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*Baz’s POV*
I can’t help but shiver when I feel a particularly cool breeze run up my neck. I stop mid-sentence on the phone with Simon. He waits a moment before he says “You okay there, love? Or have I made you go speechless again?” I can practically hear the smirk in the wanker’s voice and I’d like to be there to snog it properly off. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. (Simon never used to celebrate it- said it was a load of tosh since there was no ‘ fat baby with a bow and arrow ’. Sometimes I forget about how he was raised. In the Normal world. But I changed his mind right quick- I can be a romantic git when I’d like to be.)
I glance around the room quickly. Being of the undead, I’ve the ability to sense… things better than others. So often when I feel like I’m being watched (most often in fifth year) I’m correct. (As per usual.) I have the creeping sensation now that someone is spying on me, but I’ve the love of my life on the other side of the phone, so I’ve half a bloody mind to not linger on it too long. “No, it’s nothing. Just the wind coming up my neck is all,” I hear his full laugh (a blessing I thought I’d never be privy to) on the other side of the mobile.
“D’you keep the window open, then?” I look to the space between our beds, to the closed window. Perhaps it’s better to not worry him when there’s nothing he could do with my suspicion of being watched, anyway. He’s had too much worry in his life; mostly from me. No need to add onto it.
“Of course I keep it open, Snow. After seven and a half years with you relentlessly keeping it open, I’ve grown used to it. Obviously .” I look around the room once more before I continue to pack. I suppose it’s right childish, this. Thinking about something unimportant when my most important thing is on the phone with me, now.
“S’what is Fiona picking you up in this time?” There are rustling sounds on the other side and I assume he’s adjusting on his bed. Well, the cot he sleeps in at the Bunce’s. (Thinking about him there, now… waiting for me… gets me well riled up. Not that he’ll ever know that.)
“The MG, Sn-”
“ Baz there isn’t a backseat! ” I never pegged Simon to be overprotective. Well, I never thought he would be overprotective of me , anyway. It’s right lovely that he is. Fuck I’ve gone soft for the wreck.
“I know there isn’t a backseat, but-”
“But she wouldn’t make you sit there agai -”
“You know Fiona. She probably will make me sit back there again. In fact, I can nearly guarantee it.” There’s the damned draft again, from the base of my neck up.
“But it’s not safe! Why would she-” I can practically hear the pout on his face. The one he makes when he juts his chin and his lower lip out; the one that makes me bend to his will every Merlin forsaken time. I don’t like him continuing to press, however, as we’ve discussed that Fiona always has been one for torture. My sigh falls out involuntarily, and I run my hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. (An anxious habit that Snow loves .)
“ Because , love. You unfortunately cannot get un -kidnapped by numpties. You know my aunt is very rigid about her rules of torturing me for sport. For banter , she says.”
He laughs again and I think that it might just be the bloody best sound in the world. Aside from him calling me love . That’s the best one. “‘Cause the front seat isn’t for people who’ve been kidnapped by-”
“ Fucking numpties , yes I’m aware of what she’ll say, darling.” They both get a right kick out of that sentence. I find no wildly hilarious appeal.
“Well, I was thinking,” He starts.
“That’s always dangerous-”
“Fuck off!” Oh, how I’ve longed for the day that Simon would tell me to fuck off with love in his voice. (Aleister Crowley I’m living a charmed life.) “ Anyway , I thought that when you get here we could, um- er, you know… ” He trails off, the blustering idiot he is. But now I’m trying to pack with one hand while I’m talking to him, pay attention to the draft/stalker in the bloody room, and he’s trying to get me worked up in a strop. I suppose I should hang up, though parting really is such sweet sorrow. (But I remind myself that every minute I pack faster is one more minute to see him sooner. To… you know , as he puts it.)
“ I am hanging up now, Snow!” I put the mobile on speaker and set it on my bed, trying desperately to focus more on packing and less on his voice of honey coming through my mobile.
“Why?” He sounds sad, the tosser. (I never thought he’d be sad to say goodbye to me . The villain. His villain.)
“Because I’m trying to pack with one hand, and you’re a dreadful distraction. Your blustering really does challenge my focus, even on the best of days,” He says something about how I’m a distraction as well, to which I reply, “Ah yes, but I’m a good distraction. A - what was it that you called me - proper fit snack .” I can practically hear him blush over the mobile. Nothing he ever does is quiet- why should blushing be the bloody exception?
“You could just spell your clothes packed-”
“The pants are never quite the way I’d like them. Now, I must be going,” He huffs and I smile fondly at the mobile. Because he can’t see me. Because I’m weak. “ Je t’aime .” He starts to do one of his signature Simon Snow protests about how he doesn’t know French (he never paid any attention , that’s why) but I cut him off when I disconnect the call. Should leave him wanting more, that. Certainly leaves me wanting more.
…
*Natasha’s POV*
I almost touched him, just then. I wanted so desperately to reach out and brush the hair off his neck. I was so close, but the veil is too thick. Despite having told Lucy this countless times (and rolling my eyes whenever she still tried), I couldn’t help but try. Because he’s my boy, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and he’s finally got what he wanted. A bloke . Though if he could hear me, he’d certainly say ‘not just any bloke, mum. Simon Snow.’ and then I’d chide him for letting the boy cloud his thoughts, but I’d be secretly pleased. I try not to spend too much time thinking about what could’ve been. Sometimes it’s right difficult, however.
“He- he cast a love song ? Nat… those are so-” Lucy swoons beside me. We watch as Basil casts a spell (from a song , no less. He’s my boy, indeed) to tend to the wilting roses. The ones that were drooping stood straight up, fresh moisture perspiring on the leaves.
“Yes, he’s quite the mage, is he not? At least he’s got someone he’s so in love with to give him a reason for all that power,” I look fondly at him, doing last minute touches to his room. Tidying the chaos only he can see.
“Surely that’s not your only reason for approving of my son?” Lucy laughs. When we had first found each other behind the veil, she clung to me. And I, her. However, she did annoy me at times. If we had been together more when we’d been alive, we wouldn’t have been friends. I’m certain it’s our motherly love that keeps us together, now. (And perhaps because she’s good company… on occasion.)
“No, just most of the reason.” I lend her a small smile and she gently pushes my arm before we go back to watching Baz move silently around the room. He straightens both beds, packs his last minute things. He’s always been a nit-picker, ever since he was a wee ankle-biter. I’d like to think he gets it from me.
He finally shrugs into his jacket and scoops the bouquet into his arms, giving it one last long smell. Making sure it’s perfect, just like his Simon. (If he could hear me now, I’d tell him… nevermind what I’d tell him. I’m not there right with him, am I?)
As he reaches for the doorknob, I almost do it again. I reach out, ready to smooth a wrinkle in his jacket, or even just graze his cheek. (Pitches don’t ever long for things. It’s weak. But here I am, longing to touch him just once . To hold my little puff like I did so long ago.) I’m even reaching out for him- my fingers within centimeters of him. But Lucy holds out her hand to mine, stopping me. When I look at her, the smile on her face almost comes close to what I feel. (We don’t often talk about our feelings .)(Well; I don’t. She talks about hers quite a lot.)
“Not with it, Nat. You don’t want him to see you.” Baz gets his flare for dramatics from me, I think. Because I’ve never wanted to punch a woman in the face and scream that she’s wrong more than I do now. But I know she’s right- I do. I just wish more than anything that she wasn’t. So I look to her, and then back to Baz. Slowly, I pull my hand back. (I lose my will to refrain more and more every moment.)
He’s left at the open door, looking back at thin air. For only a second, I think he looks at me. I think that he’s about to reach out, looking for my hand… only to find nothing there. But my Baz has never chased after something that wasn’t there. (Despite what he thought he was doing with the Snow boy… Simon has always been his exception.)
He pauses for only one more moment before turning and walking out the door. It’s funny how I’m the one that left him- but ever since my passing, it’s only ever felt as though he was the one leaving me . I suppose that’s what happens when they grow, isn’t it? They leave you.
Even if you’re already gone.
*Lucy’s POV*
Of course they came to this movie. If I left my rosebud boy with nothing else, I at least gave him good movie sense. The Pitch boy complained the whole time, but Simon got him to agree right quickly. The way that Baz looks at Simon sometimes… I only ever saw that face one other time in my life. When I was with Davy. (Oh my Davy…)
Frozen Two. I know that Baz gets his movie taste from Natasha, looking at her face, now. We’ve been roaming around since Baz had left the school, and we were only meant to stay here for a few minutes. Luckily, just like my son, I’m very good at convincing. We’re halfway through the movie now, and Simon has been snuggled up next to Baz (who looks like he thinks he’s the luckiest bloke in the world) the whole bloody time.
“Innit it sweet, Nat?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Well, I think perhaps the first movie had a better plot , however-”
“No, fire-breather,” (I got into the habit of calling her that back in Watford when she burped and fire exploded out of her bloody hands. Scared me right bad, that. She pretends to hate the nickname, but I know she doesn’t.) “Our boys.”
She looks over at them, and the often hard and sharp lines of her face soften. She looks at them as Baz looks at Simon. I can tell that she’d like to be with them, sometimes. It hurts to tell her that we can’t interfere, and I know it hurts her , too. But just because we can’t directly interfere doesn’t mean we can’t have a laugh at their expense…
“They do look rather happy, don’t they?” I nudge her and she looks back over at me.
“What d’ya say we have some fun?” She raises a perfect eyebrow in the way her son does that gets my son so riled up.
“Now, Lucy-”
“C’mon, follow my lead, fire-breather,” She opens her mouth to protest, but I ignore her. Sometimes she acts like my mum, but sometimes she also needs t’get her knickers in less of a twist.
I scootch a little closer to the boys and get just close enough to blow some popcorn out of the bin and onto Baz. I don’t quite reach through, and if I blew any harder, they’d see me for certain. Baz looks at Simon and accuses him of throwing popcorn on his posh outfit. Simon looks like he’s going to disagree, but then he smirks. (As best as he can, anyway. I don’t think I gave him much in the smirking department.)
He grabs a handful of popcorn and throws it right at Baz’s face, some getting stuck in his hair.
“ Simon Snow , you bloody- ” He starts to raise his voice, but the people sitting next to them whisper a hush , and he stops in the middle of his sentence.
Simon looks up at them and looks cross when he says, “Oi! You shush!” Baz whips his head around to apologize to the people, and then turns back to Simon.
“ Snow , you can’t just-” My boy gets his tactics from me when he leans in to quiet him with a kiss. Baz indulges him for only a second before pulling back to reprimand him again. Behind me, I can hear Natasha snickering. “That was so rude- ” Simon snogs him proper again.
When he finally pulls back, he mutters, “‘like it when you call me Simon, more,” And Baz’s face softens, just as Natasha’s does.
She tugs on my sleeve and tells me we should go. I give one last look to my beautiful rosebud boy. Baz has given him so much more than I ever could have. I look back at Nat, tears welling in my eyes. (She says I’m too emotional. Calls me a waterfall.) She puts a soft hand on me. (Well, soft for someone with fire-maker hands.)
“I know, Luce. I know.”
*Natasha’s POV*
We walk into the Bunce’s home where the boys are staying at just the most inopportune time. They’re laying on the bed, snogging the faces off each other. It’s not anything hurried , particularly, but it’s something a mother would prefer not to see. They’re slow, and deliberate, and they whisper coquettish musings to each other.
“Well… seems like they’re having a nice snog, then.” I muse to Lucy. She stands agape, looking at me and then the boys with her mouth open.
She points at them and looks at me. “Seems bloody like they’re about to do a bit more than snogging, Nat. It is Valentine’s Day, after all,” She has a mischievous smirk on her face- the same one she had in the cinema. “We should get outta here, yeah?” I nod to her, and then look back at them one more time. If I look closely enough, I can see the fire in Baz’s chest that was just an ember when he was born. With every touch from Simon, it grows into an even brighter inferno. If I were there I would tell him…
Bugger it, I’m not there. And I never will be. But if I can’t do anything for him directly… I decide to test the veil. Not to reach through it, not to touch anything. Just to mess with them a bit. (I would say that Lucy is rubbing off on me. I can’t find it in myself to mind, anymore. So long as she’s messing around with me, and not pining after Davy.)
“In a moment, Lucy.” She furrows her eyebrows at me, but I ignore her (as I so often try to) as I get closer to their nightstand. In the middle of it, there’s… protection . At the rate it’s going, what kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t get to tell him to use it? I know I’m not really there to tell him . But I can feel at least a bit like a mother and help guide the process best I can.
I push the veil as far as I can without reaching through and blow on the packets as Lucy did with the popcorn. Two of them clatter to the floor, and the boys pause. I back up quickly, just in case. Baz leans over the edge of the bed and picks one up, looking at Simon. Behind me, I can hear Lucy chuckling softly. ( Oh how the turn tables , she would say.) Baz quirks his head and mutters something like “ How in the bloody hell-” but Simon stops him by taking the packet out of Baz’s hands and smiling. They carry on.
We make our exit before it becomes inappropriate for us to be there.
*Simon’s POV*
Tangled up in bed with Baz on Valentine’s Day after a shag is a pleasure I never thought I’d get. S’pose I never really thought I’d get any of that, though. Thought I’d be dead by now from his magic, I did. Instead, I’m falling asleep on his chest, my tail wrapping ‘round his leg. (He protests a lot, but I know the bloody git loves it.)(Loves me .)
‘M just dozing off when I get a whiff of something that’s not swear or cedar or bergamot. It’s… buttery . (Which reminds me of scones, and I almost drool all over Baz’s chest.) I tilt my head up to look at Baz, and his eyes are almost closed. ‘Looks like he could fall asleep at any second. So I close my eyes, too, smelling him one more time.
“Y’smell like something I wanna eat…” I trail off and feel myself blush. I can feel him huff a laugh (because I can do that, now. Make ‘im laugh) but he doesn’t tease me about it. Not today.
“What are you talking about, love?” I shift a bit, snuggling further into his chest.
“From the movie. Like popcorn,” He plants a kiss into my curls.
“Only because someone threw some at me while the wretched donkey was singing.” He tries t’sound annoyed, but I know he’s not. Know him better than anyone, I bloody do. (S’what he tells me, anyway.)
“‘Think it’s a reindeer , actually-” He sighs and holds me tighter.
“Go to sleep , Simon,”
“I’ll dream of you...” I say, because it’s true. Because we do that now- be honest with each other. It’s a bloody change, but a good one. (A great one.)
“Goodnight, my love. Je t’aime ,” He says that to me a lot. I looked it up on my mobile on our way back here, tonight. (He’s a romantic git when he wants to be. I like it when he wants t’be.)
“I love you, too, Baz.”
Just as I’m finally falling asleep, I could swear that I feel the blankets shift up around us. Almost like it’s tucking us in. Guess ‘m imagining it. Too tired to think about anything but Baz. (I think it’s always been like that, really.) The last thing I think of before I finally sleep is how I wish I could have told my mum about the day I had with Baz today. I think she’d love him.
Just like I do.
*Lucy’s POV*
I’ve spent the whole day trying not to reach through the veil. To reach through and risk them seeing us. But now Simon’s tail is still, and Baz’s fangs are poking through his lips as he snores. (A smile is still on his face from holding my Simon. I really wish I could meet this bloke formally. I would love him.)
I find I don’t care as much now that they’re asleep. So after a long day of wanting to reach through, I finally give in. I lean down, and kiss his beautiful curls. I only let myself linger for a second- but that second is the most precious one I’ve had since I passed.
Goodnight, Simon. My rosebud boy.
*Natasha’s POV*
If I were with him, I would give him a hug. If he could hear me , I would tell him… I would tell him that I’m so proud of him. That I love him more than I ever thought I could love another soul. With that, I would tell him he does have a soul. A soul that he loves with, a soul that he laughs with. A soul that allowed him to grieve me. A soul that allows him every day to love Simon Snow more and more.
Following Lucy, I lean down and place a gentle kiss on his cool forehead. I let myself linger far longer than I should, but I can’t help it. And because he can never know, and it’s the only gift I can give him as he’s asleep, I cherish it even more.
Goodnight, Basil. My little puff.