Archive of Our Own ^beta

Simon 

I’m trying not to panic at the bizarre turn of events this night has brought.  I haven’t seen Baz in what?  Three years?  And now he’s here.  At my place of work.  Asking for my help.  (Which I very much am not qualified to give.  I’m only a vet tech after all.) 

But it’s Christmas Eve, and his sisters looked at me so pitifully when they showed up at our clinic.  (Even though there was a very prominent “Closed” sign on the door.)  Still, there’s a near blizzard outside, and I know the closest 24-hour animal hospital is at least a 45-minute drive from here.  So, against my better judgment, I decided I couldn’t turn them away.  

I open the door to the small exam room and turn on the light, gesturing for Baz and the twins to file inside.  

“Thank you,” Baz says, walking into the cramped space as far as he can manage to make room for his sisters.  “I don’t know that we’d be able to make it anywhere else that’s open in this weather.”  

“‘S no problem,” I mumble.  I wish I didn’t feel this nervous.  (I wish he didn’t make me this nervous.)  But Baz had always made me feel like a right git when we were in school.  And I don’t exactly fancy the idea of taking one look at their pet and throwing my hands up in defeat.  Which is probably what is about to happen.  (Because I’m not fucking qualified!) (Like I said, trying not to panic.)  

I watch Baz open up his black peacoat, little flecks of snow drifting gently to the ground.  He looks like a goddamn runway model, in an expensive floral print shirt, black trousers, and designer shoes.  (Who wears shoes like that in the snow?)  He looks even better than he did the last time I saw him.  (And he looked well hot at graduation.  So hot, I choked on the sparkling apple cider Penny’s parents’ brought for us to toast with after the ceremony.  Not my finest moment.) 

“Um, you can put the cage up here,” I say, tapping the metal exam table.  The girl holding the cage looks up at Baz expectantly and he nods, so she sets the cage on the table.  Baz uncoils the scarf that had been wrapped around it, unveiling the mystery animal.  There’s a small, white mouse snuffling around in the shavings.  To my relief, it looks fairly healthy.  It’s alert, its movements look natural, and from what I can tell, nothing seems to be amiss.  Maybe I won’t royally fuck this up after all.  

“Aw, who’s this little cutie?” I ask, bending down to get a closer look. 

“That’s Stuart,” says the other girl.  

“Well of course he is,” I say.  “As in Stuart Little, yes?” 

She nods, smiling.  “Stuart is mine, but Petra’s mouse is the one that’s sick,” she says, pointing to a little house in the corner that’s made to look like a toadstool.  I peek inside and see there’s another mouse, almost identical to the first one.  It’s huddled in the dark house, its head pointed away from me.  At first, it looks as if its body is quite still.  But suddenly, the mouse starts shaking a bit.  Well…crap.  That is not a good sign.  But I think I might be able to help after all.  I stand up, facing Baz and his sisters.  

“And what’s this one’s name?” I ask quietly, looking at Petra.  

“That’s Marshmallow,” she says, matching my volume with a somber expression on her face.  

“Can you tell me what’s been going on with Marshmallow?” I ask.  

“They were both perfectly fine when I bought them yesterday, but today all of a sudden-” I raise my hand, cutting Baz off. 

Baz

“I was hoping she could tell me,” Snow says.  I open my mouth to protest, but I decide better of it and snap it shut.  We’ve barely acknowledged that we know each other besides our baffled greeting outside.  I’d thought he seemed rather indifferent about seeing me again but apparently he still harbors disdain for me.  I suppose I can’t blame him.  I did make his life miserable for eight years.  Though, to be fair, he’d made mine equally miserable.  Is miserable the right word?  Is there a word for what it feels like to be desperately in love with someone who hated you?   

“Petra,” he says.  “Could you tell me what you’ve noticed about little Marshmallow?” 

I cross my arms in frustration.  But when Petra looks at me for guidance I soften my gaze in her direction.  “Go on,” I say, giving her permission to tell the story. 

Petra takes a deep breath.  “Well, when Basil brought us the mice today, they seemed fine. Only…” she starts and then hesitates.  

“Yes?” he asks gently. 

“Well, Stuart seemed much more busy and energetic.  I just thought Marshmallow was shy.  She let me hold her for a bit.  She sniffed her surroundings and explored a little.  But then she hid in her house and started shaking.  Now she won’t come out.”  Tears are starting to form in her eyes and she blinks a bit and wipes her face with the back of her hand.  I put a hand on her back and start rubbing small circles.  I should have known getting the twins pets for Christmas was a terrible idea, but when the girls begged to get mice, my soft heart decided to relent.  But when one of the mice decided to go and get ill within hours of my giving them to the girls, I found myself driving in a near blizzard to prevent a Christmas tragedy.  (If my gift ends up ruining this holiday for my 8-year-old sisters, I will forever be haunted by this mistake.) 

Snow nods.  “Thank you, Petra.  You’re very observant, and you were right to be worried.  You did the right thing by getting help.” 

My stomach turns over a bit.  I know it’s just a mouse, but it already means so much to Petra.  I really hope he’s not going to say she’s going to die. 

“Let me show you something,” he says, and Petra takes a step closer to the table.  “Do you see these little dark things?  Do you know what they are?” 

Petra giggles.  “They’re poo.” 

Sophie giggles too, and Snow smiles. 

“Yes, and more importantly, those are healthy poos.”  The girls giggle some more and I roll my eyes at the absurdity of children and their fascination with potty humor.  But honestly, I’m glad he’s lightening the mood a little.

“Really! They are!  And it’s important to know how to tell when your pet is healthy or sick.  They can’t talk to us, so we have to look for clues.  Now when you see firm pellets like this, that is normal for a mouse.  But this,” he pauses and points to a small, dark splotch on the shavings.  “This is not good.  See how this mess is sort of runny?”

The girls both make a face, finally reaching their limit of feces examination.  He scrunches his eyes closed and bobs his head.  “I know, I know, it’s kind of gross.  But it’s an important clue!  It means that Marshmallow is sick.  She’s probably having some tummy problems.  And I imagine she doesn’t feel much like eating, either.  And if she’s feeling ill, she might not be drinking much.  But this is the important part.”  He pauses, and both girls are staring at him with such serious looks on their faces.  “If it’s poo looks like that, it’s likely they are dehydrated.  Do you know what that means?” 

“It means they aren’t getting enough water!” Sophie practically yells the answer.  Snow points a finger at her, beaming as if she’s his top student.  “Exactly!  And that’s very bad for a mouse, because they could die even in a day if they aren’t drinking.” 

The girls' eyes go wide at that.  Petra even makes a little whimpering sound.  

“So you see, you did the right thing by coming here and not waiting.  Because we can do something about that.”  He walks over to a cabinet above the sink and rifles around in it for a minute.  

While he busies himself with supplies, I take a moment to stare at him.  He’s still as beautiful as ever.  Maybe even more so.  His bronze curls are longer in front, but he still keeps the back quite short.  He’s filled out in the last few years.  His shoulders are broader and his forearms flex as he moves things about in the cabinet.  As much as I’d like to lie to myself and think that I’ve moved past my teenage infatuation with him, I can’t deny feeling all of those familiar emotions flooding back.     

Simon seems to have found what he needs.  He pulls out a small eyedropper.  Then he fills a cup with water from the tap.  He brings them both to the table.  

“Ok, Petra, why don’t you open the cage.”  She does.  “Do you think you could get Marshmallow out?” She nods, and reaches carefully inside, lifting the toadstool house.  The other mouse runs around avoiding her hand, but Marshmallow doesn’t move.  She gently picks her up and pulls her out.  

“Good girl,” he says.  “Now, what was your name?”  he asks, turning to Sophie. 

“Sophronia,” she says and I still can’t believe she insists on giving everyone her full name.  I can’t even remember how old I was when I began exclusively introducing myself as Baz.  

“Wow, great name!  Ok, Sophronia, can you help your sister with this part?” He shows her how to fill the eyedropper with water, and Sophie helps Petra coax Marshmallow into taking a few sips.  

Even though he’s barely acknowledged me since we came into this room, I can’t bring myself to be too upset when he’s this marvelous with the twins.  He’s treating them like smart, responsible young women (which, admittedly they are, even at the age of 8) and putting the care of their pets entirely on them.  I don’t know what I was expecting coming in here, but I certainly didn’t think I’d be swooning over the thoughtful way in which Snow interacted with my sisters. 

“So as long as you keep encouraging her to drink, it’s likely she’ll be okay soon.”  He finishes up his instructions, putting the eyedropper and a few extras into a bag for us to take home.  

I clear my throat.  “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful,” I say.

He looks up at me, shrugging his shoulders.  “There’s not a whole lot more you can do for her, but if she’s just mildly sick, then it should be enough.” 

He’s looking at me as if he wants to say more.  He holds out the bag and I take it from him without breaking eye contact.  My fingers brush his slightly, and it seems to break the spell.  He shuffles a bit on his feet, taking a step back and carding his fingers through his hair as he looks down.  

I know that’s my cue, that it’s time for us to leave.  But I feel like I should say something to him.  Something more than thank you for keeping this rodent alive .  I feel as though I should apologize for just about everything I ever said or did to him.  I may not be brave enough to be completely honest, but I still feel as if he deserves… something .   

“Simon, I…” 

I don’t get any other words out because suddenly, Sophie is screaming. 

Simon 

Baz looks like he wants to say something.  And not just thanks for telling us our pet needs water , but something more serious.  Personal, perhaps.  But before he can say anything, one of the girls is screaming.  

“Stuart!  No!  He’s gone!  He was here in his cage, but the door was open, and now he’s not here!” Sophronia is practically wailing.  My heart drops to my stomach.  Having a sick mouse was at least a problem we were able to solve.  But a lost mouse is quite a more daunting situation.   

We spend several minutes crawling around on our hands and knees and it’s safe to say that Stuart is well and truly lost.  We’ve scoured the exam rooms, the hallway, the waiting room…he’s simply nowhere to be found.  Baz is a right sight, shuffling around on his knees, his posh black peacoat dragging on the floor around him.  His leather shoes are probably completely scuffed up.  

I can’t help but grin, seeing him so dedicated to his sisters.  He drove here in the worst storm we’ve had in years, to try and get help for a mouse.  (A mouse! I mean, I love animals, but most people simply wouldn’t have gone to the trouble.)  When Sophronia was beside herself when she noticed Stuart was gone, Baz held her close and talked her down, stroking her hair and speaking in a soft tone of voice I’ve never heard him use before.  It’s nice, seeing this softer, caring side of him.  I think it’s possible that if he’d shown even a fraction of this to me when we were younger, we might’ve even found a way to be friends.  

Seeing Baz again…it’s complicated.  I think it’s possible I fancied him back then and just didn’t know it.  In the years since graduating, I’ve realized that I like blokes, and as much as I probably wouldn’t have wanted to admit it then, I think my attraction to Baz helped me sort that part of myself out.  

I mean, I think I knew he was objectively fit, but I guess since I assumed I was straight I thought that was the end of it.  

But now, I find I can’t stop staring at him.  I catch myself looking at the way his hair frames his face in waves, or the way his long eyelashes draw my attention to his grey eyes.  And when he starts talking, I’m entirely distracted by his lips.  It’s all so familiar.  I used to see those parts of him and think I was just jealous of how posh and put together he was.  But now… fuck .  Now it’s painfully obvious just how much I want him.  

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. I shouldn’t let myself get distracted because the longer we look and don’t find Stuart, the more likely it seems that we might not find him tonight. And I very much do not want to send Sophronia home without her pet.

Suddenly, I hear a soft, muffled trilling coming from Baz’s direction.  He stands, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.  He walks over to the front window in the waiting room as he talks.  I can’t hear everything he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s updating his father about what’s been taking them so long.  

“Girls,” Baz calls as he puts his mobile back into his pocket, “the storm outside is getting worse, and mother would like us back in time for Christmas dinner.  I’m afraid it’s time to head back home.”

“No!  We can’t leave until we find Stuart!” Sophronia whines, balling her fists tight at her sides.  

“I’m here all night girls, I can keep looking.  I’ll call if I find him, yeah?” I say, trying to sound reassuring.  Maybe this can be a good thing.  Baz and I can exchange numbers.  Maybe we can start texting each other, or maybe I can even muster up the courage to ask him to coffee sometime.

“That’s very kind of you Snow, but I don’t intend to leave you here searching alone,” Baz says.  “I’ll stay and help you look.”

I am completely and utterly thrown by that.  Baz wants to stay here to look for a mouse?  On Christmas Eve? 

“Really, I’m fine to keep looking, you don’t have to…”

He waves a hand in dismissal.  “My father is already on his way to pick up the girls.  I have my own car.  Besides, it’s our fault the mouse is loose.  I can’t just leave you to clean up our mess.”  

I’m about to protest but Baz begins to scoop his hair up, tying it back in a bun.  A few strands fall in his face and I’m distracted by a feeling of deja vu.  How many times have I seen him pull his hair up off his face like this before?  How often did I stare as the pieces inevitably fell out?  (His hair is so shiny, I always imagined it was almost too soft and silky for any band to keep it in place.)  

I swallow thickly.  “Yeah, um.  That sounds good.  Thanks.” 

Baz 

After my father comes to pick up the girls and Marshmallow, I wonder if I am going to regret my decision to stay behind.  I admit it was probably impulsive of me to offer to stay, but I feel like it was a fairly normal response, given the situation.  Snow shouldn’t imagine I have any other reason to stay than to find the errant mouse.  

In reality…I just wanted to spend a little more time with him.  Alone.  I don’t even know what I imagine might happen, but I can’t ignore the pull I feel toward him.  It’s almost physical.  A literal tug from behind my navel, guiding me to him.  I used to feel it in school, too.  It terrified me.  

The two of us were antagonistic from the beginning.  He was attending our posh boarding school via scholarship, wearing a hand-me-down uniform and unfashionable trainers.  I was practically royalty, one of several students whose families had sent them to the school for generations.  Social rules dictated that we would be enemies, and though we could blame it on the stupidity of youth in our early years, we nonetheless were so entrenched by our roles that we never could find our way out of them.  

I used to think that the tug in my stomach was the natural side effect of our rivalry.  A reminder to fight, insult, and belittle him any time he was around.  But by the time I realized it meant I was attracted to him, I didn’t know how to reverse course.  I had been so terrible to him for so long, I didn’t know how to simply treat him with kindness.  I suppose it was a just punishment for my actions.  My karma for being such a pompous arsehole was suffering from unrequited love for my hopelessly straight nemesis.  

I feel it now, the tug from deep within myself.  It’s all I can do not to cross the room to be closer to him.  To feel his warmth.  To map every mole and freckle.  

For now, I resist the urge to do so.  We have a mission to complete and despite my additional motives, I really do want to find Stuart for Sophie.  

“So, um,” Snow starts, then hesitates, scratching at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.  It’s a gesture I remember well from our school years.  He’s nervous. Probably because I make him nervous.  Because I’m always a dick to him.  Not the best place for us to start.

“The one place we haven’t looked yet is the back room.  I didn’t mention it before because the door’s so heavy, and the cracks are probably too small for a mouse to get through.  Plus the treatment area isn't really safe for kids.  But since it’s just us, shall we take a look?”   

I nod.  “Lead the way, Snow.” 

I follow him through the swinging door into the back.  It’s quite a large, open room, with kennels lining one wall, shelves of supplies on another, and various stations for cleaning and attending to the animals.  I walk over toward the kennels, thinking the mouse may have ventured in that direction if she smelled any leftover food.  I bend down to look in the bottom row.  One of them has a crumpled blanket inside, so I unlatch the door and poke my head inside to move the blanket and check thoroughly.  Suddenly, I am startled by a high-pitched whine coming from above me. 

“Fuck my arse!” I yelp as I attempt to pull my head out of the kennel.  Of course I misjudge and bang my head smartly against the top, and because my life is an absolute tragedy, my hair gets tangled in the latch.  I don’t notice at first, but when I try to stand up, I’m yanked cruelly back down to the floor, my legs splayed under me. 

“Baz!  Holy shit are you okay?” Snow rushes over to me, crouching to my level. 

“Other than being completely embarrassed?  I’m wonderful, Snow.”  I snarl, reaching a hand back behind my head to attempt to untangle my hair.  

“I think you may be stuck.”

“Oh really?” I say sarcastically, still tugging at my hair and wishing I had a modicum of self-control when it comes to my temper. 

Snow simply rolls his eyes, seemingly unperturbed by my bitter remarks.  “I mean, you’re stuck, so let me help you,” he says, walking towards me on his knees.  Snow bends forward to inspect the mess I’m in.  “Shit Baz, this is really knotted.  It might take me a minute.”  He scoots forward a little more and is nearly on top of me now as he struggles to untangle me.  His crotch is in my face and I don’t really have the range of motion to look away.  His scrubs are quite tight at the moment, and the thin fabric doesn’t leave much to the imagination.  (I’m reminded of several teenage fantasies that began with Snow positioned in just this way.)  I cough and close my eyes, trying to keep my mind from wandering to places it very much shouldn’t right now.  

“What happened?” he asks. 

“Something made a noise and startled me,” I say, hoping he doesn’t bring up my choice of words I blurted out without thinking.

“What noise?” 

As if in response to my question another whine comes from above us. 

“That,” I say, pointing up. 

“What, wee Bandit?” he asks, starting to giggle.  He’s still working at the mess my hair is in, but he’s being rather careful, so thankfully it doesn’t hurt. 

“I didn’t know there were any animals in here!” I say in my defense. 

“Oh, yeah I guess that makes sense he scared you.”

“He didn’t scare me, I was merely startled by a noise I wasn’t expecting,” I huff.  “Why is there an animal here on Christmas Eve anyway?  I thought the office was closed.”

“It is, but Bandit had an emergency tooth extraction this morning.  He’s why I’m here tonight.  I have to monitor him overnight before he can go home.” I hear a quick clicking noise of nails tapping on the floor of the kennel above us, as if the dog knows we’re talking about him.  

“Might need to get some scissors,” Snow mumbles from above me.  

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I say, trying to turn, but hurting my scalp in the process.  I wince at the pain. 

Snow laughs.  “Christ, Baz, I was only joking.  I know how precious your hair is to you,” he says.  

“Ah.  Well.  Thank you for nearly giving me a heart attack.” 

He laughs again.  “There, I think you’re free.” He sits back on his heels and I move forward tentatively, checking that I am indeed unattached to the door.  I tilt my head back to see if I can catch a glimpse of the dog in the kennel above.  I can see him now, a little brown and black dog with black, raccoon-like marks over his eyes.  I understand the name Bandit now.  He wags his tail at me.

“This is all your fault, you know,” I say, glaring up at him.  Snow laughs as he stands, reaching a hand forward to help me up.  I take it, and he pulls me up, but I start to feel lightheaded from the sudden movement, and I stumble forward a bit. Snow catches me and I struggle to keep from falling completely into his arms. 

“Whoa!  Are you alright?” he asks, as he tries to keep me upright.  

“Yes, yes.  Fine,” I say, standing on my own and attempting to appear as if nothing is amiss.   

“You need to sit down,” Snow says, turning and looking furiously for a chair.  The closest one is in an adjacent office, so he jogs over and grabs it, trying and failing to roll it seamlessly through the doorway.  He finally wrestles it out and rolls it over to me. 

“Snow, you don’t have to do that, really I’m-”

“Sit,” he huffs, apparently winded from manhandling the office chair.  He’s got his hands on his hips like a stern grandmother, so I roll my eyes and acquiesce, taking a seat.  

“I just got a little lightheaded is all-” I lose whatever thoughts I had as Simon Snow’s hands sink into my hair from behind.  “What on earth are you doing?” I manage to ask, far more breathlessly than is necessary. 

“I want to check where you hit your head.  See if there’s a bump or a wound or anything.”  He wraps one hand on the hair above my mangled bun and his other hand tugs gently on the hairband, pulling it out of my hair.  His fingers slide along my scalp, delicately parting my hair this way and that as he inspects me carefully.  It feels bloody heavenly.  I close my eyes, reveling in the touch.  It’s a feeling I never want to end, but it also makes me feel incredibly lonely.  I can’t even remember the last time someone touched me this way.  I almost feel as if I could cry, until his fingers find the spot I hit. 

“Ouch!” I whimper.  (Whimper!  Christ can this day become any more of a nightmare?) 

Simon inhales sharply.  “Oh, Baz.  You have a pretty nasty cut here.  You might even need stitches.  You’re going to have to get this looked at,” he says.  

And as if we needed one more thing to go wrong, the power promptly goes out as one last fuck you from the universe.  

Simon

Well, this night just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?  I’d stupidly gone and gotten my hopes up when Baz decided to stay and look for Stuart.  I’d let myself think that we could take this chance to reconnect, that we could truly get to know each other, as we are now.  I may have even let myself think we could engage in some flirting.  Probably a wildly inaccurate fantasy, but I just can’t help myself.  I mean, look at him.  He’s even hotter than I remember.  

But now we’re standing in the dark, Baz with a gaping head wound that he got not minutes after deciding to stay here with me. 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re cursed,” he says.  

I chuckle, because if we can’t make light of this ridiculous situation, I think I may go insane.  “They say bad things come in threes so this has to be the last one, right?”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he murmurs.

“Hang on,” I say, shuffling carefully over to the supply wall.  Thankfully there’s one emergency light on dimly above the door, and I’m able to find a torch.  I manage to find the breaker box but no amount of toggling switches fixes the power.  

“I think it’s a city wide outage,” Baz says.  I turn around and see his face lit up by the light of his mobile.  “The storm is wreaking havoc.  It looks like most of the major roadways are closed, too.” 

“Fuck,” I murmur.  I head to the back door and try to open it to check the conditions outside, but it won’t budge.  “I think we might be snowed in!” I nearly shout, trying and failing not to lose what little cool I have left.  “Baz, how are we going to get you to a hospital?” 

“We’re not, apparently,” he drawls.  His hand reaches gingerly into his hair, and when he pulls it back his fingertips are dotted with blood.  “Fuck,” he whispers.  

“Don’t touch it, let me handle it,” I say, putting on my calm, bedside manner voice.  I walk back over to the supply wall and grab some bandages and other items, then I head to the sink and wash my hands.  “I’m going to clean you up at least.  Is that ok?”

“I suppose that’s our only option at this point,” he says weakly, and I hope he’s just feeling nervous and not getting lightheaded again.  

I walk back to Baz, standing behind him again.  I put the small torch in my mouth and direct the light to his head.  I part his hair carefully and begin cleaning the wound.  When the blood is gone, the cut doesn’t look as big. I take the torch out of my mouth.  

“It’s not as bad as I thought.  I think a bit of surgical glue could do the trick,” I say.  

“Do you have any?” he asks. 

“I’m not going to do it!” I say in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice.  I clear my throat.   

“Surely you have some here, don’t you?  I’m guessing you’ve administered some to an animal before?  Or assisted the vet in doing so?” He says it as if it’s the simplest answer to our situation.  And in reality it might be.  But something about being responsible for nursing Baz makes me extremely nervous.  I don’t want to fuck it up. 

“Yeah, but this is different…” I trail off because I don’t know how to explain it.  Because you’re gorgeous and I don’t trust myself with not giving you a horrible scar?  That’s silly, it’s under his hair and no one will ever see it.  

“I can tell you’re very good at your job,” he says, trying to convince me.  “You were able to take care of Petra’s mouse quite skillfully.” 

I snort in response.  “Oh yes, I helped her give water to a dehydrated mouse with diarrhea.  I’m quite the medical wizard.” 

He spins around in his chair, looking up at me in the dim light.  His eyes narrow and he looks so serious.  “Don’t do that,” he says in a soft voice barely above a whisper.  

“Do what?” I say, scrunching up my nose. 

“Act as if you’re unworthy of the compliment,” he says.  “You used to do that in school.” 

“I…huh?” I splutter.  What is he talking about?  (I mean, he’s right, I already know I deflect when people say nice things to me. But I’m shocked that’s something Baz ever noticed.) 

“You were always dismissive of anyone who had anything nice to say about you,” he says, pointing a finger at me.  “And it’s an infuriating habit, so don’t.  I can tell you’re good at your job, and I trust you to do this for me.  So go on, glue my head.” 

I stare at him, a little dumbfounded.  I’m thankful the lighting is so shitty, because I’m definitely blushing.  And my knee-jerk reaction is to say something self-deprecating, but since he just called me out for doing that, I can’t think of what to say back.  

Baz rolls back around facing the opposite wall, and tilts his head down, as if that settles the matter. 

I sigh in resignation, and go fetch the glue. He’s right, of course.  It’s the best we can do, given the situation, and the cut is simple enough for me to take care of.  

“All set,” I say when I’m finished.  “Only…” I start but hesitate. 

“What?” he asks wearily, spinning his chair back around to face me.  

“It needs to dry, and I don’t want your hair to get stuck to it.  Do you have another hair tie?” 

“You already know I have this one,” he says, holding it up between us. 

“I’ll need two,” I say. 

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Just hand ‘em over, yeah?” I say. 

He doesn’t look like he wants to, but I jut my chin at him.  Finally, he pulls out a second one and hands them both to me.  I twirl my finger, indicating he should turn around again. He huffs, but does. 

His hair is mangled from all it’s been through tonight, so I carefully part it in half, pulling the strands gently away from the glue. Before I use the hair ties, I start to comb my fingers through the knots, gently detangling it. 

We’re quiet for a minute, then Baz breaks the silence. 

“So, you said you’re a vet tech.  Does that mean you’re in training to be a veterinarian?” he asks. 

“No, I’m more like an assistant,” I say.  I’ve finished detangling one side and start on the other.  

“Have you ever thought about it?  Going to vet school, I mean.”

I shake my head but realize he can’t see me.  “Nah, I was trying to go to Uni and do this job, too.  But school kicked my arse a bit, and I liked this job better.  So I quit school and started working here full time.” 

“I think you could be good at it,” he says, “if you ever wanted to pursue it.” 

“Agatha is in school to be a vet, and it sounds really hard,” I say. 

“Wellbelove?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, her dad is the vet here.”

“I, um, I didn’t realize you and her got back together after graduation,” he says. There’s a tone in his voice I can’t quite place.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was almost jealous.  But that can’t be right.  

“We didn’t,” I say.  “We just stayed friends.  And now we’re coworkers.  She’s dating Niamh now, who also works here.  Do you remember her?”

“Niamh Brody?” he asks in surprise.  “She played lacrosse with Wellbelove, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.  They’ve been together almost a year,” I say. 

“Good for them,” he says, and it sounds like he means it.  His shoulders relax a little more as I begin gathering his hair up in the ties.  I realize his comment probably means he still thinks I’m straight.  So I decide to divulge a little more. 

“Looks like quite a few of us ended up gay,” I say with a laugh. 

“Us?” he asks, trying to turn his head. 

“Keep straight,” I say, angling his head back in position.  

“Never was,” he mumbles, and I laugh. 

“Me neither, I guess.”  

Baz

I don’t know what to make of this new found information.  I’m not even sure I heard him right.  Is Snow telling me he’s gay? Or bi maybe?  When in the hell did that happen?  Before I can dwell too much further, Snow spins me around unceremoniously. 

“Finished!” he says, beaming and stifling a laugh when he gets a look at me.  I put my hands up and feel that he’s gathered my hair in two low pigtails. 

“Snow…” I grumble. 

“Don’t touch them!” he admonishes.  “I told you, I don’t want your hair getting stuck to the glue when it dries. 

“I can’t leave it like this,” I scoff.  

“Who’ll see you?” He lets himself laugh now.  “Besides, it’s better than having to cut the hair out, right?” 

I suppose he’s right, but I’m loath to admit it.  I cross my arms and can’t help but pout a little.  

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say you look ridiculous before, but now with that face you’re making,” he laughs again, his eyes crinkle and his golden curls catch the faint light from above the door.  He’s frighteningly beautiful like this. 

I think about making some snarky remark, but suddenly my stomach makes a hideously loud gurgling sound. 

Snow stops laughing.  “Oh shit, I forgot you missed your Christmas dinner.”  

“It’s fine, Snow,” I say, waving a hand. 

“Stop saying you're fine when you’re clearly not,” he says, huffing in frustration. “Hang on,” he says.  He starts jogging towards a little kitchenette in the corner.  He goes towards the stove, then seems to change course, heading to the fridge instead.  He opens the freezer, pulling out an ice pack and runs back to me.  

“Here, put this on your head,” he says.  He hands me the ice pack, then heads back to the kitchenette.  I slouch a little in the chair, holding the ice pack to my head and closing my eyes.  I can hear Snow banging around, opening drawers and doors far too loudly.  He’s like a bull in a china shop.  I can’t help but grin at the notion of him attempting to scrounge together a pathetic excuse for a Christmas dinner.  

“Don’t fall asleep over there!  You could have a concussion!” he shouts at me.  

“I don’t have a concussion, Snow!” I snap back.  Though I don’t really know how I would know that.  But I’ve already been needy enough tonight, so let’s pray I’m right. 

“No sleep!  Tell me something about yourself.  What are you up to these days?” I can hear him cursing under his breath as he fiddles with something.  I peek over at him and see he’s attempting to light the stove with a match.  

“You really don’t need to go to all that trouble.  Just bring me some crackers or something and I’ll be fine,” I hear it once it comes out, but it’s too late to take it back.  

“Not fine having crackers for Christmas,” he practically growls at me.  “And you didn’t answer my question.”  

I sigh.  “Drowning in classes, drinking too much coffee, and not sleeping enough.  Just your typical Uni existence,” I say.  

“Hey!  I got it lit!”  He grins at me from across the room, then gathers a few pans.  “So what are you studying?” he asks.  

“Linguistics.  Much to my father’s disappointment.”  I close my eyes again and try to relax a bit but it’s impossible in this chair.  

“You’re in London?” he asks.  

“Mmmm,” I say.  “Though I’m home with my family right now.  So why are you here on Christmas Eve anyway?” I ask.  

“Told you, monitoring wee Bandit,” he says.  

“Yes but why you ?  Did you draw the short straw?”

“I volunteered.  Didn’t want Agatha or Niamh to miss dinner with the Wellbelove family.  Plus, Christmas and I have a complicated history.  Growing up in care always made me feel like I was crashing some other family’s holiday.”  My heart sinks at that.  I knew about his history, I don’t know what possessed me to bring it up.   

“I still feel like that sometimes,” he continues, “I usually go to Agatha’s or Penny’s, and even though everyone’s really nice, it still feels like I’m imposing or something.  Anyways, it made the most sense for me to stay, so here I am.” 

I wish I could eat my words, but at the same time, I can’t help but appreciate him being honest with me.  I try to think of something comforting to say, or perhaps a joke to lighten the mood, but I’m coming up short.  I sit up again, opening my eyes.  I’m confused because Snow isn’t in the kitchenette anymore.  

“It’s ready,” Snow says.  I turn and see him standing in the office doorway.  “Come and have a look.”  

“Shall I wheel myself over, then?” I say, scooting the chair towards him and he laughs.  It doesn’t work very well, but I feel like I need to commit to this gag, so I turn around backwards and push myself hard with my feet.  The chair whizzes backward and hits some sort of bump on the ground.  I hear a sickening crunch sound and I plant my feet on the ground and freeze in horror.  

“That can’t have been what I think it was,” says Snow in a serious voice.

I bend forward, catching my head in my hands.  “Oh my God, I can’t look,” I whine.   

Snow runs forward, but as soon as he reaches me he sighs. “You rolled over a loose dog treat.” 

I let out a sigh of relief, sitting up. Even though I know, logically, that I didn’t run over our runaway mouse, my heart is still beating fast.  

Snow is standing above me, giving me a sympathetic look. “We’ll find him sooner or later. Come on, let’s eat,” he says, putting a hand out.  I take hold of it, letting him pull me up.  Once I’m standing though, he doesn’t let go.  Instead, he guides me to the office. 

When we get to the door, I marvel at the scene before me.  On one side of the office is a couch shoved against a wall.  There’s a coffee table in front of it, with two plates loaded with turkey, potatoes, green beans, stuffing and dinner rolls.  There are also several candles lit, giving the room a warm glow.  It’s quite romantic, really.  I swallow and try to temper the strong feelings threatening to come out.  

Simon 

The look on Baz’s face has me doubting whether I should have put out so many candles.  But what else was I supposed to do?  The power is out!  I realize I’m still holding his hand, so I drop it hastily and scratch the back of my neck, moving further into the room so that Baz can come all the way in.  

“What is all of this?” he asks, gesturing to the plates.    

“Oh, Agatha’s mum brought me two plates of dinner earlier tonight, so I just heated everything up.  I hope it’ll taste okay.”  I walk over to the couch and take a seat, patting the space next to me.  Baz comes over and sits.  

“Tuck in,” I say, pulling the plate onto my lap and starting in on my own food.  It seems like it re-heated fine after all.  Thank God I didn’t burn anything.  I watch Baz take a tentative bite of the chestnut stuffing.  His eyebrows go up in surprise and he grins, as if he didn’t think it would be this good.  I laugh at him. 

“What?” he asks, covering his mouth as he chews.  

“Nothing,” I say, grinning and shaking my head.  “It’s just, I dunno…that face you just made there.”

“My face?” he asks.  “What’s wrong with my face?” 

“No, there’s nothing wrong with your face,” I shake my head.  He’s misunderstanding, and I’m not entirely sure I know how to explain myself.  “Okay, so like, I remember when we were younger, you used your eyebrows a lot when you looked at me.”  He cocks one eyebrow at that.  “Yes!  See?  Like that!  I don’t know, they’re very expressive .  But, you know, we didn’t get along at school, and so that face you just made was very different from the ones I saw in school.  And…well it’s nice.  It’s nice seeing Nice Baz…” I shake my head and stop talking because I’m sounding like an idiot right now and I don’t even think I’m making any sense.  

“‘ Nice Baz ’?” he says in a mocking tone.  

“Shut up!  Yes, Nice Baz.  You’re Nice Baz tonight.  You’re nice to your sisters, you’ve been nice to me, which is proper strange since you always hated me, and-”

Baz cuts me off. “I didn’t hate you,” he says softly.  

I roll my eyes.  “Of course you did, it’s fine, I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

He puts his plate on the table and turns his whole body to face me, pulling a knee up onto the couch.  “I didn’t hate you.  I probably thought I did when I was younger, but l realized later that I didn’t.”  He stops, even though something tells me he isn’t done.  

“Oh,” I say, because I don’t really know what else to say.  

He takes a breath, and then goes on.  “I probably should have stopped being such an arse to you at that point, but I was a coward, so I just kept on the way I always did.  And I regret that.  You didn’t deserve it, and I want to tell you now that I am sorry.”  He’s looking at me with such a soft expression.  I want to reach up and stroke his cheek to take his worries away.  But I can’t do that, so I do what I can instead. 

“I was a dick to you, too.  We were both young and stupid.”

He shakes his head.  “I started it Snow, and if it wasn’t for me-”

“Don’t do that,” I blurt out, scowling at him even though I’m not really mad.  I relax my face again.  “Don’t call me Snow.  That’s what you used to call me back then, and it’s just tinged with all that baggage.”

Baz looks properly crushed, and I don’t want him to feel bad.  That wasn’t my intention.  

I close my eyes, shaking my head.  “I just meant that, we’ve had a lovely night so far, and if we’re going to apologize to each other and move on, then I’d like for you to call me Simon.”  I open my eyes and look at him again.  He looks weary, and I really do think we have a chance to move to a better place.  So I reach my hand out and put it on his.  “Is that ok?” I ask. 

He looks down at my hand, and I wonder if I should move it, but after a moment he looks up again.  His eyes look glassy for a second, but he blinks and his mouth quirks up a bit at the corners.   

“I’d like that.  Simon.”  

Baz 

Simon beams at me and I can’t believe this is the reaction I get from simply calling him by his first name.  If I knew this would happen, I would have tried it years ago.  

In reality, I know it’s not just calling him Simon.  It’s everything that’s come before it.  This night has given us a second chance.  Not just to apologize for the past, but for us to get to know each other again.  For us to start anew.  Even if he doesn’t have the same level of feelings I do for him, I can feel things shifting between us.  And if all I’ll ever get with Simon Snow is a friendship, I’ll take it and be happy with that. 

We eat our dinner and get back to an easy banter with each other.  It feels even lighter than before, and I find myself laughing and thoroughly enjoying his company.  After a few hours pass, we realize we probably have to figure out a sleeping situation, because we are most definitely not getting out of here tonight.  Snow informs me that the couch we are sitting on pulls out into a bed, so we clear the plates and move the table to the other side of the room.  Snow finds some extra scrubs for me to use as pyjamas and I change in the bathroom while he puts sheets on the sofa bed and gives Bandit his final check and meds for the night.  

“Is it okay if we share?” he asks when I’ve returned.  (More teenage fantasies come screeching back to the front of my mind.)  

I keep my face under control.  “It’s fine with me if it’s fine with you,” I say. 

He grins, then he climbs into the sofa bed and scoots to the far side.  He turns, and lifts the blankets for me to get in.  The gesture already feels terribly intimate, and I’m wondering how on Earth I’m going to make it the whole night in the same bed as him.  

I climb in and try lying on my back, but it sort of hurts my head.  I think I’ll need to lie on my side, but I take a minute to decide whether facing toward him or away from him would be more manageable.  Before I can choose, Simon says my name.  I guess it’s towards him, then.  I turn and face him.  

“What did you mean before, when you said you figured out you didn’t hate me?”

“I meant I didn’t hate you.”  He makes a face I can barely make out from the dim light of the emergency light in the other room.  “I guess I don’t understand your question,” I say. 

“I mean, if you realized you didn’t hate me, then what did you feel towards me?”  My stomach flips at that.  I don’t really know that I can tell him this right now, when he’s lying so close to me.  But I also know that I don’t want to lie to him, not after tonight.  I settle for telling him the truth as simply and nonchalantly as I can manage.  

“When I figured out I didn’t hate you, it was because I realized I had feelings for you.”  

I had hoped that, since several years had passed, he would be able to let it pass quietly between us, but apparently that was a wild underestimation of Simon Snow.  He quickly pushes himself up on one elbow, facing me.  

“Wait, what?!” he squawks, looking at me with wide eyes and his mouth agape.  

I look up at him and try to keep my voice calm and even.  “Christ, Simon, didn’t you have crushes in school?”

“I…well…” he splutters.  

“Really, Simon, it was years ago, you don’t have to act as though-” 

“Hold on!” he whispers, putting a finger to his mouth to silence me.  He cocks an ear like he’s listening for something so I try to see if I can hear it, too.  Suddenly, there’s a quiet scratching noise.  He sits up and quickly and quietly crawls over me.  He moves to the other side of the room and gets down on his hands and knees, looking under the coffee table.  He starts shifting his torso forward and his arse is so high in the air.  It’s really a magnificent sight to behold.  

“Ha!” he shouts, as he shimmies himself free.  He stands and I see one of his hands is wrapped around something. 

“You found him, you bloody magician!” I say in awe.  He positively lights up at my praise and it amazes me how much I missed in school from being a coward.  (And an arsehole.) 

“I’m going to find a box for him,” he says.  “Be right back.” Simon shuffles out of the room and I lie back down.  When he returns and climbs back over me I wonder if we will get back to our earlier conversation.  But Simon simply lies down on his back and closes his eyes.  I guess the moment has passed.  Perhaps it’s for the best.  

We lay quietly next to each other for a while.  Simon is so still that I wonder if he’s gone to sleep, but then I hear him take a deep inhale.  

“I had feelings for you, too,” he blurts out.  

He turns to face me, propping himself up a bit and I look at him, my mouth falling open.  How is that possible?  He was dating Agatha for years, almost all the way to graduation.  I almost think he’s having me on, but he’s looking at me so earnestly, I can’t imagine him making that up.  

“It’s how I figured out I liked blokes,” he says quietly.  

I feel as though my mind is spinning and I’m wondering if, in fact, I did get a concussion.  

Simon slowly lowers himself back down, lying on his side to face me, his arm tucked up under his head.  I swallow and stare into his eyes, not knowing what to say or do. 

“Maybe, in a different world, we could have been brave enough to be honest about all that a lot sooner,” he says softly.  He reaches forward and gently pulls one of the hair ties out of my hair.  He sets it down on the blanket, then reaches forward again, but hesitates, his hand hovering between us. I keep still, willing him to close the distance.  He does, and softly cards his fingers through my hair, gently rubbing my scalp, but keeping away from the wound.  “I always wanted to touch your hair back then.  I drove myself mad thinking about it.”

I close my eyes and smile ever so slightly, trying not to ruin whatever is happening here.  

“Is there anything you thought of doing? Back then?” he asks hesitantly, still rubbing my scalp.  

I open my eyes and think about my answer carefully.  I don’t want to scare him off, but I also don’t want this thing between us to stop.  

“I’ve always wanted to kiss your mole,” I say.  “That one, right there,” I reach forward and touch the one that sits right below his eye.  

He smiles sweetly.  “You can,” he says.  “If you want to.”  

I raise my head a little and his hand falls out of my hair.  I lean forward, planting a kiss right on the bullseye.  I pull back just a bit, smiling down at him.  His hand reaches up once more, pulling out the other hair tie, my hair falling forward slightly.  His fingers thread into the hair on my neck, and he pulls me slowly towards him.  He kisses me softly and slowly at first, his tongue venturing into my mouth.  I think, dimly, that if I were standing my knees would have completely given out.   He kisses me and kisses me and kisses me and it’s better than any youthful fantasy I could have ever dreamt up.  

Simon

Baz and I spend half the night kissing and touching and talking with each other and I feel so happy I could burst.  We’ve kept it soft and slow, even though we could both feel there was potential for more.  But there was something about the way we’ve reconnected tonight that made it feel almost natural to just…be.  There’s no point in rushing anything, because I think we both know this is only the beginning.  Sure, there’s a small part of me (okay probably a huge part of me) that feels some urgency to make up for lost time.  (And also because Baz is insanely hot, and a damn good kisser, and he feels so good under my hands…)  But there’s something about just soaking him up lazily that is fulfilling every need I have.  

When we’ve thoroughly exhausted ourselves, he falls asleep with his head on my chest and my arms wrapped around him.  Just before I let the sleep wash over me, I realize, dimly, that this will be the first Christmas morning I’ve woken up feeling I was in the place I was meant to be.  And who knows?  Maybe there’s a future where I’ll actually find myself feeling like Christmas is a holiday worth celebrating after all.