Chapter Text
SIMON
I haven’t seen Baz in eight weeks and three days . Ever since he threw open the doors to the dining hall like the Queen marching into court, he’s been avoiding me. We live in the same room at the top of a secluded tower and I still can’t manage to catch him, even just to tell him that I got a Visit from his mother.
I’ve been having dreams about Baz’s mother (should I call her Mrs. Pitch? Natasha? Headmistress?) nonstop every night. I keep thinking I see her standing in the corner of our room and she’ll say, “My rosebud boy, my son,” and when I blink, she’s gone. I know I’m just dreaming, but I can’t scratch the itchy feeling that she’s still trying to reach out to me. Or to Baz, more likely - which I’d relay to him if I could get him alone.
I’ve spent the last three years trying to never be alone with Baz. Honestly, I’ve spent the last six and a half years trying to avoid him, but the reason changed over the course of that time.
Ever since fifth year, I’ve been painfully and irrevocably in love with Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I can’t remember an exact reason or catalyst, but I do remember looking at him one day and thinking about instead of running him through with the Sword of Mages, I’d love to run him through with my cock. (Crass, but that’s the mind of a fifteen-year-old boy).
Before realizing that I wanted to kiss him far more than wanting to kill him, I’d avoided being around him because I was sure he was a vampire and that he’d bite my neck off at the first chance. Since then, I’ve avoided him because, Christ, I want him to bite my neck. He could drain me of all my blood and I’d probably still want to snog him. Unfortunately, my better nature got shoved to the side and I followed Baz around a lot because I wanted to be sure that he was a vampire. If I wasn’t such a huge numpty, I’d try to keep my distance more often. (Baz has no issue keeping his distance from me).
After years of being an integral part of his life, I know that Baz isn’t gay. Sure, he’s never had a girlfriend (that I know of), but the Pitch prodigy, queer and a vampire? Not likely.
Having not seen Baz in over two months, I’ve been aching without him. That sounds metaphorical, but I mean it quite literally. I’ve never wanked so much in my life. Baz used to be my distraction from the bullshit that makes up my regular life - being the Mage’s heir , barely keeping up with my classes, and dealing with Penny breathing down my neck about the Humdrum. Now, reality is my distraction from thinking about Baz, who will never return my affection.
Agatha, however, did return my affection. We dated for a while there and I think everyone expected it to last a lot longer (including me). It started out as a way for me to get over my pathetic schoolboy crush on Baz, but morphed into genuine care for her. I really like Agatha. She broke up with me only a bit ago and I think she broke up with me for Baz. He would never let me hear the end of it if he knew we both ended our relationship with feelings for him.
To be honest, I should have broken up with her earlier, but I had a lot of my mind. And my relationship with Agatha hardly felt like a relationship a lot of the time - it was more like having a person always in my corner (and unfortunately for Agatha, I have Penelope for that job).
Once I accepted that I was lusting after my boy roommate, it didn’t feel right to still be with Agatha. It didn’t feel right to keep pretending. The Mage’s Heir, the Chosen One - queer? Hence why I haven’t told anyone except Penelope. (Penelope still insists that I rattle on too much about Baz, but she cuts me some slack because she knows I can’t help it). My relationship with Agatha and my feelings for Baz were issues that fucked with my brain a lot and while I could mostly afford to ignore it, I’ve never found a label that really works for me, so I stick to the umbrella term of ‘queer’.
I’ll never come out to Baz or tell him how I feel . We already have an extremely strained friendship (if I can even call it that) that would shatter into pieces if I admitted that I’m completely in love with him.
Because Baz is the sneakiest prick I know, he’s managed to avoid me with precision. I don’t think he’s even staying in our room - unless he’s waking up at dawn, showering in the dark, and making his bed before I can wake up. (Not likely because I’m an early riser and I always know when Baz has showered because the entire room smells like his excessively scented soaps). The only time I see him is in some of our classes, but he sits as far away from me as possible and only occasionally sneers at me.
I’ve even been to the football pitch approximately six times since he’s been back - not that I’m going to see him as he’s been replaced on the team - just hoping he’ll be there, warming up and barely sweating like the prat he is.
When I do finally see Baz outside of class, he’s sitting on his bed, pulling on his socks. I open the door and he acts like I’ve caught him mid-coitus. He looks up, hands freezing in their actions.
“Baz,” I say. Finally .
“Snow,” Baz responds tersely. He finishes pulling socks on. Now that I’ve shut the door behind me, I notice that Baz’s hair is still a little damp and it, true to form, smells like posh soaps in our room.
“Baz,” I say again, wincing at how idiotic I sound.
“I think we’ve established that,” Baz says cooly and starts to slip on his shoes.
I can tell he’s getting ready to leave and I want to simultaneously yell at him to stay and let him leave because I haven’t prepared exactly how I’m going to tell him I got a Visit from his mother . Hey Baz, your mum kissed me on the head and told me to get you to avenge her death, basically. Also, where’ve you been? You missed an exam in Political Science.
It just feels wrong.
“Where were you?” I ask.
“Not your business,” he responds, standing up. I watch as he carefully straightens out the sleeves of his blazer and flicks a bit of hair out of his eyes.
Baz has never looked this haggard. His school uniform (which I think he gets tailored ) is hanging off of him, his frame just a bit too willowy to be reasonable. His hair looks thinner if that’s possible and his skin’s even grayer than usual. Even his eyes, which I would typically and lovingly refer to as a shade of silver moonlight, have been reduced to a muddy gray.
“I have to tell you something,” I insist, back still pressed against the door, so I at least know he can’t leave without physically pushing me (which I doubt the Anathema would allow even if I wouldn’t mind Baz touching me).
“Then tell me, Snow. Don’t block the door like a lumbering oaf.”
“I’m not blocking the door. Please, just-” I cut myself off, reaching up to tug at my hair like it’ll knock the words out of my brain. “This is important.”
“More important than me getting away from you? Doubtful.”
I sigh in frustration. “I-I-” I can’t get my brain to wrap around what I’m supposed to say to him and he takes that to his advantage.
“Talk much?” he sneers, taking a menacing step towards me.
I step up to meet him and Baz takes the opportunity to move forward, bump my shoulder with his so I stumble away, and disappear out the door, shutting it gracefully behind him. I wish he’d slammed it - then maybe I’d feel less like an idiot for feeling so worked up over this conversation.
I don’t know exactly how the Veil works, but I hope Natasha Pitch doesn’t think I’m a knob for not being able to talk to her son. If she’d been around us the last six years, she’d understand why we talk to each other like this and why Baz can’t stand being near me. I feel bad for thinking like that. For Baz’s sake, I wish that she had been around.
I know Baz isn’t going to return to our room anytime soon - he likely just took a shower to tide himself over for the next three days of being conveniently missing. (I’m sure he just found a way to stay in Niall’s room or down in the Catacombs).
I sit down on the edge of my bed and flop back against it, grunting with the force. Being away from Baz for this long was something that maybe could have been helpful in my getting over this pathetic crush (not that being away from him every summer ever helped). To my own credit, I try to not even think about Baz over the summers. He’s like everything else at Watford or magic-related - too good to be true when I’m shoved into a room with seven other starving boys for three sweaty months.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when Penny appears in the doorway.
Once I’ve sat up enough to recognize that it’s her, I drop my head back down onto the bed. No point in getting up or chastising her for being in our room.
“Where’s Baz?” she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed. It’s unusual for her to initiate a conversation about my roommate.
“Like you care,” I mutter, endearingly. Even when Baz could absolutely get her in trouble because he’s actually around to catch her now, Penelope couldn’t be arsed to change up her routine.
“What’re you doing?”
I shut my eyes. “Trying to ignore how much Baz upsets me.”
“So he was here?” she perks up, getting off of Baz’s bed and coming over to lie down on her stomach on my own bed, turning her head to face me.
I nod. “He was. I scared him off.”
“I doubt that,” she says, reaching out to tug at the sleeve of my shirt. “What happened?”
“He antagonized me and I got flustered.”
“Right. So the usual.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back.”
I shrug. “He’s been gone for three days - he might be gone for another three, or longer.”
“Go find him,” Penelope suggests, as if I haven’t been trying .
Sitting up, I tuck my legs underneath myself and sigh. “I’d love to, but he’s elusive.”
Penny stays laying on her stomach but pokes my knee. “If anyone can find Baz, it’s you, Simon.” She says it like it’s a bad thing.
I haven’t told Penny about Baz’s mother. I don’t know why. I should tell her - I tell her everything. She thinks I just want to interrogate him about where he’s been (which is absolutely what I want to do, but I do have something a tad more pressing).
Penelope eventually leaves with a quick, “You’re bumming me out and I promised I’d call my mother. Don’t go out of your way to pick a fight with him,” leaving me to think about Baz (a too common pastime of mine).
Against my better judgement, I think of a spell. My magic isn’t leaking out of me anymore as I’ve calmed down since the argument with Baz, but I can still feel it there, barely not boiling over. I steel myself and try to focus on only the magic I have readily available. Pulling my wand from my pocket, I shut my eyes, thinking about finding Baz , and whisper, voice thick with magic, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” mentally preparing myself to have accidentally destroyed our bedroom.
There’s a crash from Baz’s side of the room and I fling my eyes open to find all of his wardrobe drawers out and on the floor, clothes spilling out of them. I’d laugh if that wasn’t a sign that my spell probably didn’t work.
Fuck it.
I shove my wand back into my trousers, but before I can go to sleep early (like I’d originally planned on), the pocket starts glowing softly.
“Christ,” I breathe to myself, pulling it carefully back out of my trousers, finding the end of my wand glowing dimly. When I turn a little bit towards the door, it starts to glow brighter. Experimentally, I turn back away from the door and the light dims.
Somehow, I’ve turned my wand into a bloody compass. I can only hope it leads me to Baz and not to my possible demise. (Those could always be the same thing, really).
I follow the light of my wand (thank Magic it’s later in the evening so most people are in their rooms and not out where they can see me following a glowing stick) out of my room and Mummer’s House, leading me down to the Catacombs. Truly, I should have expected that.
Once I’m in the cloying dark of the Catacombs, the light glows even brighter, reflecting off the close walls and lighting up the space. It’s not like I’ve never been down here - I explored every single tunnel over the past few weeks, trying to find if Baz was hiding out here. Being down here with a sufficient light source is a lot different.
As I continue down one of the passageways, I can see a figure ahead of me. I know this is where Baz’s mother’s grave is, so I know it’s Baz before I’m even close enough to see his shape. As he turns the light glows bright and then dims to a dull glow again, casting most of the tunnel into darkness - but not before I can get a clear look at his mouth.
Bloodstained fangs protrude just barely past his lips, forcing his mouth into a more open position. With a quick glance down, even though it’s now dark, I can see the carcasses of two rats lying on the ground, seemingly drained of blood. Realistically, I thought it would be bloodier than that.
I can barely see Baz in the darkness, but I’m sure he can see me fine. He probably has fucking incredible eyesight - being a vampire and all.
I feel like I should be jumping up and down and whooping because I was right . I’ve spent years trying to convince everyone around me that Baz is a vampire and now that I know he is, now that I have proof , I feel bad. I feel like I’ve intruded on his personal life and that if I could forget this and leave, I would.
Baz’s expression makes me stay.