Chapter Text
Simon
Today could not possibly get any worse. I’m late for work - again. And just when I think I’ve hit rock bottom, my ridiculously overpriced coffee (which I waited far too long for) spills all over me. And, naturally, all over the guy standing in front of me. Of course.
I scramble to grab the cup, avoiding eye contact, and take a quick step back toward the bin. Before I can toss it, he lets out this loud, obnoxious cough. I freeze. I’m seconds away from snapping - until he runs a hand through his messy black hair.
And then I see him properly.
No. No no no.
Today just got so much worse.
“Of course,” I mutter, because the universe clearly has it out for me.
Baz
The words leave my mouth before I’ve even had a chance to think.
Simon Snow.
It’s been years - since graduation, to be exact - and yet here he is, standing right in front of me with that same look. The one that says, “I want to strangle you,” without needing a single word.
Some things never change.
Well - two things, actually, if the sudden thudding in my chest counts.
His eyes are still that same impossible blue, the kind that makes you feel like you’re drowning. And those curls - bronze, wild, perpetually unruly.
We haven’t spoken in years. Not since everything.
But it’s more than that. It’s the way he’s looking at me now, like I’ve gone and ruined his entire life - again. And, well, maybe I did.
Still, none of that changes the one constant I’ve never been able to shake:
I am hopelessly in love with him.
And now he’s just standing there, staring, clearly waiting for me to say something.
It hits me that I’ve been standing in stunned silence, gawking like a complete idiot, for at least a full minute.
Whoops.
Simon
“Still as uncoordinated as ever, Snow,” he sneers.
Why does he have to be such a prick?
I grit my teeth. “Fuck off, Baz.”
That familiar, stupid smirk of his is back. It only makes me want to punch him more.
“Eloquent as always,” he replies, like he’s just come out of a Shakespearean play.
I roll my eyes. He’s always like this - using his fancy words just to make me feel stupid.
And damn it, it works.
But I’m not going to let him see that.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness, “I’m going to go before you break something.”
Then, with that characteristic dramatic flourish, he turns on his heel and strides off, leaving me fuming.
“Privileged asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
He turns, narrowing his eyes. His voice is icy.
“You know nothing about me, Snow,” he spits, and then he flounces off like some over-dramatic villain in a bad romance novel.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Dramatic, much?
My phone buzzes in my hand. Five missed calls from Mum.
Shit.
I’m really, really late for work.