Chapter Text
Driving an hour to a small town in New Forest was so painlessly easy, Simon felt as if he was cheating the job. Normally he was sent to jobs all over the UK and Ireland, sometimes travelling as far as France, the Netherlands or Norway. Driving for hours on end was such a regular task that Simon was no longer annoyed by it.
Although he was used to the long weeks away from home base, Simon was relieved to get a job only an hours drive away. The scenery was familiar. Simon had always enjoyed familiarity; routine kept his head screwed on straight. There were fewer distractions when the roads looked the same. Maybe that was why he was so good at his job- each case was the same, and the procedure never changed. Find the monster, collect proof, kill it. Save the mortals one werewolf at a time. Don't think. Don't ask. Just do what you're told.
Simon was better when he didn't have to think. Stick to the mission, and then be assigned a new one. The routine of his life.
He loved New Forest, Hampshire. It was the home of his old boarding school, Watford. His best years were at that school. The trees were broad here and loomed on either side of the long country road. Every other kilometre you were graced with a farm- whether it was horses, cows, sheep, or goats- your nose was violated with the smell of fertilizer.
He was used to this. He loved this- but he had no time to think about grazing sheep. He had a job to do. The Mage (or more informally, his foster father) had sent Simon this way with the indication of a vampire. There were barely any signs, hardly enough for a regular assassin to track, but Simon wasn't a regular assassin. Not only was he one of the best in the organization, but he was also the only one that worked alone. Simon was better alone, and the organization always trusted him to do what had to be done. He didn't need anyone trailing him or getting in his way.
This vampire was discreet- only the Mage could have spotted the clues. There were calls to Animal Control complaining about dead animals being found around the small town, ranging from birds to household cats. Normally such a thing wasn't a problem, seeing as birds died all of the time, but these killings were grisly. The animals' necks were nearly always snapped, their throats torn open exposing bone, muscle and cartilage, and they were always drained of blood. Simon assumed a child finding their cat with its trachea on display would have been pretty scarring.
Besides the small creatures, there were calls every once in a while complaining about farm animals gone missing. It was rare, but it happened. A sheep or two missing from the pasture at the entrance of the town, a cow that was later found drained in a creek.
The locals didn't care much, just assuming there was a pack of coyotes, but Simon knew better.
He arrived at the town sign, passing one of the large sheep pastures that the Mage told him about. They had lost a sheep a week ago.
He drove slowly to the main road in town. It was a sleepy town, tightly knit and made of old yellow cobblestone. Besides the two main streets, there were only forests and scattered neighbourhoods. Simon had the windows of his old car rolled down, rare sunlight streaming through. In this part of England, the weather was typically made up of overcast skies and rain, even in the middle of summer. It had been raining on his drive down, but the skies eventually cleared up, leaving the smell of wet pavement, dewy grass, and mud. He idled by a small grocery store, a cafe only opened from 7 am till 1 pm and several drooping houses. The main road was just as sad- an inn crowded by a sports pub and a sweets shop and opposing a tourist shop, a library and a florist. It was modest and Simon loved it.
After circling the tiny town, Simon determined that the old inn he saw on Main Street was the only one around. Disappointed, but not surprised, he pulled into the small parking lot behind the three buildings that held only 2 other cars. He grabbed his small rucksack full of clothes and weapons and checked into the inn. The building was ageing poorly, sagging like it could cave in any moment. It only had 6 rooms on its two floors.
Simon's room was cramped, with a lumpy bed, old wooden bedside table and a wardrobe that smelt of dust and mothballs. He sighed in resentment and shoved his bag under the bed. There was no point in lounging around when there was a mission to complete.
-
It wasn't hard to pinpoint the area that the vampire resided. The east point of the town had the majority of corpse sightings. In the span of an hour he had talked to several families in the area, and every story seemed to be the same: Over the past 3 years there had been an influx of dead animals found around town- all drained, all mangled, all had their throats ripped. Typical vampire kills. Posing as animal control was a good cover for the job considering this vampire didn't seem to have a taste for humans... at least yet.
Simon hated hunting vampires. They were difficult and disgustingly annoying. Not only did they leave a trail of corpses, but most of the vampires Simon had taken down were snarky, sarcastic, and narcissistic. They loved themselves. They all seemed to have a superiority complex and it bugged Simon to his wit's end. Anything that could rip apart a family cat without remorse was a monster. What did the cat ever do wrong?
After speaking to several people in the neighbourhood, all clues seemed to point to the farthest end of town, which everyone referred to as the Pitch Estate. Their property was vast and completed with a dense forest. If a pack of out of control coyotes lived anywhere, it would be there. Simon took note of this and decided he wouldn't need his car. It was only a ten-minute walk from the area he was interviewing, and the first day was always his day for collecting evidence.
He trekked down the darkened road surrounded by forest until he was met with a posh iron gate. He rolled his eyes. This manor was probably owned by a rich snotty family, not caring about the humble town in the slightest.
By the time he made it to the door, Simon wished he had brought his car. The drive was just as long of a walk as it was from the neighbourhood, except twice as muddy. When he made it to the manor his boots and rim of his cargo pants were speckled with mud and dirt, making him look more like a construction worker than a man who killed rabid animals. Plus, the drive was entirely uphill. If Simon hadn't been in shape from chasing after monsters, he would've been out of breath with a stitch in his side.
The manor itself was huge. It must have been made in the Victorian era, completed with 4 stories (excluding the cellar), pointed roofs, balconies with iron railings and large circular windows on the top floor. Even though it was midday- probably only 2 o'clock- every window was covered in thick, velvet, maroon curtains, and all that was visible from the inside was a soft warm glow. Simon could smell scones baking but ignored the intriguing scent. The manor looked exactly like the residence of a stereotypical vampire. Victorian, aged, elaborate, and over the top. Simon sighed in distaste and fixed a glare on the polished metal door knocker. It looked like some sort of Egyptian relic, the face of a pharaoh or something similar. Simon tested the weight and found it heavy- possibly 5 pounds. He rolled his eyes, hoping the owner of the house was the vampire so that he could feel better about himself.
He set the knocker down silently and rapped on the door with his knuckles just to spite them. Knockers were stupid.
Simon waited for a few moments, fixing his face into a friendly smile. The intricate, dark mahogany door swung open, making Simons smile and stomach drop simultaneously. In front of him stood Basilton Grimm-Pitch, his roommate of 8 years from Watford Boarding School. The boy that he hated and then quickly didn't hate.
"Snow?" Baz asked in bewilderment, nose scrunched and mouth pulled into a grimace. He was wearing a soft knit, dark green jumper, loose jeans and socks. His black, window peaked hair was pulled into a messy bun and his eyes squinted in confusion behind a pair of large, gold-rimmed glasses. They were just nearly circular, the frames thin, and they looked very, very expensive. They opposed his sharp cheekbones and striking eyes.
Simon seemed stuck in a mouth-half-open state. He hadn't seen Baz since the day they graduated- when the Mage had picked him up and fled. Baz was the reason he (maybe) liked boys, something he realized after they kissed in the doorway of their room a month before they graduated. Simon had freaked out and completely stopped talking to Baz. He was terrified of what could've happened if the Mage found out, so he didn't speak to Baz for their last month together and he left without saying goodbye. How do you pick up from there?
"Oh- Baz. You're wearing glasses." Simon stated. That was definitely one way to pick up a three-year absence. Baz stared down at him over his nose skeptically. A tiny smirk pulled at the edge of his mouth as if he didn't know whether to kick him off his property or have a jolly reunion. He ended up choosing a wary in between.
"Why..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "why are you here? I haven't heard from you in three years."
Simon snapped out of his flashback-like trance and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Stick to the mission, he told himself. Stick to the routine disguise.
"Oh. Yeah, I didn't know you lived here. Sorry. I'm here actually because I'm with animal control... in the town over. There have been complaints of um, coyotes in the area? I was talking to your neighbours and they all think they might be in your forest here," Simon gestured awkwardly to the surrounding acres of foliage.
Baz took on a familiar marble-like stare, devoid of emotion. Simon was used to that look; it was the stare he himself took on when he wanted to guard his emotions.
Baz knew there were coyotes in the forest, yes, but they weren't the ones that needed to eat neighbourhood cats to survive. Except Simon didn't need to know that, so he planned to divert him.
"Since when did you ever want to get into animal control?" Baz cross-examined, folding his arms against his chest and leaning against the doorframe.
Simon racked his brain, thrown off by the question and Baz's expensive glasses, which he couldn't peel his eyes from. The whole situation was disorienting him, unhinging his previous assumption that this house held vampires.
"I...um," he rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to answer. Normally during a case, he didn't have to interact with old classmates who he lived with for years. Baz more than anyone would have been confused by his complete change in life plans. "The, uh, Mage thought I would be good at it.... he had acquaintances in the company and stuff, got me a job."
"Really?" Baz asked, marble blockade melting off his face with the genuine question, "even after he got all paranoid? He was worried about everything yet let you work with rabid animals?"
Simon flinched. If only Baz knew what his job actually entailed.
"Uh. Yeah. So, um," he stumbled over his words, hand still clutched around the back of his neck. Baz had always made him nervous, but this felt like a whole new level of unease.
"Use your words, Simon," Baz interrupted, dropping his crossed arms. He sounded soft like he had in year 8 when he stopped acting like he hated Simon. Bloody hell, this whole situation was not helping the mission.
"Yeah. I just need to check your woods out, if that's alright? Is there anywhere you've seen any.... massacred animals?" He asked, cringing at the question while Baz smirked.
Baz was ready to send his old roommate on a wild goose chase. The coyotes had done nothing wrong, and he didn't want Simon to kill off a whole pack for no reason. Plus, it'd be funny to see Simon wandering aimlessly through acres of the forest only to find absolutely nothing.
"Yeah, sure. I mean we haven't had any problems, but sometimes I hear them outback. Seems to come from the east. There might be a path you could follow but I'm not sure how long it'll last. We have a lot of property out there and I haven't explored half of it," he lied. Baz had seen the forest inside and out by now. He was sending Simon in the opposite direction of the pack.
"Thanks! I'll uh, maybe see you later?" Simon replied, ready to set off and look for clues. Baz grimaced and grabbed the door, ready to shut it in his face.
"Probably not." He nodded goodbye, throwing the heavy door closed. Simon exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and set off.
—————
After three hours of stomping through Baz's darkening forest, Simon was positive he would find absolutely nothing. He hadn't traced a single thing- not a drop of blood, no animal corpses, no footprints. He hadn't even found a coyote pack. All he had accomplished was a damp, muddy smell. He was exhausted and bored without any action.
It was probably a dead end. No need to wander through a forest that obviously doesn't have a vampire (or any animals it seemed, what the hell?) when he could shower and maybe get a drink at the pub next to his inn. He could just pick up the case tomorrow and maybe get something done. Obviously, he was having a bad day.
Simon trudged back to the manor's drive. The house (could he even call it a house?) still looked cold and mysterious on the outside. Simon knew he should head back to the inn, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Baz was only a few steps away from him. Maybe he should tell him there was nothing to worry about in the forest.
He walked back up to the door, ignoring the knocker once more, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he waited for the door to open. When it did, he frowned in disappointment.
Standing in front of him was an older version of Mordelia Grimm. Simon hadn't seen her since she was in year one when she was 11 years old and still wore hot pink berets in her hair. Now she would have been 14 or so, and she was very obviously following in her (aunt?) Fiona's footsteps. She wore smudged black eyeliner, her messy black hair had a white dyed streak and her ears were all pierced up. She even had a septum piercing. If Simon wasn't so freaked out by the sudden age shift he would've been proud of how much she had grown. Simon was also reminded that it was summer, and she was obviously living at home like Baz used to.
"Simon?" She asked, turning her nose up, "what the hell are you doing here?"
He opened his mouth to explain but she widened her eyes and waved her hands dismissively.
"I don't actually care. At all. Here for Baz?" She quirked an eyebrow and Simon noticed it had a slit. He nodded mutely. Mordelia always freaked him out. She was demanding and scary, similar to Fiona.
"BAZ!" She screeched, leaning back while supporting her weight with the door handle. Her hair swung wildly and the door rocked back and forth.
"FUCK OFF MORDY IM TRYING TO READ!" Baz yelled back in response. Simon couldn't tell where the voice was coming from, there had to be hundreds of rooms in the house. They probably had a kitchen on every floor.
"SIMONS HERE! STOP BEING LAME AND COME SOCIALIZE!"
"Oh!" Simon heard a grunt and light footsteps before Baz appeared behind his sister. He was so much taller than her it was funny. She barely met his chin, and his legs were at the same height as her chest. All legs. Baz had always been all legs. It was the reason Simon lacked next to him.
Mordelia glared at Baz before smirking at Simon, giving him a salute and vanishing. It was just Simon and Baz once more.
"So, uh, I didn't find anything to be concerned about in your forest... I didn't find much of anything actually," Simon brought his hand back to his neck, a nervous habit he had never been able to get rid of.
Baz looked him up in down, making Simon extremely self-conscious of the leaves stuck in his curls and mud covering his pants. The constant rain had made the woods a mess of muck and dirt, and it clung to Simon like werewolf hair. Baz must've seen the disappointed look in Simon's eyes and took pity on him.
"You look like a wreck, Snow, why don't you come inside and get cleaned up," his eyes were soft,
"I assume you're staying at the Knights Inn, and they only have cold water. I'm sure you don't want to sleep in a tiny bed as if you've rolled around with the pigs."
Of course, Baz was right. Knights was the only place in town and it was a dump. It was worse than his place at home. Assuming Baz didn't stab Simon as soon as he stepped inside the mansion, he couldn't find any cons to a warm shower.
"I guess you're right, a shower would be great," Simon relented. Baz flashed him a smile- the first smile he'd seen from him in three years- and even though it wasn't soft and warm like it used to be, it made Simons heart flutter nonetheless.
"Come on Snow, come inside and take off those tragic boots. Malcolm doesn't like mud in the house, I was never even allowed a dog."
—
Baz's shower was seriously heavenly. The mud and sweat pooled at his feet, leaving him refreshed.
He hopped out onto the bath mat to find that the bathroom was different than how he left it, meaning Baz had come into the bathroom while he was in the shower.
3 years ago, when they had been roommates, that wouldn't have been weird. Now they were 3 years older. Plus all of the other problems. So many problems.
Nonetheless, Baz had left him two clean towels, blindly white and soft, along with new clothes. While Simon's ratty clothes were missing (except his boxers, oh god), there was a new stack of clothes: an old large navy blue jumper, grey sweats and a pair of socks.
Simon tried to ignore the feelings in the pit of his stomach. Baz was just cleaning his clothes after he muddied them up in the forest. They were disgustingly dirty and just coated in Baz's backyard. Simon knew he couldn't fall back into the hole he did in year 8. He had a mission. He needed to find the vampire in the town, and he had to kill it.
The mission was stupid. When he was sent, he was hoping there would be a pack like the one he had fought in London 2 years prior. Unfortunately, this singular vampire seemed to starve himself. There were barely animal corpses anywhere, and not a single body around. It was the least blood-lusting vampire alive- or not alive. Simon wasn't sure whether vampires were alive or not.
Simon unwillingly (he was willing) pulled on Baz's clothes piece by piece. He tried not to breathe too deeply, as the clothes smelt just like him, unchanged from his Watford years. Cedar and bergamot. Absolute prick.
Simon padded out into Baz's room in Baz's socks, finally taking in his surroundings. He shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as the house was millions of dollars, and due to how posh Baz was in general. His walls were a deep, dark green, the same colour as the jumper he had been wearing. He had a four-poster king-sized bed and huge built-in rustic bookshelves that were overflowing with books, records, and awards. Even his desk was piled with papers despite the fact that it was summer, and if he did go to uni, he shouldn't have had any work.
Obviously, the room cost more than Simon's life ever would.
Baz, completely unphased by the room, was lounging on his sofa (yes, he had a sofa in his room) with a blank face and a book.
"What'd you do with my clothes?" Simon asked, sliding his feet against the dark hardwood floors. He knew what Baz did with his clothes, but he needed something to break the silence.
"I put them in the wash, Snow," Baz deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow. The glasses had disappeared, much to Simon's disappointment. He wouldn't have kept them on knowing Simon took a liking to them.
"What do you think I did with them? Fed them to the coyotes?"
Despite Baz's sharp remark, Simon shrugged nonchalantly. He felt strange in the soft jumper and too-long sweats. He didn't think it was possible that Baz owned sweats. He was too posh.
Baz placed a laminated bookmark in his book and set it down beside him. He looked Simon up and down like he had at his doorway.
"You look much more presentable now. You looked like you purposely fell in the mud before, it was disgusting."
Simon shifted from foot to foot. He wasn't sure how Baz thought about him after ghosting him three years before. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and get kicked out.
"I should have guessed you lived in a mansion, you were always too posh for Watford," he muttered in response. Baz sneered.
"Posh, but apparently a boarding school was the perfect place for me. Malcolm didn't want me ending up like Fiona. To his luck his two oldest like Fiona more than him." He brushed a loose black hair behind his ears, "at least I'm not the only disappointing child anymore."
Simon looked at him funny. Baz was the smartest and most accomplished person at Watford of their year.
"How could you be a disappointment?" Simon plunked onto the floor in front of the couch. He was already readjusting to Baz's company, and Baz gave him a weird look as he settled in. "You're the smartest person I've ever met and you're incredible at everything. You're literally the dream child."
Simon tried to hide his jealousy. If anyone was a disappointment to his family it was Simon- the Mage never believed what he did was good enough. No matter how much of his life he had sacrificed. Baz snorted at the encouragement,
"Ah yes, the perfect child. Refuses to work in the family business and is a flaming homosexual. Perfectly posh with a large sprinkling of rebellion." He spat. Simon avoided his eyes. Simon had known Baz liked guys since year seven, but knowing about it had only fuelled his problem.
"Well if it makes you feel any better, the Mage will probably always hate me. So we're both the problem children," he sighed, finally catching Baz's eyes. They stared and fell into a comfortable silence. They had become so close in the eighth year after hating each other for years. Simon wanted the closeness again.
"It's nice to see you again, Simon," Baz murmured. Simon hoped his cheeks weren't too colourful. He couldn't do this. He had a mission. In and out. Easy peasy.
But Baz was right in front of him. Baz was there and there was no danger around him for the first time in years. Simon was in Baz's clothes and in his room.
"It really has been too long..." he muttered in agreement, swallowing deeply. Baz opened his mouth to say more when the door was dramatically thrown open.
"Dinner!" Mordelia screeched even though they were sitting two feet away from her. Baz's eyes flashed,
"Mordelia, what did I say about knocking?" He snarled, hands clenched into fists. Mordelia rolled her eyes. She looked more and more like Fiona each time Simon saw her, and they weren't even related.
"Yeah yeah, knock first, whatever. It's not like you two were snogging. God, you're so touchy," she left the room with another eye roll, purposely leaving the door wide open. Baz growled like an animal, his pale cheeks showing the first bit of colour Simon had seen all day. The only bit of colour Simon had seen since they kissed.
Although mortified, Simon couldn't help but bark a laugh,
"Well at least Mordelia doesn't care about your 'flaming homosexuality,'" he snorted. Baz shifted his glare to Simon deadly quick.
At the mention of food Simon's stomach growled, and he couldn't help but take note of Baz's state. He looked malnourished. His skin was paler than Simon had ever noticed, his eyes were dark, and his cheeks sunken. While Simon had noted these features in year five, they seemed worse now. He always assumed Baz was depressed or stressed out due to school, but realistically it looked as if Baz had an eating disorder.
Baz saw Simon checking him out and rolled his eyes in a similar fashion that Mordelia had- not that Simon would tell him that.
"Come on, Snow. It's dinner time," he stood up, dusting off his completely clean jeans.
"Dinner?" Simon asked in bewilderment and stood up with him.
"Yes, stupid, it's nearly 7. I told Daphne to add an extra set while you took your hour-long shower."
"For me?" Simon questioned stupidly. He felt weirdly welcomed in his warm clothes and the strange house.
"There's no one else here Snow, let's be bright. You didn't lose all your brain cells killing animals did you?" Baz snapped, leaving the room. Simon stared at his back with a frown.
"Shut up," he muttered and followed close behind so he wouldn't get lost.
—
Simon was convinced Baz had an eating disorder after dinner. Or something like that. He didn't really know much about mental illnesses. He knew more about monsters than people at this point.
While Simon couldn't get enough of Daphne's shepherd's pie (he had never eaten something that tasted so... homemade) Baz had barely touched his small serving. Simon watched carefully as Baz took tiny, calculated bites, and then began to chew with his hand covering his mouth. He hardly touched the meal by the time Simon had three servings.
Simon was worried about his old friend, but when they walked back up to Baz's room and he had brought it up, it went something like this:
"You didn't eat a lot of dinner."
"Yeah, and you ate a fuck ton."
"Well, Daphne offered more..."
"Ah yes, you are just so polite you couldn't turn down the offer"
"Shut up. But seriously, you barely ate tonight."
"I wasn't hungry tonight."
"Your stomach was growling!"
"Your stomach was growling."
"Yeah! Because I was hungry."
"Yeah. And I wasn't. Shut up, Simon."
And that was the end of that conversation. Simon was stubborn, but Baz was closed off. It was near impossible to get information out of him and he became touchy after that conversation. When they made it to his room and Simon plopped onto the floor, Baz gave him a dark look.
"What?" Simon snapped like he would have years ago.
"Your clothes are probably done," he stayed before promptly leaving Simon in the room. Alone.
Simon was a trainer stalker and killer (if he said it like that it sounded horrible) and being left in a room made the tips of his fingers itch with curiosity.
He wanted information. Maybe something to tell him where Baz had been for the past three years.
It made him feel a bit guilty to go through a human's room who had done nothing wrong rather than a creature's, but Simon had done this all of the time back at Watford. Going through Baz's things was like second nature. Simon wandered to the bookshelves absentmindedly, noting familiar books from their Watford days. On the floor next to a record player were several of the records Baz had hidden under his bed in their old room so that Simon wouldn't touch them (he always did). They were obviously this favourites considering that three years later they were still used the most often. A Bowie album (baz was obsessed with bowie), a Stones album. He spotted what looked like a Nirvana record along with Green Day.
Although Baz's interest in books and music was nice to see, it wasn't going to teach him anything about Baz's current life.
Simon wandered to the paper-covered desk next, to investigate what he could. Before he picked up a paper he spotted a drop of dried blood on the old wood. He knew how to spot blood from a mile away.
The discovery jolted him back to reality- why he was in Baz's town in the first place. He needed to find and kill the vampire before it decided to stop its diet and start chewing on humans. If anything supernatural hurt Baz (and his family, he supposed) Simon would never forgive himself. Especially since it was his job.
The door swung open before Simon could pick up a single page on the desk.
"Stop going through my stuff, Snow, you did that enough at Watford. I would think my room would be safe from your grimy fingers." Baz huffed on opposing sides of the large room from him. Simon turned to see him clutching a pile of clothes- Simon's clothes- a pair of old cargo pants, a grey shirt with the Watford logo and holes, and his fraying socks.
"You really need to take better care of your clothes," he sniffed in disgust, throwing the pile at Simon's chest. He stumbled to grab each article.
"I'm on a job to hunt down rabid coyotes, it's not like I need a suit," Simon muttered, clutching his clothes to his chest. They smelt like Baz's detergent, like Baz. He would be stuck with the smell for days.
"Still, there are holes in your socks. Just throw them out, it's embarrassing," Baz nodded towards his bathroom. Simon took the hint and left to change. He immediately missed the soft jumper.
When he was done and stepped out of the bathroom, Baz was nowhere to be seen. He obviously had gotten bored of Simon's presence and left. Simon sighed dramatically. This day seemed to last forever. No leads, just awkward encounters with Baz.
He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation and stepped out of the room, and nearly slammed into Baz. Baz's eyes widened in alarm as he tried to steady his mug of tea- earl grey?- as it sloshed precariously near the edges of the cup.
"Watch where you're going, Snow!" He snapped, wiping a hand on his pants where the tea had spilt on him. Simon sneered,
"Your hallways are pitch black, how was I supposed to see you?"
"Shut up," Baz muttered. Simon stepped back a foot so that there was space between them.
"So, I guess I should be heading out..." he commented. He searched for upset on Baz's face but was met with his marble-like blank stare. He wasn't going to open up anytime soon.
"Yeah. Ok, see you in another three years I guess," he stated nonchalantly, eyes sharp as Simon's sword. He tried to dodge around him to get into his room. Simon, despite knowing that he couldn't have a relationship in his organization, that he definitely couldn't have a relationship with a man, and had a mission to kill a vampire and leave, grabbed Baz's shoulder before he could shut the door on his face. He'd rather not wait another three years to see Baz again. Simon didn't realize how much he had missed him until they were in the same vicinity.
This job was supposed to be painless. Easy. He was supposed to find the vampire, chop its head off, and head back to base. It should have taken three days tops. He wasn't supposed to be falling for his old roommate all over again, one tug at his chest at a time. He was glad that Baz's house was a dead end because it gave him more time in Baz's hometown. Near Baz. He was a mess.
Baz froze under Simon's touch and stared at him expectantly. Simon didn't know what to say, he just didn't want to leave.
"Could you... um, drive me to the inn? It's getting dark, and I didn't drive over," he divulged, embarrassed. Baz stared at him like he was insane.
"You didn't drive here? You walked from the inn? Are you daft?" He spat. Simon chuckled,
"Oops?"
"You are seriously the worst animal control person I have ever met," he huffed, glaring at Simon, "fine. Let's get on with it."
Baz- upsettingly- put his freshly made cup of tea in a reusable Starbucks bottle and led Simon to a 5 car garage that was unattached to the house. An entire building, just for cars. It looked nicer on the outside than Simon's place.
Baz owned a 2019 black Mercedes Benz (of course he did) without a trace of dirt or a scratch. That seemed nearly impossible, considering they lived in a town full of muck, but Simon assumed he had a personal car washer or something roaming around. He had seen a maid at dinner, he wouldn't be surprised.
He carefully stepped into the passenger side, careful not to kick any mud into the fancy car. It was too pristine to have mud in it. Baz pulled out slowly into the darkening night.
"You're staying at Knights, correct?" Baz asked, face slack.
"Uh, yeah. There was nowhere else in the town." Simon replied, moving the functions on the side of the seat so that it leaned back and pushed forwards. Baz glared at him.
"I know there isn't, but it still sucks. Good luck," Baz pulled onto a neighbourhood road near the Main Street. He wasn't actually that far from town, but the town was surrounded by dark forests and if Baz was right and there were coyotes roaming around, he didn't want to meet them. He knew how to kill vampires. Not coyotes. It couldn't be that hard, but it wasn't necessary.
"So are you leaving tomorrow?" Baz asked, trying to sound casual, eyes on the road. Simon wished he was wearing his glasses and speaking softly again. He wanted Baz from three years ago.
"Um. No, I actually was told to uh, find out whether the coyotes are rabid? Yeah, something like that." Simon tried to explain. Baz scoffed.
"Wow, you really sound like you understand your job, Snow," he turned the car down another road. The few streetlights made the town a perfect mix of light and dark, and every time they passed under a lamp it shadowed Baz's eyes and cheekbones making him look more intimidating.
"Shut up," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking out the window. He didn't normally have to explain a disguise. He was usually in, killed, and out before the week ended. A tiny speck of dirt of the window made him feel better. Simon had the urge to place his hot hand on the window and leave a large handprint, just to annoy Baz.
Baz pulled up to the inn, crumbling old yellow stone and crowded by the sports pub and sweets shop. It was such a strange town, Simon really didn't understand the layout. Baz put the car in park and stared at Simon.
"So, um," Simon cleared his throat, "I was wondering actually. If the coyotes are in your forest, could I get your number in case I need to come back? I mean unless you don't want to I'd understand-"
"Jesus, Snow, you're hopeless. Give me your phone," he demanded. Simon carefully went to his contacts.
Baz quickly typed in his number and handed the phone back. His hands were more calloused than Simon remembered, but his nails were still chewed down to the bit. They were no longer kids, but Baz still had the same nervous habits.
"Thanks," Simon muttered, pocketing his phone.
"You're welcome, Snow," Baz replied, followed by an awkward silence.
"Maybe," Simon coughed half-heartedly and rubbed his neck, "maybe I could see you before I leave?"
"Maybe." Baz gave him a dark look. He was shutting down. Conversation over. Simon took the hint and got out of the car, and Baz sped away before Simon could wave goodbye.
There was no point in fretting. He had a dead-end he needed to sort out.