Archive of Our Own ^beta

DENIAL

It starts the morning following the worst moment of my life.

(So far. Ever the optimist, I am sure there will be many worse moments to follow during the course of my miserable existence. Although at the moment it seems unlikely that anything could be worse.)

I'm sitting in the dining hall, across from my usual seat. Starting intently at my cup of coffee. I can see Dev noticing then deciding to ignore the change in our seating arrangement. He drops down into my usual seat, brows lifting.

He pauses.

“Did you see what Snow-," he starts.

“I did not.” I interrupt.

He looks surprised. “How could you not see? You live with him?”

“With who?" I ask blithely, stirring more sugar into my coffee.

“Snow. Your roommate, Simon Snow."

“Haven't the slightest. Apologies." We both ignore the rattle of the spoon against the ceramic of my mug as my hand shakes.

Dev is a good mate. I watch him see this then decide not to mention it.

Unfortunately, Niall has never learned to pick up on context clues.

“Your roommate. Simon Snow." He says unhelpfully. "You’ve mentioned him sixty-three times this week alone. Surely you wouldn't pass up the opportunity to take the piss."

I pull a textbook out of my bag and prop it against a pitcher of juice. I see a someone a couple of chairs down hesitate, hand already stretched out and glass empty. I sneer at him and he coughs and goes back to his breakfast.

“Niall, please." I say from behind five hundred pages of magickal history. "I take my courses very seriously. I don’t have time for this. Especially not from you."

"It's breakfast." he argues.

I ignore him.

I let out a sigh of relief when Niall throws his hands up and leaves the dining hall, muttering darkly. Good- he won’t soon be back. I wait until Dev is also gone before I stand up on shaky legs and sneak towards the exit. I hear the sound of wood scraping the stone floor, the distant sound of my name-

-and I bolt towards political science faster than I've ever run before.

---

I can never catch a break.

I stare at the chalkboard intently all day. I keep my head down during class and don't open my mouth except to answer questions from the professors.

I am on my very best behaviour, then some. But even then, the universe isn't satisfied.

“Mr. Pitch, could you stay after class?" Miss Possibelf asks after our last period of the day. I grimace. I'd dearly love to decline, but I can hardly pretend that I don't quite grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

I linger near the door, frustrated as I wait for my classmates to file out.

Miss Possibelf wastes no time shooing out the stragglers, and shutting the door. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Mr. Snow is struggling in this class."

She’s right, she doesn’t. Snow struggles in every class. Or rather, anyone stupid enough to have the surname Snow would surely struggle in school. With a name like that, how could they not- as stupidity clearly runs in the family.

I incline my head. She'd be better off dismissing me than continue with this train of conversation.

She sighs. “I would consider it a personal favour if you could spend some time helping him prepare for midterms. Unfortunately with the way he’s performing he needs help to make it to the end of the year.”

I consider my options. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I say.

“As the top student in your year, and Mr. Snow's roommate-,"

It's my turn to sigh. “I don't understand.”

The miss gives me an incredulous look. “I'm asking you to take some time and help a fellow student-,”

"I don't know this student." It's the stupidest thing I could have said, but my brain is grasping at anything that will let me escape from this conversation as quickly as possible.

Miss Possbelf frowns. "Are you trying to tell me you aren't familiar with your own roommate of the past five years?"

Four and a half, actually.

(Familiar. What an interesting term. Am I familiar with Snow? It depends on how you would define familiar. Yes, I'm familiar with the sound of his breathing. The rhythm of his heartbeat. With the colour of his hair, and the nine moles scattered across his face and neck. I am achingly, intimately, familiar with them.)

“That is what I said,” I agree.

She gives me a withering look, but I’m used to these. I don’t back down- I stare right back.

(I'm undead. I'm pretty certain I don't actually need to blink. An unfair advantage, maybe, but it means I won't be the loser of this bizarre confrontation any time soon.)

The silence stretches on, but I refuse to give in to the awkwardness. Finally, she gives up.

"You're dismissed." she says, waving her hand.

I'm out of the class and tearing down the corridor before she's even done speaking.

---

I ignore him for weeks. It's nigh impossible, but I manage well enough.

(I set my alarm earlier even than his, and spell him with "nowhere to be seen!" Normally, I'd be disappointed to miss his reaction as those around him suddenly start ignoring and losing track of him, but the trade off of living most of my days in blessed ignorance of Simon Snow's existence is worth the inconvenience. The downside, however, is that the spell is fickle, and often runs out right around dinner. Which means I'm often suddenly bludgeoned with uncomfortable awareness of his continued existence as I'm trying to stir my coffee and sneak off to hunt in peace.)

And, of course, he knows I'm up to something.

"I know you have something to do with all this," he hisses at me when I sneak into our room after curfew. "I know you're up to something- trying to spell me undetectable so people won't notice when you finally try and kill me!"

Admittedly, that plan isn't half bad, considering its origin.

I can't kill him- not really- but I can keep doing this.

Keep forgetting about him. Keep pretending he doesn't exist.

It's hard, but it's easier than the alternative- and I won’t let myself think about that at all.

ANGER

“Fuck Simon Snow,” I hiss, slamming my dinner tray down on the table.

Niall and Dev look mildly surprised as their things jump from the force. We all pretend not to notice that my plate has cracked in half.

“Who?” Dev asks, mocking me. I pretend not to hear him.

“Snow is going to die,” I tell them seriously. “I will kill him. By the end of this year. I'm going to skin him alive and use his remains to bind a book about his violent and traumatic defeat at my hands."

They ignore me, instead looking at my plate, bearing the remainder of thirty-seven Yorkshire puddings and nothing else.

Niall helps himself to one.

I sense Snow walking into the dining hall before I see him.

(I'm disgusting.)

We all notice him noticing the empty serving tray where the Yorkshire puddings should be. The room suddenly smells of crackling and thick green smoke.

"Baz!" he growls, the people around him coughing. I watch Gareth pull out his puffer and try to escape out one of the windows.

"Fuck off, Snow." I hiss, picking up a Yorkshire pudding and throwing it to the floor. Snow's face turns purple as he watches me grind it under the tip of my shoes into the uneven stone.

There's a vein pulsing in his forehead. I can sense it even from across the dining hall. It makes me hungry.

(It makes me nauseous.)

The smoke gets thicker, and the rest of the students start to abandon their plates, rushing the exit in an attempt to avoid suffocating. I refuse to do such a thing, my eyes stinging as I glare at Snow through the haze. Bunce is tugging on his jumper, pleading with him to calm down.

I wait until I'm sure he's giving me all his attention, then I let a smirk work its way onto my face- slowly. It has the intended effect, and I try not to preen as Snow storms over towards me, more fury than living, breathing man.

Later, I'm in our ensuite trying to spell my nose back to its regular shape. I hadn't realized that in addition to being a hopeless excuse for a civilized Englishman, Snow is also a complete brute. I should have worked harder to maim him.

(If he doesn't hold himself back from hurting me, I shouldn't hold back either. I should stop trying to make these skrimishes fair, and instead overpower him and sink my teeth into his neck the way I so desperately want to. He'd deserve it. Draining him dry- wringing the life from his limp body- I'd be doing the World of Mages a favour. He's a useless, overhyped show-off, and the World of Mages is going to burn because they refuse to accept what I already know- that he's not even close to the answer to our problems. That he only makes everything worse.)

My profile will never be flawless again, I think helplessly as I flip through the book on the counter in front of me. Scrapes, bruises, and the magick of raising healthy boys- a disgusting but necessary book when one lives with impulsivity and aggression personified.

Although I doubt any spell in here will be able to set my nose to rights.

Things don't improve from there.

Snow and I get into fifteen fist fights over the course of four days. It's a new record, even for us. He seems a little bit confused by the ardour of my aggression, but he meets me blow for blow.

He shouldn't.

He has no idea how badly I want to make him hurt for real. Beyond scrapes, beyond bruises, beyond broken bones.

I want him to bleed.

(I want his blood on my knuckles, running down my wrists. I want to smear it on his face.)

(I want to lick it off.)

"Baz," he wheezes one afternoon as I've got him in a chokehold near the moat. My original plan was to throw him in and let the merwolves rip him to pieces- but he's wearing Wellbelove's lacrosse sweater, the colour flattering against his tawny skin- and I'm toying with the idea of holding him down and drowning him instead.

(The merwolves can have what's left once I'm through with him.)

Rhys wheels by just as Snow manages to elbow me in the groin. "Heya Simon!" he calls, as I hiss in pain and Snow uses the opportunity to push me off him, pinching my ear in a way that's both painful and makes the pit of my stomach squirm. "Are you meeting us later for frisbee?"

"Yeah," Snow grunts, as I kick his feet out from under him. "See ya later, mate!" He barely gets the words out, gasping as I kick him in the stomach. I go to finish the job, but he turns over and his cross falls out of the neckline of his sweater.

I hiss before I can stop myself, and jump away from him. It won't burn me unless I touch it, but the feel of static in my gums makes me jittery.

Besides, it's bad form to attack an enemy when he's already down.

"Baz," he wheezes, rolling over onto his back. I eye the cross warily. "What’s gotten into you? This is the third time you've tried to kick my arse today, and it's not even gone tea time yet."

I chew on my lip. There's a sliver of skin visible between his sweater and trousers.

I want to put my mouth on it. Sink my fangs into it.

Instead I kick him once more, and stalk off towards the Wavering Wood.

BARGAINING

Everyone is watching me. Snow is glaring, the smoke is pouring off of him. A couple of people idly waft their homework and day planners through the air, earning a brief reprieve from the cloud.

He looks like he's going to hit me.

"I said, you're not getting the inflection right-," I try again, looking at him steadily. "It won't work if you try and rush the spell."

"No one asked you!" he snaps, and I shake my head.

(And these morons I call my classmates think I'm the proud one.)

"Snow," I tell him reasonably, "take my advice. The sooner you master this spell the easier it will be for all of us to breathe. Including yourself. Now just take my fucking good advice."

He doesn't.

Which means when we get locked in one of the crypts in the catacombs later that week, Snow still isn't capable of spelling us free.

I'd do it myself of course, but I left my wand up in our tower. I was eager to try and hunt while Snow was busy in the library begging Bunce to help him with his Greek homework. Needless to say, I regret leaving the room in haste. I've offered to free us (four times, to be exact) but Snow has already let me know how he feels about that.

('I know what you think, but I'm not that thick. You're the last person I'd ever trust with my wand,' he'd hissed at me, backing me up against the wall of the crypt.)

I've given up on try to keep my trousers tidy, it's not like Snow cares what I look like anyway. Instead I'm curled up against the wall, as Snow paces to and fro, muttering to himself and smelling like burnt plastic. The crypt is so small that he's got to step over my legs to pace back and forth.

My brain is fuzzy, staticked out from the smell of his magic, his closeness. The fact that we're stuck together in this damp and dark place, with no chance of being disturbed by anyone else. It's like we're the only two people left in the world.

He shouldn't be able to see me looking at him, dark as it is (in addition to unlocking spells, Snow is also pants at any spells that would conjure us light), but I still feel guilty looking at him.

I dig my fingers into the cold dirt. It’s damp, and smells vaguely of decay.

I'll never look at him again, I think wildly, pushing my fingers deep. I'd sit down here forever, alone, until I'm returned to the earth.

I watch Snow run his hand through his curls and mumble to himself. He's so close I could reach out and touch him.

I'd give anything.

"Baz," he says suddenly, and I sit up straight before I remember he can't see me.

"Snow-,"

"Why were you trying to help me? Earlier this week- with the unlocking spells-?"

"This isn't a plot, if that's what you're getting at," I sniff, pointedly not letting myself look at him.

(It was barking. Mental. The culmination of years of going slowly insane after being forced to live in close proximity with idiocy personified. The belief that if I somehow atoned for my behaviour- if I could make it up- there would be no reason for me to keep being punished. I could earn myself my freedom.)

I can be stronger. I'll never be this weak again. If that's what it takes, I can do it. I'd do absolutely anything-

"Okay," he sighs. "You can help me."

I blink in surprise. "I can? Snow, I'm honoured-,"

"Shut up! It's the middle of the night and my bollocks are about to freeze off. Just get over here!" he orders.

I swallow and try to think about anything other than Snow's bollocks.

I move to take his wand from him, but he flinches away from me. I force down the irrational pang of hurt that crawls its way up my chest.

I'm so close to him that I can hear him swallow.

"Together," he says tentatively, getting closer. "You can talk me through it."

Aleister fucking Crowley.

He turns away from me, squaring his shoulders. Then he cranes his neck to look back at me.

My hand is shaking as I come up behind him and slide my left hand over his right. The position is awkward, I'm basically bracketing his body with my own.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. We've never been this close unless we were fighting. Even now I recognize the quick beat of his heart, the thrum of his blood. The sticky, heavy smell of his magic- of school soap, the roast he had for dinner.

I'd give anything-

I clear my throat. "Loosen your grip," I tell him. "Your wand is an extension of you, you shouldn't be this tense when using it." His fingers flex under mine and my breath catches.

Please-

"It's not about being trapped- the spell." I clarify, as he shifts deeper into the cradle of my body. My chest aches- every part of me aches-

"It opens doors-" he starts.

"It's about opportunity," I say quietly. "The spell is only tangentially related to doors. It's about making new opportunities available to you-,"

"In the form of a door," he argues stubbornly. I want to laugh, a little gust of breath escaping me. I pretend not to notice him shiver as he feels it against the back of his neck.

"Often in the form of a door," I relent, and my heart constricts as he shoots a flinty smirk over his shoulder at me.

There isn't anything I wouldn't do- there isn't anything I wouldn't give-

"I'm ready to try," he says, and I nod, moving away… "Wait!" I pause, every part of me tender and yearning. My whole chest feels like a bruise, and Snow is the beat of my heart, pressing against all those raw and visceral parts of me-

"I might need your help." He swallows, "just in case."

I slide my hand back over his. My throat is tight, and I clear my throat twice but my voice won't work the way I want it to- so instead I don't say anything at all.

"Together?" he whispers.

I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of him. He's so close I can feel the warmth radiating from him. It washes over me, filling all the cold, empty places between my bones.

Together.

I'd do anything.

"Together," I finally agree, tightening my fingers around his.

DEPRESSION

"Meet you at the club for a game later this week?" Dev asks on the final day of term.

"What's the point?" I say, watching as Snow walks Bunce to the parking lot, carrying one of her bags. How desperate he is to prolong their time together- it's pathetic.

"To… have fun?" Dev tries. I'd forgotten that he'd asked.

I sigh. Another summer away from Snow, creeping around my father's house and trying to think of anything else.

There's nothing fun about that.

Bless Dev, who continues to text every week. "See you at the club?"

I never bother replying.

Instead I spend the summer alone with my drapes pulled shut, lying on my bed and thinking of Snow. Although instead of the feverish fantasies I've tortured myself with in the past, the only thing I can think about is that we've almost come to the end.

That this year will be the last year I ever get to see him.

That every day that slips by is counting down to that inevitable moment when he walks out of my life for good.

It's a waste of a summer, as usual.

I go through the motions, spending time with my sisters, practicing the violin, sitting at the dinner table every night. Everything just feels so- grey. Lifeless. A stretch of time without meaning, without purpose.

We've watched Grease every single day for what feels like months. Although I know it can't be- if months had passed, I'd be back at home, harassing Snow and feverishly watching him while he sleeps like the disturbed creature I am.

My mind is elsewhere- it's always with Snow these days. That's why it takes me a moment to notice that Mordelia has paused the movie, and she and my sisters are staring at me expectantly.

"Basil," she says seriously, waving the remote in my face. "You need to cheer yourself up. We can't keep watching Grease with you every day. It's not fair to us."

I blink. "You love Grease," I say, looking around at them. They avoid my eyes.

Mordelia clears her throat. "You love Grease. It's only okay. We've been watching it to cheer you up, but you're not even paying attention.”

It's not natural that a child could inspire me to feel guilt. "I am too watching," I pout.

"If you're watching, then why aren't you singing the songs for us?" Mordelia asks, looking pleased.

I glare at her, but my other sisters are nodding.

Fuck this.

I roll up my sleeves. If they insist of being like this, then they're going to get the dancing too.

---

When I finally manage to turn up at the club the next day, Dev barely looks surprised, like I haven't been avoiding him all summer. "Ready?" he asks. "We've got to be done by tea, my mother is having company for dinner."

"Don’t worry," I tell him. "If your game is anything like it was last summer, I'll be done crushing you before noon."

He laughs like he doesn't believe me, and I let myself feel a pang of regret for the way I've let everything pass me by this summer.

I don't have Simon Snow, and I'll never have him, I admit to myself as I leave the club that afternoon. But that doesn't mean I can't scrape what I do have together to make a life.

It's the last thing I think before the bag is dragged over my head.

ACCEPTANCE

"Why can't you just admit you'd be happier here?" he tells me angrily.

Hearing him say it hurts. Worse than anything has ever hurt before.

"Why can't you see that I wouldn't be happy anywhere without you?" I argue.

And that's the honest truth right there- I'll never be happy anywhere without Simon Snow.

I think I've always known, which is why it's been so hard.

(It's always been hard. But that's because on some level, despite my best efforts, I've known since that very first night. Since the moment I'd lain there in the dark, listening to him snore, and realized that my life would be over if his ever ended.)

I may not have been ready to accept it then, but I'm ready now- and I want him to be too. What I suspect he might know, but won't let himself believe.

"Baz!" someone shouts. It's Penelope. The tone of her voice and the look on her face as she runs towards us lets me know it's serious.

But this is more important.

"Not now Bunce!" I hiss over my shoulder at her, before turning back to Simon. The sunlight is caught in his hair. He's so beautiful it makes every part of me ache.

This is too big for me to carry alone. I need him to know- he needs to understand.

I want him to help. I want us to help each other. To carry this burden together.

His eyes are the bluest of blue- bluer than the ocean, even. I've never seen any colour so perfect. "I'm in love with you." I tell him quietly, my voice lost against the sound of the waves. "I've loved you for a very, very long time now."

It hangs in the air between us, a truth I can no longer let myself ignore. Something I've carried with me for years now, struggled with, and have finally laid bare at his feet- between the end of one adventure, and the beginning of another one.

I know what I want now, what I need.

(I've only ever needed him.)

I have been in love with Simon Snow for a long long time. It's been a hard journey, but I'm finally ready to see where it'll take me.

But I can’t do it alone.

Together, he'd once said. It was an offer then.

And standing here toe to toe with him, I'm finally ready to let myself accept it.