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BAZ
The air is hot and sticky and smells of cheap booze, and I’m cursing myself for letting Dev and Niall drag me out to this godforsaken place. I swear I’ve succumbed to banal sentimentality for the first and last time in my life.
“Last week, Pitch! One last rally with the lads!” they kept saying, and clapping me on the back as they did.
It is true that it’s our last week, only a few days before graduation, but why on earth should that mean that I must rouse every base instinct and expose myself to the dim-witted society that roams this karaoke bar stroke bowling alley stroke veritable nightmare scenario for my Friday evening?
Alas, drag me they did, and so now I’m clutching a cold pint and standing in the corner, straight-backed and irritated. A guy with floppy hair and horn-rimmed glasses who used to sit next to me in our Society and Language tutorial second-year (Blake? Barry? Bryce?) is belting out a rather off-tune “Brown Eyed Girl” on the stage.
Dev and Niall went to get another round, so I’m stuck here with Gareth of all people, listening to him blather on about the fine leather company he’ll be working for after graduation, doing marketing for the belts that they make. I’m certainly learning far more about Gareth and his belts than I ever wanted to know.
When they finally return, Dev and Niall are even more giggly than when they left, and they’re touching shoulders every other step and glancing sideways at each other.
“Oi, your man is here,” Niall says, poking me in the chest.
“I don’t have a man,” I say, rolling my eyes. Not that I’d be opposed to the idea. But I’m pretty sure I would have been aware if I had.
“Your man Snow,” he continues, with another sideways look to Dev. They’re both looking especially chummy right now, and to my displeasure, Gareth is still standing far too close and listening to this exchange, which means he probably also sees the blush that surely just shot up my cheeks at Niall’s words.
Snow. Simon . My bloody first-year roommate, who left dishes in the sink and socks on the floor and the image of the golden glow of sunlight in his tousled tawny hair in my dreams for many months. He’s a walking disaster, but even now whenever I see him around campus my heart skips a few beats.
I turn away from Niall’s knowing stare back onto the stage, where Blake/Barry/Bryce is currently conducting the ‘sha-la-la’s of the twenty or so almost-graduates now crowded around him.
“Well?” Dev asks. “Fancy a chat with the bloke?”
I’d fancy a hell of a lot more than a chat, if I’m being honest.
SIMON
I love it here. The energy— everyone keeps clapping each other on the back and buying each other rounds. It’s so great.
We’re graduating in just about a week, and I know everything will change then. I haven’t really let myself think about it much. But Penny and I are getting a flat together, and I’m sure it’ll be good.
I convinced her to come with me tonight, and a few pints in, her hair is coming out of its thick plait and she’s shouting the ‘sha-la-la-la-la’s as loudly as anyone. We’re crowded together around this guy singing “Brown Eyed Girl,” and I can’t believe how great he is.
“He sounds like he should be on the radio!” I yell to Penny. She laughs.
“Let’s do one!” I implore, elbowing her in the side, and she nods with much more enthusiasm than I expect. I motion that I’ll go sign us up for a song, and she walks over to join Agatha by the bar.
I’m squeezing between different groups of undergrads all clad in various layers of denim and cropped white tops and black trousers. Another bean of sweat drips down my forehead during the walk. When I’m almost to the stand, two guys in football shirts— one red-headed and weedy, and the other with brown hair and a careless expression— stumble into my path.
“Sorry, mate,” the red-head winces, and when I catch his eyes the recognition starts. “Snow?” he asks, his eyebrows jumping up. The brown-haired bloke darts a look over at the redhead, whose name is—
“Niall! How are you, man? And you are…” I trail off apologetically.
“Dev,” the one I’d forgotten finishes shortly, rolling his eyes.
“Right,” I say awkwardly. “Well. What— what are you up to? Well, you’re here, I guess, huh? And, uh— ”
“Hey, Snow,” Niall interrupts my useless rambling. “We’ve got to get back to Baz. Do you remember Baz?”
I swallow. Uh, you could say that. Remember him? Can’t get the memory of his thighs peeking out from his football kit out of my mind for the last four years? Same thing. Baz’s name has been flashing in my mind for the last few minutes, ever since I ran into his friends.
“Yeah,” I say weakly. “I do.”
Niall winks at me. “Catch you later, Snow.” Even Dev manages a grin as they saunter away.
BAZ
As much as I try to stop them (I do have some self-respect, after all), my eyes keep breaking away to look over by where Snow and his friends are. He’s with that girl Penny he’s always with, and, to my dismay, his ex-girlfriend Agatha.
Is that another cruel reminder of the many barriers that got in between Simon’s and my fairy-tale romance? Let alone that we spent most of our tenure as roommates absolutely loathing each other (or appearing to), but Simon was entangled in an annoyingly complicated relationship for our first year in uni.
Although, I can’t help but notice that there’s a girl on the stage now in tight high-waisted black trousers and an off-the-shoulder top, performing a rather passionate rendition of “Mamma Mia,” and Agatha is eyeing the sway of her hips with more than a little interest.
Simon, for his part, is living it up this evening. I even heard him “Whoop ” a few times, which wasn’t something I thought real people did in real life. Of course, if anyone could, it would be Simon.
I wouldn’t let Dev and Niall pull me over to them earlier. I’ve been sulking, which feels like a perfectly reasonable response to pretty much anything at this point.
When off-the-shoulder-girl finishes her song, I glance back over to where Simon was standing. Agatha is clapping enthusiastically, but Simon and Penny are nowhere to be seen.
Then, I hear a familiar laugh over the speakers, and Simon Snow strikes a pose on the stage as he belts out, “Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.”
Before I can truly process what I’m seeing, Penny struts out after him, hands on her hips, with the follow up: “So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.”
Back and forth they go, shimmying around and jumping up and at times completely losing their place in the lyrics and breaking down into laughter instead.
I’m really staring now, watching the tiny strip of his stomach that is visible when he lifts his arms and his faded gray shirt pulls up. But it’s okay because they’re performing, even Dev and Niall are watching them now.
And then I feel a great push into me from behind, and it’s Dev imploring me toward the stage, but my feet stand firm on the ground. Unfortunately, this means the momentum from his push releases into my arm that’s holding my mostly-full pint, which gives an almighty lurch and spills in a dramatic arc, splattering several people with sticky beer in their hair and catching Simon himself with more than a few wayward drops.
I want to fucking evaporate on the spot. But instead I have to turn around and walk the fourteen long steps that it takes to make it to the back exit.
SIMON
By the time I’m treated to the truly hilarious spectacle of Baz’s face after he spilled the beer, I had already made up my mind. I have nothing to lose by asking him out, and if nothing else at least we’ll both have embarrassed ourselves tonight.
Dev and Niall accost me after our last “slam your body down and wind it all around,” insisting that I go talk to Baz. They lead me to the back door, and when I push it open, the night air is warm on my face.
Baz is standing facing the alley, twisting a cigarette around in his fingers.
I try to think of some stunningly clever entrance line but eventually settle on, “Hey.”
Baz turns toward me and his lips purse a bit. “A magnificent performance, Snow,” he says sardonically. He always could turn on the polish when it counted. “Remind me, if one did want to be your lover, who was it that one would have to— get with?”
It’s Baz knowing the Spice Girl lyrics and saying the word ‘lover’ to me with a straight face that does it. “Do you want to go out sometime?” I say the words all in a rush. I’m grinning, I can’t help it.
Baz’s eyes widen a bit, and he drops his cigarette. He clears his throat, and I wait a minute but no words come out.
“You should pick that up, you know,” I say, gesturing toward the discarded cigarette. “The environment.”
“Yes, thank you for your concern,” he snaps, reaching down to pick up his one cigarette which was scattered among a dozen on the pavement.
He looks back at me as he flicks it into a nearby bin. “Alright,” he says. “We can— go out sometime.” His cheeks are turning a little pink.
I’m still grinning broadly. “If you wanna get with me,” I begin, and Baz lifts an eyebrow. “Better make it fast.”
Baz’s smile finally breaks free. “Well, it’s been four years in the making at this point, but I’ll do my best.”