Chapter Text
BAZ
“Pitch! Am I seeing things?!” The voice pierced my ear, loud and echoey in the dining hall, making me grimace. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and had a pounding headache. It was morning—definitely not the time for such a clamorous sound. I almost wondered if it might be Snow; I certainly wouldn’t put such an explosion past the overly-energetic blonde. But no, this voice was more tinny, high pitched and far too excited about seeing me to belong to Snow. I scowled, flashing a glance towards the general direction of the call—uninterested, particularly after the prior sleepless night. But again, the exclamation repeated itself, the voice drawing nearer.
“Baz! We all thought you weren’t coming back! What happened?!” I sighed in exasperation as I recognized the voice; Gareth and his magickal belt buckle. I had always found Gareth to be rather annoying, certainly not someone I wanted to associate with. I attempted to ignore him, until the boy was mere inches away from my face; he was practically yelling about something I didn’t give two shits about. Plastering on a fake smile, I greeted Gareth politely—how Pitches should. I was raised right, after all. I glanced over at Snow, who seemed to be glaring at Gareth for whatever reason. Or perhaps that was just his resting facial position. Snow had spent so much time glaring at people that it would be no surprise if his face began to take on a permanent grimace. I dragged my eyes back over to Gareth, pretending to pay attention. “Where have you been?! Coach and the team have really missed you; we haven’t won a game in ages!”
I sneered; “Of course you haven’t—the team is shit without me.” My smile twitched, annoyance flashing across my face for a brief second. “Not like that’s a surprise. Well, Gareth, really a pleasure to see you again.” Turning my back, I faced away from him again. Yet, to my dismay, I felt the bench beside me bow under the pressure of a new guest. I’d been praying that Gareth wouldn’t take the empty seat at our table.
“Golly, Pitch, where the hell have you been? You’ve gotta tell me all about it!”
“Away.” I sat unmoving, refusing to meet Gareth’s eyes.
“Wow! Sounds fun!” I wasn’t sure whether Gareth’s response was a signal of unintelligence or disinterest from the boy’s side. I had never paid much thought to this teammate. However, having seen him interact with his friends; acting like a giddy puppy, it was likely unintelligence. I shuddered at the thought of being seen with this moron. I didn’t respond, hoping it would drive away the other boy, to no avail. Gareth continued to chatter on, I offered up a shallow “Yeah” or a nod every time the idiot paused. It was almost Snow-like, his thickness; although Snow was somewhat more endearing and tolerable.
“Well Gareth, I’ve got to get to class,” I said, frowning as I stood up from the table.
“Alright, Baz! See ya around!” Gareth squeezed my arm, and before I could jerk away, slapped a hand onto my back; the result was something in between a chest bump and a hug, made further difficult by my squirming away. My eyes widened and I backed up, turning toward the exit quickly. Feebly, I waved my hand in the air, a half-assed attempt at bidding Gareth farewell.
That had possibly been one of the most annoying conversations I’d ever partaken in— I knew to avoid Gareth at all costs after that disaster. What a way to start a morning. It didn’t bode well for the rest of my day. My first class was with Snow, who had seen Gareth harassing me while he was throwing away his napkins, probably after devouring his scones.
Snow proceeded to stare at me the entire class. He wasn’t paying any attention to the lesson, so it was no wonder his magic was fuming and smoking; eventually it got so bad that Ms. Possibelf had to send him out of class to calm down. Typical Snow—his magick was as unstable as his psyche seemed to appear. I stared after him as he left.
I've never understood Snow’s relationship to magick. Frustrated, it seemed to brim over at random moments—he has little to no control over it. Sort of like Snow himself; short tempered and uncontrollable. That thought brought me a feeling of smug satisfaction as I flicked my wand, casting a perfect nothing to see here on my eraser. I caught Snow’s gaze just as the spell completed, furthering my sense of achievement as I smirked. This seemed to send Snow deeper into a fit, the boy glaring and growling under his breath as he stomped out of the classroom once again when Ms. Possibelf sighed and pointed to the door.
That’s right, Snow. I stuck my chin out and winked at the professor; who promptly ignored me. I’m a better mage than you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Sure, I had missed much of the first term of school. But I was already miles ahead of everyone else in the class. I could probably miss a whole year and come out unscathed. I zoned out for the rest of the period, the sound of Snow’s pacing in the hallway drawing my attention away from the already dreadfully dull lesson. I didn’t need to pay attention anyways; I already knew everything. My father had forced me to spend entire summers studying. Once the bell rang and class was dismissed, I stopped back at my room to drop off my books. Snow was there, it was his free period. He glared at me bitterly before clenching his teeth and spitting out, “What did Gareth want?”
“That’s none of your business,” I sneered at the blonde boy before turning around and slamming the door shut. I heard Snow shout “HEY!” after me, cut off by the closing door. The rest of my classes were mind-numbingly boring, and I zoned out the entire time day-dreaming about blue eyes and a constellation of moles.
My biggest secret, that nobody—not even Dev or Niall—knew about.
I was in love with the chosen one.
I knew there was no possible way that Simon would love me back—he was straight, Crowley—but I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling almost since I first met him. Denial, acceptance, anger, denial—and the cycle began again. I had tried every last possible thing to do away with my feelings for Simon. The summer of fifth year was a difficult time for me; I had tried to no avail to wank my feelings away. Nothing seemed to work.
I had liked ‘stupid’ people before—my primary school crush on the green eyed class clown, my short lived feelings for a wild tanned boy I’d met one summer at the beach who looked suspiciously similar to Simon. But those were fleeting and silly, usually the product of boredom. With Simon it was different. Every little movement, when he would practice with the Sword of Mages nonstop (on my side of the room!) to let out his anger after failing a test. Or dropping onto his bed and yelling for five minutes straight after stubbing a toe, just to piss me off; it made me love him more. It should have irritated me—after all, I was a Pitch - but I just found it to be oddly attractive. Simon was so fiery, he exploded with passion and anger at random times. There was an allure to the unpredictability, it drew me in. My life was full of predictability. Simon was the only thing I didn’t know how to control, only Simon could control Simon—and he couldn’t even do that half the time anyways.
His golden hair and skin, his painfully average blue eyes. I knew every part of him—had mapped out his moles in his head, memorized his features so I could survive the long summers we spent apart. I wished I really knew Simon; his favorite things besides butter and sour cherry scones, where the Mage sent him in the summers; I wanted to protect him, shield him from the Humdrum and the war and anything bad that could ever happen to him. I wanted to pick apart and dissect his brain. Figure out how his brain worked. I loved Simon, of course—how could I not- but I was naturally curious—how does Simon’s magic work? Why was it so difficult for him to do simple spellwork?
But they were also the things that made Simon SIMON; the Simon that I had fallen for, despite us hating each other. We lived together, had classes together. We even showered in the same bathroom, Crowley. But we were far apart, separated by an insurmountable divide. And I knew that would never change. Simon hated me. And I didn’t blame him; after all, I was a vampire. A monster. I didn’t even love myself, how could I expect Simon to? Simon was like a flame—he kept drawing me in, burning me every time I got close. But I kept going back to him, baiting him—just to get him to look at me. I didn’t know any other way. Simon was the reason I got out of the bed in the mornings, the reason I could tolerate living as the monster I constantly told myself I was. Again and again, I told myself what I knew was true: this would end in flames. And I’d let it, because that was my plan to go out in the first place. Kiss Simon Snow and then let Simon Snow drive the Sword of Mages into my heart. What a way to die.