everyone else, throwing casual insults at Niall that don’t make much sense. But Niall - if there’s something worse than me talking with my mouth full, it’s that this boy laughs with his mouth full.

Baz leans in to say something in Niall’s ear to make fun of him, making him go red and pouty, which earns a hearty laugh from Baz. It makes me mad. I don’t understand how Niall is doing this, making Baz laugh like that, eyes crinkled in the corners and head thrown back. Granted, Baz is laughing at him, but still. Baz never laughs at me like that.

Niall, eyes disgustingly soft even though he’s annoyed by Baz, retaliates by reaching to mess up Baz’s hair. I scoff loudly.

“Can you guys stop? I’m trying to eat over here.”

Baz at least blushes, but Niall just smirks at me as a challenge.

“Why? You jealous, Snow?” His annoying crooked grin is directed at me.

I all but grunt through my nose at him. Niall doesn’t get to call me Snow, no one gave him the permission to.

“I’m so sorry that it didn’t work out with Agatha Wellbelove -” he drawls on.

“Leave Agatha out of this!” I’ve stood up from my chair now, alarming Penny and Baz, who are exchanging fearful glances. Well, Penny is fearful, Baz just looks bored.

Baz finishes the last bite of his burger, ridiculously graceful despite the situation, before grabbing Niall's hand and standing up from the table.

“Come on, Niall, let’s go back to my room -” Niall is hardly budging, if Baz isn’t pulling him with a vice grip. 

Niall follows Baz, turning back to pull a tongue at me like a child. What a dick. I know I’m taking the bait, because I’m hot headed and it doesn’t take a lot to set me off, but I can’t help it. Niall is basically picking a fight.

“Yeah! Get out of my sight, both of you!” Penny has her face in her hands now, groaning.

Baz only sighed, throwing his bag of untouched curly fries in front of me, almost like a peace offering, before yanking his boyfriend out of the kitchen.

I sit back down and eat my chips bitterly. They're so nice - there's truffle garlic salt on them.

I thought I hated Baz, but somehow I hate Baz’s boyfriend so much more.

BAZ

I cannot take this anymore, Dev and Niall need a fucking intervention. 

I’m pretty sure it’s mostly in Niall’s head, he’s one step away from avoiding Dev to the extent of refusing to sleep in his own room because Dev is on the same corridor. Niall is convinced that Dev hates him, and his all consuming crush on Dev is going to kill him. I’m going to lock them both in the same room to work it out before I let Niall to start sleeping over at mine. (There’s no space here. Even the carpet space is barely long enough for Niall’s height.)

I really don’t think Dev is putting as much thought into this as Niall is - Dev is still talking to me, we text about trivial stuff. I don’t think he even cares about me having kissed Niall anymore, even though he is under the impression that we’re together. Not that I ever dare to speak of the cursed New Year’s party.

Dev is more mad at Niall than me, actually, he thinks Niall is neglecting him in favour of me, which is just absurd. Anyway, both of them think the other is inexplicably mad at each other, and refuse to just talk to each other. It’s gotten to the point where Dev would text me that he’s going to bed, so Niall can go back to Christ Church without seeing him if he so wishes. Fucking dramatic wankers.

Niall taking refuge with me more often than not is making Snow even more volatile, if that’s even possible. I tell Niall that Snow thinks we’re dating, and now Niall is spending his free time developing parallel theories on how either A) Snow is homophobic or B) Snow is jealous because he’s secretly thirsting after me.

Niall and Snow should start a club together - they have enough crazy conspiracy theories about each other to keep each other entertained.

Obviously Snow can’t be jealous of Niall - he’s jealous of us being in a (fake) relationship at most, seeing how his Michaelmas romance failed spectacularly.

Personally I’m leaning towards Niall’s Theory A, that Snow is brewing some passive aggressive homophobia (that he can't even outwardly acknowledge because that's how thick his skull is).

He’s been acting real strange ever since I accidentally outed myself to him - first strangely polite to me, which felt more like distancing from the friendly banter we had before (at least in my head it was as friendly as it could get, I’m sure Snow is convinced I’m genuinely going to cut his throat out one of these days), and now actually snarling every time he sees Niall in proximity of me.

That was the only reason why I’m leaving the benefit of doubt out in the open for Niall and I’s non-existent romance - just to further test how Snow would react. A chaotic part in me is entertained by the thought of Snow seeing the two of us kiss - just thinking about his blustering explosive temper fills me with glee. We’re all so pathetic - riling up Simon Snow is apparently the best entertainment around here now.

But this fake relationship really needs to end, if I want my room back to myself, and for Simon Snow not to set Niall on fire. And Dev and Niall on speaking terms again. I tried to meet up with Dev several times this term, but he always turns me down with some half-arsed excuse, and it’s not really possible to fabricate a chance encounter, when we pretty much have nothing in common in uni. I’m starting to think maybe Dev is avoiding the both of us. I can’t believe he has other friends other than Niall and I, that is borderline offensive. 

In the end, I resort to deciding to organise something for my birthday, just so I have an excuse to force Dev and Niall to interact. Dev cannot possibly turn me down for this.

Usually I hate birthdays, I don’t really make a big deal out of them, not since my mother died and I was shipped to boarding school. At school no one really gives a fuck about birthdays, as least not when you’re me, the quiet boy who’s a bit intimidating, and not exactly popular.

So now I’m conditioned to not care about my own birthday - the attention makes me squirm. It made no sense anyway, to have an event to fuss over about, when it was supposed to be your day. I'd just rather have a whole day to myself in peace without other moronic humans getting in the way. But I would gladly make this noble sacrifice, if it means that Dev and Niall would stop driving me crazy with their melodramatic tension and conflict. 

I tell Dev that I’m inviting him to a Watford formal for my birthday, and he agreed without putting up much of a fight, because I know he’s been trying to complete his bucket list of visiting all the colleges. Whilst he is still holding some stupid grudge against me, he has to play nice because I’m the only person he knows in Watford to invite him to a formal. (And whilst I diss the food a lot, it's hardly the worst amongst the Oxford colleges. It would be a pleasant time.)  

Niall obviously couldn’t say no, even though he views any opportunity to spend time with Dev as his personal homosexual hell of torture, but it’s my birthday. I’ll just have to keep everyone happy and mildly confused with quite a bit of alcohol. (And hope Niall doesn’t direct his sexual frustration at me again.)

Unfortunately, I would have to invite more people in order to make it believable as a birthday party, instead of an intervention operation to force Dev and Niall to dine together for hours. It can't just be the three of us, and also that is just plain tragic. (That's why we shouldn't celebrate birthdays.)

Naturally I’m going to invite Wellbelove next, because I really don’t have any other friends. However, I then found out that I’m not allowed to book in more than two guests from outside college, only now half way through the year - let’s be honest, I have never voluntarily gone to a formal dinner. I had no reason to, since I don’t really socialise (who, with?), and I hardly have a reason to invite more than two people to anything in my life. Also, I don’t like Watford hall food. So there's this little obstacle that I haven't thought about before, because I've never organised a thing in my life.

I bump into Penelope on my walk back to college from football, and an idea forms in my head.

“Hi Penelope,” she already squints her eyes up at me in suspicion as I try to strike up a conversation, since I exclusively call her by Bunce most of the time.

“- would you be interested in going to a formal together, for my birthday next week?”

“Uh, yeah sure,” she replies, less enthusiastic than I expected.

I am slightly offended - Penelope Bunce doesn’t have a lot of socialising opportunities either, she should be grateful that I’m inviting her.

“Great! I’m inviting Dev and Niall, but also Agatha, but I can’t book any more people in. So do you mind booking her in please?” I’m even smiling at her. Look at the lengths I’d go to for Dev and Niall, for fuck’s sake.

“Fine. Only if Simon can come too.”

I roll my eyes. This is already a hassle, I do not want to deal with Snow’s antics too on my birthday. 

“Why? I doubt he wants to come either,” I groan at her, and I know she knows I’m right.

I’m doing everyone a favour in not inviting Snow. Her glare is steady back at me.

“Well, if Dev Grimm, Niall and Agatha are going, plus you, obviously, there’s going to be an odd number if I join. I’m not sitting alone opposite a stranger. And I’m not even that close to all of them, I’m going to be bored and suffering. It’s not like I’m bringing a rando that you don’t know,” she argues, and as annoyed as I am, she has a point. Damn stupid long tables in Watford hall.

“Simon Snow is worse than any stranger you can bring,” I sulk at her.

“Relax, I’ll make sure he’s on his best behaviour. Then I can take Agatha too,” she bargains, and I have no choice but to seal the deal. Just so I have a real birthday dinner.

It is mildly disastrous already, but as long as I stick to the operation plan, it would hopefully be worth it. The operation plan is as follows:

1. Make Dev and Niall sit with each other
2. Get Dev and Niall drunk and happy so they’ll talk again
3. Do NOT kiss Niall, or let him kiss me
4. Do not do anything remotely gay with Niall, actually
5. Get everyone moderately drunk and happy and be civil to each other
6. Especially Simon Snow (make sure the butter plate is in proximity?)
7. Make sure Niall doesn’t set Snow off. Or Agatha. Or even me
8. Finally visit the college bar, now that I have a party of more than two people and an excuse

What can go wrong?

Chapter Text

BAZ

Dev and Niall arrive together for the formal, walking up to the Watford Great Gate where I’m waiting, and it’s physically agonising to watch. Dev has walked here in his suit and gown through town (looking like a colossal twat but hey ho, we go to Oxford and are all twats anyway), whilst Niall is at least a feet away from him, awkwardly clutching at his gown and a bottle of rosé. Like he doesn’t stand out strutting down Iffley Road wearing a three piece suit at six in the evening on a weekday anyway. Dev is wearing a neutral expression, but Niall looks like he’s being held prisoner, sulking so extensively that you would’ve thought he got kicked out of uni.

You’re not allowed to be sad , I want to yell. It’s my birthday, you are obliged to be happy . 

These fucking dramatic losers cannot even make it easy for me just for one day. I don’t know how I am going to get through this.

(I have an inkling of an idea - the two bottles of wine in either of my hands right now. I don’t know how I’m smuggling two in, but maybe Wellbelove will help. She doesn’t drink wine. We’re only allowed one each, but I’m not even sure if anyone checks.)

Thank god I spot Agatha Wellbelove crossing the road from another direction - I have to introduce them since they haven’t met properly, and that involves more small talk, and less unspoken tension. 

Well, she was at Niall’s St. Patrick’s Day house party, as a friend of a friend of a friend of Niall’s, but they haven’t spoken properly before, so Dev would have no choice but to play nice, and hopefully stop Niall from looking like a kicked puppy.

Agatha reaches me first - she’s politely cheerful, as always, pulling me into a half hug with a high pitched ‘Happy birthday, Basil!’, and tells me that I look amazing.

“I know -” I cock an eyebrow at her because I can afford to be a little sassy, seeing what a stressful night I am about to have, and besides, it is a fact, “-you too!”

The grin might be staged, but the compliment is half genuine.

Wellbelove’s wearing a tailored pink suit under her gown, and pulled her long hair into a low ponytail - she looks adorably desperate to be a subtle queer. (Unlike me - I’m taking no prisoners tonight.) 

I’m slightly surprised that she ventures out of girly dresses at all, but it’s a sensible choice, seeing how it’s bloody freezing, even for February. I’m glad we’re doing this here instead of in another college, at least I only had to walk out here to the gate from my room to meet them.

“Baz! Is that Alexander McQueen ? Oh My Lord, you’re going all out - happy birthday pal,” Dev finally smiles for the first time tonight, patting me on the back, and eyeing at my suit.

It is my McQueen suit that Fiona gifted me when she got her doctorate - why did she give you a gift to celebrate her doctorate? Niall had asked before, but I’m not complaining - and it is a lot, even by my standards. I don’t mind admitting it, Fiona really spoiled me on this one. 

I consider it my battle armour, and I’m pretty much going into battle tonight, seeing how Dev and Niall are on a high speed freight train to ruins beyond repair. 

It’s a black pinstripe suit with red roses printed all over it - I pretended to hate it when Fiona presented it to me, but honestly, deep down I aspire to levels of camp that would never be achieved without this suit.

It’s my birthday after all - I’m legitimately allowed to be a drama queen for once (I would argue that I’m not even one on most occasions, considering all the melodramatic people I surround myself with: Niall… Snow…) - and since everyone I’ve gathered tonight all happen to know that I’m gay, I might as well enjoy wearing what I want to wear, and look immaculate doing so. 

Despite my being in the closet (and how well that has been going since 2020, ha!) I think we’ve since established that no one else in Watford really has an opinion about me, so I don’t really care about being seen acting flamboyant anymore - being Natasha Pitch’s son aside, I am just sadly (and fortunately) deeply irrelevant.

“Doesn’t he look so good? Basilton, you have to let me put makeup on you some day. I have this lipstick that is literally the same shade of red,” Agatha begs, and I snort in reply. Over my fucking grave. (At the very least, I’m not going to admit my curiosity in makeup in front of my cousin and my tragic best friend.) 

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Dev smiles, dazzling like the devil, and I suppress a groan. 

Great, everyone’s shaking hands now, and bloody Devereux Lancelot Grimm is doing his entire heterosexual ritual thing (I have no idea how did Niall fall for his charms at all, it’s atrocious). 

Wellbelove is just being polite in entertaining him. I thank heavens that at least Agatha Wellbelove thought to put on a suit tonight - let’s hope that Dev gets the hint that she has no interest in being heterosexual, before Niall sets everyone on fire with his glare.

Once they're all done with being civil, I press on to lead them to the hall, where Bunce and Snow would hopefully be waiting in the queue already. I never thought I’d see this day - having a big enough party at formal hall that I would have to worry about getting six seats in a row. Or maybe it’s just me and Bunce’s collective anxious paranoia making a bigger deal than it is. Watford hall isn’t exactly small, we’ll find seats just fine.

As we walk through the cloisters, Niall steps up to walk alongside me, on his way to sneak an arm into the nook of my elbow. I slap him away with absolutely no remorse.

“Niall O’Connor, stop being gay,” is not a sentence I thought would ever leave my mouth in my lifetime, but this night is full of surprises.

“Tell Dev to stop being so devastatingly handsome then.”

I roll my eyes so far back into my head it might actually start hurting. I really need more friends than my cousin, and the boy who’s yearning for my cousin.

“I meant, stop making Dev think that we’re a couple. You’re not exactly helping anything. Shoo.”

My patience is wearing thin. I wave Niall away, because he doesn’t need to follow me anyway. He knows this college like the back of his hand, seeing how he spends more time pestering me than being in his own college. 

I finally see the hall entrance, where Bunce is waving at us, perched on the stone balustrade at the start of the queue. Her gown sways behind her in the tunnel wind, along with her glorious hair. 

At least Penelope Bunce rarely disappoints me or causes me trouble - maybe my goal for the coming year should be to invest in more female friendships, and ditch those two idiots to figure themselves out. 

Snow catches my eye, and I’d say he’s gaping, for a lack of a better descriptor.

For the first time in forever, Simon Snow isn’t scowling upon the sight of me, so I’ll take that as a victorious birthday gift. A deeply buried frenzied part of me wants to kiss his mouth shut. (Christ, and I haven’t even started drinking yet.)  

He looks maddeningly handsome in his ill fitting suit and gown - he’s no longer skinny like he was at the start of the year, so the suit jacket finally has some shape to it. The trousers dangle slightly, because whilst Snow is not as tall as me, he isn’t short either, and I guess he's still in a growth sprout. I catch a glimpse of his ankle and blue socks with little dinosaurs on it. I want to strangle Snow in frustration. (Or he can strangle me, I don’t care.)

Maybe Dev and Niall’s homosexual tension is contagious.

SIMON

I’m the last one to know anything again - it seems that me and Penny have completely lost the memo that everyone except us is dressing fancy for Baz’s birthday dinner. I don’t have a choice anyway, I’m always wearing the same suit to everything (I’m saving up for another one, I’ve got a bit of money from working in January before term started, but nice suits are mad spenny), and Penny is wearing a simple black dress (it is nice though).

Baz is wearing a fucking - I don’t even know what to call it - a flowered suit .

He looks like he just walked down from a catwalk, wind blowing through his gown and his wavy hair, claiming the title of Oxford’s Next Top Model. Now I know what he was doing for an hour in the loo with all his hair products. His hair looks natural, unlike how he usually slicks it all back like a victorian vampire, but it’s clearly set with hairspray or something, because it stays still and pretty framing his face even in the wind. It’s windy so you could see a lot of his outfit underneath the gown flying - the red flowers go all the way down his lean legs. Baz is really being Ultimate Baz today on his birthday.

Penny says something nice about Baz’s suit, but I don’t acknowledge it. I promised to be nice all night because it’s his birthday, but I don’t want to let that ego get into his head. Not being mean is as much as I’m gonna manage. I wasn’t even going to come, but Penny complained about how we never go to formals, and she also promised to buy the wine I’m gonna bring to this, so I agreed. I didn’t really drink that much before uni, but I guess I’m catching up on the social drinking now, to try and have a bit of fun, now that I’ve supposedly finally made it and survived the period of my life when doing anything other than studying will Ruin My Life.

I hug Agatha, genuinely happy to see her. She’s in a lovely pink suit, clearly not just store bought because it actually fits - as I said, everyone’s dressed ridiculously well except me, and maybe Penny. I mean, it’s not a surprise - they’re all posh unlike us. Even Niall is in a nice dark blue suit, and the other guy looks the least attention seeking in a black jacket with dark green lapels (it’s still very posh though, the fabric is definitely not washing machine friendly.)

(That’s how pathetic I am - my suit is machine washable.)

(You bet I put it through the wash with everything else - I am a heathen, I don’t mind saying it.)

The other guy steps closer to me, and smiles with a hand reached out. His teeth are unnervingly straight and perfect, unlike Baz’s - (when Baz smiles, like really smiles, you can just kinda see his canine teeth poking out a bit at the sides, it’s so silly and cute) - but otherwise I’m starting to see the semblance.

I take his hand, even though I hate it when posh kids do that. In my opinion I don’t think any one under the age of 25 should be shaking hands at all - it’s fucking weird.

“Hi, nice to meet you! I’m Dev Grimm.” 

So it is Baz’s cousin. I try to smile back and not cringe at myself. I swear his eyes are piercing into mine - they’re a dull brown and not Baz’s grey ones though. Penny is right - he is the plainer, English-er version of Baz. Hardly as attractive either - although Baz has really turned up a notch on his Baz-ness tonight. 

“I’m Simon, hi. Er, I live next to Baz? Yeah. We also uh, have supervisions together.” 

Real smooth, Simon. I want to melt into the ground. Thankfully Penny pulls me away from the conversation, and I can’t run away any faster.

I’m just catching up with Agatha, with Penny loitering next to me, when Baz sidles up next to us to say something to Agatha. It’s strange that he’s almost purposefully turning his back to his boyfriend (and his cousin), but I don’t think much of it. We both don't see Agatha often.

Agatha says something about putting makeup on Baz, and it makes him laugh (the way that you can see his pointy teeth poking out from the corner of his mouth), even though he’s saying “Fuck No”. Agatha has an arm wrapped around Baz, but it doesn’t make me feel anything anymore. It’s painfully obvious now that Baz is gay, and neither of them have any interest in dating each other.

I get distracted by the idea of Baz wearing makeup. (I have no idea why both Penny and Baz insisted on being here half an hour early, now we’re just all here waiting in the cold.) I’ve never seen a guy wear makeup before. I reckon Baz would look really good with makeup on. That thing that girls do on nights out when they make their eyes look all dark and smudgy, it'll go well with his eyes. And Baz would probably look so pretty too. Pretty, but he can also kick your arse. 

I don’t know why I’m thinking about Baz with makeup on.

BAZ

The military precision put into the seating plan is crucial, if I want the next few hours to go smoothly to plan. When we’re finally (bloody finally - my stomach even started growling) being allowed into the hall, I literally ordered everyone to sit by my liking, and everyone obliged without a grudge. (Maybe celebrating a birthday has its perks after all.)

Niall and Wellbelove are on either side of me, and Bunce opposite me, with Dev opposite Niall and Snow opposite his ex-girlfriend (some sacrifices had to be made, but Wellbelove and him seemed like they’re genuinely on good terms). Penelope is sandwiched between the two people she knows best here - I believe she had three whole conversations with Dev before tonight, but it’ll have to do - so I think I’ve kept everyone relatively happy. Dev and Niall will thank me much later down the line, at their wedding, either to each other or as each other’s best man, I don’t care.

I have never been more thrilled to hear the last word of latin in the Watford prayer, sighing audibly as I sit down and promptly screw open my first bottle of wine. I cannot be sober for this, Niall is still fidgeting with nerves next to me, and Dev is awkwardly silent. 

I've barely put my wine bottle down before Dev flicks a penny into my glass, smirking at me with a devilish grin. I stage gasp at him with my mouth wide open, although I’m secretly enjoying this. At least Dev is in his spirits.

“Devereux Grimm! The audacity! We haven’t even gotten through the bread yet! What kind of savages have you been fraternising with -” I protest, but gulp the entire glass in one sitting without wincing anyway, looking as calm and collected as I could maintain. I bought good wine, even though I didn't envision this to happen, and it goes down smoothly.

I personally might not have been pennied before, but I’ve heard enough stories from Fiona to know what to do. When I’m done, I tip the coin out of my glass onto the tablecloth, and slide it under my saucer. Revenge is mine.

I don’t hesitate to pour out another glass for myself, and that evoked a mischievous cheer from Penelope. Even Niall is laughing slightly at my antics.

“You’re disgusting, Dev. You have no idea where that coin has been.”

He just laughs at me again.

By the end of the starter, I’ve pennied both Dev and Niall - Niall is still tripping over his words every time he tries to speak to Dev, but I’m hoping it’s a good nervous instead of a bad nervous. I didn’t think to bring a penny with me, so what goes round, comes round - I’m sufficiently tipsy too, already halfway through my first bottle. I really should be more careful, seeing that I could get caught pennying, but as I get progressively more intoxicated, I hardly give a shit anymore. What are they going to do, dean the son of Natasha Pitch for causing trouble at a formal?

I’m vaguely aware that Agatha Wellbelove is making fun of me, as the only sober person on the table, whilst also documenting everything on Instagram. Bloody influencer wannabe. I whisper to Wellbelove (I am terrible at whispering at this state) that she shouldn’t let me get as drunk as I was after Varsity, but she just giggled at me. 

Niall is still struggling - he keeps trying to turn to me for conversation, but I pointedly ignore him, constantly engaging with Penelope or Agatha and never giving him the time of his day. He can talk to Dev instead, I'm done with his shit. Also, I need Dev to understand that I am indeed not dating Niall. I can start by ignoring Niall.

PENNY

I take back everything good I ever said about Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He is an actual bad boy, it’s not just a facade. He’s made of trouble, and getting everyone drunk faster than they should. (Let’s be real, Simon and I are basking in it - we don’t really have any other friends to do this sort of stuff with.)

Baz even started egging Simon on, conspiring with me to penny Simon. (I do it, because I can’t say no to Baz when he’s like this, eyes sparkling with mischief and calling me Penny . I shouldn’t base my value on Baz Pitch’s friendship, but damn it feels good to be good enough for Basilton Grimm-Pitch.)

Obviously Simon rises to the challenge, like he always does - but he’s grinning too, all teeth and no snarl. Baz laughs as Simon gets a bit of wine dribbling down his chin. These boys are truly terrible. I want to disown them.

Baz calms down slightly when the main course arrives - Agatha has finally taken responsibility for him, and made him drink a glass of water before making progress on his second bottle of wine. (I can’t believe he brought two for himself.)

Baz eats quietly, trying very hard to sober up by the looks of his concentrated frown towards his roast beef. (I think it’s actually just roast beef, I’m not entirely sure. The menus are always some barely intelligible bougie-speak. Beetroot-puree-garnished-with-dashes-of-unicorn , et cetera et cetera.)

Baz is very endearing when he’s tipsy - he almost looks similar to Simon next to me, who also directs 200% of his attention to food in front of him.

I get bored of how slow the main course is going - they serve us the sides and vegetables person by person, which makes me uncomfortable as someone who has worked in catering before, and also is extremely unnecessary - and spend my time people watching once I scooped my unfinished food into Simon’s plate. (I hate wasting, he doesn’t mind.)

“Hey, Simon. I have a theory. Wanna hear it?” I must be more tipsy than I thought. I sound like Simon when he’s being a tin foil hat idiot.

“Huh?” Simon is talking with his mouth full as usual. I scoot closer to him, glancing at my right.

“Niall is being really awkward with Dev. I dunno, just a feeling, I feel like there’s a love triangle going on?” Once the words left my mouth, I realised how extremely absurd it sounds.

 It certainly entertained Simon though, his eyes are wide as saucers, turning to scrutinise Niall and Dev with no subtlety whatsoever. True to my word, Baz has his back turned to Niall, absentmindedly smiling at Agatha whilst he chews on his food, and Niall and Dev are squirming in their seats making silent eye contact. 

“Niall and Dev look like they’re exes,” I run further with the conspiracy, and Simon’s reactions are almost as fun as the ridiculous theories themselves.

“What?! But Dev is Baz’s cousin -” Simon is stage whispering, and it’s hilarious. I reach to penny him when he’s not looking, and he yelps when he finally notices.

“Yep. So awkward. That makes Baz a rebound then,” I can’t help but laugh at my own theory. I doubt it’s actually true, and Baz has never explicitly said Niall is his boyfriend - in fact, he has insisted the contrary on many occasions - but it’s entertaining to speculate. My own life is hardly as entertaining. 

I’m so glad Baz invited me (and by extension Simon) to this.

SIMON

I can’t believe Niall dated Baz’s cousin before him, Oh My Fucking God.

I think Penny is right - I’m not exactly at my wits after downing yet another glass of wine, no thanks to her, but even from where I’m sitting I can see Niall and Dev looking at everywhere but each other. They’re so awkward I actually want to burst out laughing.

That is proper scandalous though - I’m not surprised, but it’s quite funny how everyone (and by that I mean two people) I’ve met in Baz’s social circle are both gay. Here I am thinking Baz Pitch is always put together - apparently not, especially when it comes to boyfriends.

Niall is more unbelievable of a person than I thought - dating your ex’s cousin is just weird, not even as tragic as dating your ex’s siblings. I mean, I get it though, Baz is a massive upgrade. Dev is just Baz, but more average-rich-white-boy, less attractive and less interesting. I’m almost offended on Baz’s behalf that he’s probably a rebound for Niall, or at the very least not his first choice. 

Whatever, Niall is a stupid boy, I’ve always said so.

Baz is back to his wine by the time they cleared out the main course plates - it seems like the worst has passed after some water, and he’s back on his merry way to get pissed drunk again (but hopefully not dying drunk). There is a very fine balance between Good Tipsy and Bad Tipsy - I have unfortunately been on the bad side of the scale once, and ended up throwing up at Woolwich station before I can make it back to my care home at the time, after going out with a bunch of kids from my sixth form on results day. (I didn’t even know them that well, they were just excited for me when I got all A*s.)

Drunk Baz slurs his words just so slightly, even though he still uses long words unnecessarily - not that I can talk, I slur my words all the time, drunk or not drunk. He waves his hands around even more than usual when he talks, if that’s even possible.

I t cracks me up (I’m not exactly sober, so it doesn’t take a lot). He’s just so alive tonight - his eyebrows have their own lives when he bickers with me. I keep taking his bait, just to see him laugh and smile that real smile of his. It’s Baz’s birthday after all - I’m happy that he’s happy.

I don’t understand what’s the dynamic between Baz and Dev - they seem friendly enough (I mean, they’re related so they have to be nice to each other right, I wouldn’t know) but at the moment they just seem like they’re both ignoring Niall. I was dreading some PDA between Niall and Baz, but nothing remotely gay has happened tonight - maybe Baz doesn’t want people to see in the hall. I’m surprised he hasn’t slipped up though, out of all the other things-that-Baz-does-when-he’s-drunk, I thought being more tactile might be one of them.

Baz and Dev are bantering through dessert, when Dev throws a 5p coin at Baz’s direction. It misses his plate, and Baz, somehow still somewhat coordinated despite two whole bottles of wine, catches it, and throws it at me! 

The 5p coin lands in my brownie. I stare at it in confusion as snickers grow around me. Penny is looking at me with pity.

What?” I ask, and cringe at how loud that came up.

Agatha is pitying me too, even though she’s barely holding the laugh in. Even Dev is laughing at me, and we’re practically strangers.

“You - you have to eat it without using your hands if you get 5p-ed,” Dev is snickering through his explanation. Even his snickers are more dreadful than Baz’s.

I blink in shock at everyone, pouting. I want to finish the brownie, but I don’t think I can bear the humiliation. I’m not quite bad enough of a sport to not play along though - I’ve also done my fair share of pennying tonight. (Pennying Penny is just such a funny pun - I still can’t get over it.)

“Come on, Snow. Are you going to back down from a challenge?” Even Baz’s eyes are smiling, his voice full of mirth. I blush for no particular reason.

Never, Baz, never.

I’ve definitely done way worse in my life, so I lean down and pick up the brownie from the plate with my teeth in one single bite. Baz is absolutely delighted, properly hollering now, throwing his head back as far as his long pale neck can reach. When I’m done, I go back and lick some of the chocolate sauce off the plate too, just to make a show of it. Baz is mad with giggles.

Agatha is struggling between dying of second hand embarrassment or uncontrollable, unladylike snorts. She’s been holding up her phone the entire time - I’m sure I will have to relive this entire fiasco on Instagram stories later. 

“Simon! You stupid, stupid gold retriever,” Penny chastises, passing me a glass of water and a napkin.

I just laugh. That wasn’t too bad, that was almost fun for me too. Also, the brownie is heavenly. 

Our laughter is cut short when I feel a hand land on my shoulder. I freeze, before turning to see that it’s just Ebb, my favourite porter.

“Simon Snow, are you causing trouble again? You lads better keep it down before I have to kick you out, eh?” Her voice is gentle but firm, her hand squeezing my shoulder once as a warning. 

Penny puts on her best smile and nods, as obedient looking as she could. Baz still looks like he wants to set the world on fire (for fun). 

“Good old Miss Ebeneza! It’s my birthday today -” dear God, I think Baz is attempting a pout. His lips are full and wine-stained, almost like he actually wore lipstick to match the red roses on his jacket. “- do you think you can let me hit the gong for the end of the formal?”

Baz is convincing, but Ebb doesn’t yield at all. Only porters get to sound the gong. 

“Basilton, I’ve been in this college since your aunt Fiona Pitch was here. Don’t think that you can get away with trouble. Happy birthday to you though, boy,” Ebb just winks and leaves. 

Baz sighs petulantly, shrugging at me. I shrug back, pulling a small smile at him. Tonight was really fun. The best formal I had so far.

NIALL

I am dying a slow and painful death in the Great Hall of Watford College, God bless my poor soul.

Basilton, the little shit that he is, is doing this on purpose. I’m sure of it. He makes me sit right across Dev, and spends the rest of the night ignoring me and flirting with Simon Snow. I hope he’s having the birthday of his life, because I'm in hell.

I swear this all started with Dev first. 

Well, technically, Baz started it first, when he made the oh so brilliant decision to kiss me on a whim, and it all went downhill from there. I don’t see why Baz got to come out (ha!) of it relatively unscathed, whilst Dev and I are giving each other the silent treatment every time we see each other in college. If it were up to me, I propose we ditch Baz to think long and hard about his wrongdoings in solitude.

Who am I kidding, I love Baz. I can’t give Baz up in this custody battle if I tried.

Baz is just so much easier than Dev - for how tough he pretends to be, Baz is actually soft and sensitive inside, and lets you in with unspoken desperation to be loved, once you manage to crawl under his skin. I have a major soft spot for that boy, I think everyone around him secretly does - I don’t want to pity him, but I think Baz’s mum (his real mum) left a gaping hole in his chest, and we’re all trying to fill it up.

Dev though - he’s exasperating as hell. I hate that I love him - he’s too charming and too sociable and too good for me, but I want him anyway. I want to know what he’s thinking, I want to know what he’s doing with all those Union boys, I want to know what kind of trouble he’s up to. I’ve had a bit of a crush on Dev Grimm since sixth form - but it didn’t really consolidate until we came here. I thought I was finally getting through to Dev, we’re basically best pals at Christ Church. And when I told him I’m bisexual, I thought we’re finally totally open with each other, but he still doesn’t talk to me. It’s infuriating.

I just - I honestly believe I have a chance. I know Baz says I’m delusional, but. Dev keeps doing these things, pushing me away and pulling me back. I know he feels betrayed by Baz and I, but I feel like there’s something more. The days immediately after New Year’s, our arguments at his house kept going round and round in circles. He’s mad. He’s mad at something, and I wish he would just let me in so I can understand. I frown at his stupid perfect face when he’s not looking, his jaw popping as he turns to taunt at Simon Snow.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Dev says quietly into the space between us, when we’re staring blankly at each other, and waiting for our turn to get carrots onto our plates. I mutter and nod weakly. I don’t know what to say. 

“Look, just because you two are dating, it doesn’t mean the three of us can’t hang out anymore,” Dev looks at me sincerely, almost like a plea, and I feel bad. I blink back at him, and he holds my gaze. I feel like I can get sucked into the dark universe of his eyes.

“-I miss you,” he says, almost a whisper, before turning back to his vegetables. 

My heart clenches. I glance to my side at Baz, and he’s fucking gone, having a drinking contest with Penelope Bunce and Simon Snow.

“We’re not dating.” I sigh with my entire chest.

I swear to God Dev makes some sort of a relieved noise. I look up, and he’s smirking at me, albeit slightly puzzled.

“You’re not? But what about - what happened -”

“We were fucked from your aunt’s crate of wine, Baz made a bad decision, we were both horny AF, end of story. Never happening again.” I gulp down half a glass of wine, unprompted by a penny, just so I can hide my blush.

“Right…” He’s teasing now. Bastard. All Grimms are bastards with great eyebrows, I need them out of my life.

“And your thirst was so bad that you got off with one of the two friends you have? Even though said two friends are related…”

I want to kill him, but Dev teasing me always sparks something warm in my stomach, so I just try to scowl at him. Emphasis on try. I’m sure I just look like a carrot with my red hair and red cheeks.

“Shut up.”

We have a staring competition for the rest of the formal. He won’t stop looking at me, quirking up an eyebrow at me, or make some grossly indecent innuendo. At last I yield and laugh once or twice - I think we’re back to normal now.

I don’t know what normal is anymore, because being a bit of a bisexual slut in uni just made me realise even more that the only person I really want to kiss is Dev Grimm, and I think going back to coexisting 24-7 might just about kill me. 

There are worse ways to go, I suppose.

After the formal officially ends with the Master evacuating the High Table, and some truly bizarre photos - I don’t know how did Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce, Agatha Wellbelove and the three of us end up in photos together, but here we are, posing around Baz, who’s fully drunk smizing at the poor Watford girl holding his camera phone - Baz declares with a hiccup that we’re all heading to the Watford bar. I guess I don’t have an excuse to protest.

We go down the stairs opposite the hall, some of us struggling more than most - Snow and Baz are both pretty wasted, cackling and snickering as they almost trip over each other. Agatha Wellbelove is clearly a genius for having stayed sober through the night, although I did hear Baz promising her some Watford Violets on the way down. I cringe at the idea - no college’s special cocktail could be good, especially one that is purple to match the college colour. Sounds absolutely revolting. 

The Watford cellars are creepy as fuck, and more suitable to be described as catacombs instead, but it’s big so we manage to secure ourselves a little corner at the end of this crazy nuclear bunker of a bar. Snow has hogged the pool table immediately, and the rest of us flop onto the sofa next to it, whilst Baz sauntered off to buy everyone a Watford Violet. (He should’ve never brought his uni card with him, just like how Dev shouldn’t have pennies on him.)

I don’t know what the fuck is in a Watford Violet, but somehow I go from tipsy to dangerously close to blackout drunk in two seconds flat. Baz made a joke about going out to a club, but honestly I don’t think any of us is going to make it out. The girls look exhausted, Simon Snow is too invested in his pool game, and Baz is too invested in Simon Snow for us to really go anywhere.

I’m just mostly glued to this sofa in the corner with Dev. We keep laughing at utter nonsense, I don’t really remember exactly what. Everything is funny after two Watford Violets on top of a stomach full of rosé.

Dev keeps knocking his knee into mine, and I let our knees stay pressed together, after knocking back and forth. We’ve somehow sank into each other’s sides in this massive saggy leather sofa - we’re basically pressed from shoulder to knee now, and when Dev burst into giggles at nothing in particular, I can feel it through my skin, through the five layers of fabric between us. 

Baz and Simon Snow are in their own little world, basically eye-fucking each other in some strange mating ritual through a competitive game of pool. It’s disgusting to watch.

I turn to Dev then, and he’s already looking at me when I meet his eyes.

“I’m gonna go look for the loo for a wazz, and then we could head home?” 

I hate how he calls college home. Dev calls wherever we’re going back to together home really, even when I was staying at his during Christmas. Going home with him - it makes me feel fuzzy, even though I’m pretty sure I can’t blame it on the Watford Violets anymore.

“Right, I might come with you too.”

I’m an idiot. I don’t know why am I following him to the loo (to pee together? What the actual fuck, Niall O’ Connor) but when we get there after walking through this endless underground tunnel of a bar, it turns out to be a single cubicle of a gender neutral accessible toilet.

Dev turns the handle and it seems to be locked. We stand in the corridor to the loo together, waiting in a queue I guess. It’s quiet and awkward - you can barely hear the That's What I Call Music! bar music reverberating all the way from the pathetic bluetooth speaker that it’s coming from.

Dev keeps searching for my face until I look at him. He’s been doing that all evening.

“Niall, I- I really missed you,” he says, with his entire chest, and I almost choke on my feelings.

It’s not like I’m dead. I’ve just been hanging out less in college. I bite my lip, before I can say something stupid in return.

“I kept thinking about you, when we’re supposed to be hanging out but we don’t anymore -” he’s swaying towards me again. His hand is twitching, and I for a split second had the wild hope that he is going to hold my hand. I might let him if he does. I won't let go.

“- you’re my best friend, Niall.”

I don’t know why that hurt through my gut, but it did. I should take this as emotional breakthrough, I really should, but all I could focus on is how I got fucking friendzoned.

“Sure,” I say, a bit too coldly, and he’s doing that thing again. Searching my face with his eyes, he’s entire body, desperately trying to reach me.

I’ve always been here, Dev.

I finally look at him, because I always do. And he’s looking back. And I don’t look away either. My breathing hitches.

He’s still looking at me, looking for me, looking into me.

I’m definitely going to kiss him if I don’t look away right now.

His expression changes, like he found what he’s looking for.

And then he kisses me, before I can look away.

Dev Grimm has both of his big hands holding onto my cheek, and he’s kissing me. I don’t want to make a comparison between him and Baz Pitch, and so I don’t, and get lost in Dev instead.

It’s everything I wanted and more. 

He’s finally letting me in. I’m finally getting through to Dev.

I grip onto his elbow a bit uselessly, and he pulls away by a millimetre, just to huff out a chuckle onto my lips, before pulling me back in again. 

I don’t even care that we’re in some tacky corridor outside the toilets in the basement of Watford College that is definitely haunted, but we get startled by noisily heels clicking towards our direction. 

We pull away from each other just in time for a tall blonde girl to rush past us with a shrill “Sorry!” before she yanked the cubicle door open and locked herself in the loo. Oh. So it wasn’t occupied this entire time then.

I find my way back to Dev’s face unprompted this time, and he looks sheepishly cute and flustered, when he was the one who turned my world upside down.

“Uh, let’s just go say bye to Basil and go home?”

I hold down my urge to laugh uncontrollably. I’m just so happy, the laughter is basically bubbling to escape me. Dev is unbearably cute, and he just kissed me. Fuck. 

“Yeah, yeah sure. Let’s go home.”

SIMON

I quickly catch up on social media (mostly just what I’ve been tagged in on Instagram) when Baz disappears to allegedly buy us all Watford Violets.

I’m sitting on the pool table that I didn’t know we had until one minute ago, swinging my legs. No one else wants to play, but that’s okay. I bet I can get Baz to play with me.

Agatha’s Instagram Story is long and thorough - I don’t know whether to laugh or curl into myself and die of cringe, as I watch myself eat the brownie without hands, and then the detour me and Penny made to ‘Naruto Run’ across the grass that we’re specifically not allowed on. (I don’t know what a ‘Naruto Run’ is, I just copied Penny.)

Agatha tagged Baz in some of the stories, so naturally I ended up on Baz’s profile. I have a quick scroll through, and click the follow button, even though he has more than enough followers to boost his ego. The most recent post is his Varsity headshot - Baz is staring ice cold into the camera, unbothered as ever, with his arms crossed in his dark blue kit posing at the Magdalen Bridge. I didn’t even know he was buff in the arms too - I guess he is. I like that photo, because he looks great in it. 

Baz frowns at his phone as I take a swig at my first Watford Violet - delightfully disgusting, and I’m instantly in love. (To be honest it just tastes like Weatherspoon’s Purple Rain, but less watered down.) 

“Snow, you liked my photo on Instagram?” 

I like Baz drunk. He’s almost stupid enough for me when he’s like this - although I think it’s because I’m pretty gone myself too.

“Yeah, ‘cause you look great in your kit.” I’m running my mouth but I can’t stop myself. 

“Fuck off, Snow,” He’s pretty when he blushes. 

Baz is a sight - his tie tucked into his back pocket, a few buttons of his shirt undone, and his rosy jacket bunched up at the sleeves. He’s still wearing his gown though, and so am I, because it makes me feel posh and happy and worthy to exist here, in the same space as Baz Pitch.

I smile with my cheeks until it almost hurts. Baz flustering is so delightful it hurts.

“What? Baz Pitch hates it when people flirt with him?” 

I’m definitely losing it to the booze right now, but I can’t stop. I never back down from a fight, not from Baz Pitch. He doesn’t say anything back, and just tips his glass of Watford Violet to his lips. I think I’m winning for once. Wicked.

“I bet the great Baz Pitch can’t beat me at pool,” I push daringly, because after five drinks I suddenly enjoy the cat and mouse chase with Baz.

Also, I need to get back at him in some way after the brownie. And I really am itching to play pool.

His eyes light up like he’s ready to eat me. It feels more like it’s my birthday than his (no one’s really sure when’s my birthday, we just know it’s vaguely in June. Let’s just say that it is my birthday too.)

He picks up a cue, and throws me the other. I reach out to catch it, and pat myself on the back mentally when I succeed.

“Don’t be so sure, Simon . Let’s play,” he grins like the Cheshire Cat, and I lose my footing at first. Not fair. He called me Simon.

I want to make him do it again.

I lost to Baz in the first game, but set up a rematch immediately. He just laughs that lovely genuine laugh of his, and is being a good sport without much protest. 

Agatha, way behind on the drinking compared to us all, disappeared with Baz’s uni card and came back with more Watford Violets. I don’t see why we need more alcohol - the girls are just playing cards in the corner, and Baz’s friends are cuddling on the sofa (good for them? I should probably tell Baz about his boyfriend, but also I just want to keep him playing pool with me). But Watford Violets keep Baz soft and laughing, and keep me saying stupid things that make him smile, so I down that purple shit like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Oof, good shot, Snow,” he’s still not calling me Simon, so obviously it’s not good enough.

I walk right into his personal space, leaning down to measure my next shot. He freezes but doesn’t move away. I brush at where his hand is resting on the ledge of the table, just before I take another shot. Another one for me. Baz is just stunned, not even retorting as I grin and look for my next shot.

“Don’t underestimate me, Pitch . I used to work at a sports pub.” 

He stammers as I smirk at him. Where's your words now, Pitch. Oh how the tables have turned. The key to winning is to flirt with Baz Pitch. I file that for later thought. Who knew Baz is actually so easy to get around, it’s adorable.

Agatha leaves first, and Penny offers to walk her out to the Great Gate, although she also gives Baz a hug before leaving, so I guess she’s not coming back down then. At some point Baz’s mates disappear - I don’t think he noticed though. 

We’ve finally given up on duelling, after having equal numbers of matches on both sides and calling truce - I’m now trying to teach him how to actually hold a cue properly. I keep dissing on his pool playing skills, even though he's doing fairly well for having way more alcohol in his system and not as much experience playing as me, but he lets me tease him anyway.

It’s strange standing behind Baz and reaching to hold his hands on the cue. He’s taller than me, but somehow he’s so shy about the entire thing. I like Baz today. I can’t believe he’s letting me hold onto the back of his hand and untangling and readjusting his fingers. His hands are less smooth than I thought - lanky and nimble since he’s a violin player, but the finger pads are slightly rough and calloused. It’s nice, it makes him more human. 

I’m whooping and bumping my shoulder into his for his shot bouncing off and getting in, when we hear a cough behind us.

Baz’s pals take turns hugging him goodbye, before leaving to go back to their own college. I swear I see the two of them holding hands as they head out, and I suddenly remember that Niall is supposed to be Baz’s boyfriend.

“I think they might be getting together,” Baz bends down to not so quietly whisper into my ear conspiringly. Oh. I guess he’s not Baz’s boyfriend then.

The bar rings the bell for last orders, which means it’s midnight, so we take it as our cue (ayy) to leave. We’ve both pretty much sobered up by now anyway - Baz stands to the side to wait for me awkwardly as I tidy up the table and put the balls back in place. Old habits die hard.

We’re quiet as we walk through the cloisters back to our staircase. Baz’s hair is finally falling out of the hairspray now, flying behind him wildly, together with his gown. He still looks lovely even though it’s technically not he’s birthday anymore.

We look at each other awkwardly when we reach the landing outside our rooms. (Why is there so much awkwardness tonight!!! It was so easy only a moment ago.) He doesn’t have that challenging glint in his eyes anymore, not even close, but I can barely see the spark from before either. I don’t know where I stand with Baz at this moment right now.

I lean in to hug him, because everyone else did, but it’s just so. Awkward. (I can’t breathe. I’m usually bad at social interactions anyway, but this is suffocating. Maybe it’s Baz’s cologne. I want to run. But I don’t want to leave Baz with this either.)

“Happy birthday!” I say, for the lack of better things to say, way too cheerily. My own ears hurt from my annoying croaky voice.

“Thanks, Simon. This was the best birthday ever I can remember. Really,” he smiles, pointy teeth and all, and I almost don’t register that he’s calling me Simon.

“Goodnight!” He slams the mahogany door into my face before I can say something moronic again, but the sight of his smile still haunts the back of my eyes.

I wonder when I will see Baz like he was tonight again.