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SIMON
Summer, for me, is like a two-month-long loading screen in an extremely high stakes video game that I never agreed to play. Nothing interesting ever happens, I’m away from what’s really important, and I have no choice but to wait until it’s over so I can go back to what I’m actually supposed to be doing in the first place. The waiting bit is brutal, and I can pretend as hard as I want that things are lowercase-“n”-normal, and that everything is fine, but it’s not. The things I tuck into the back of my mind for the summer make everything else seem so dull in comparison, and as hard as I try not to think about Watford, it always comes creeping into the front of my mind. Penny. Agatha. Sour cherry scones. Baz.
I hate summer.
I shove the thoughts of Watford away and look up to see that one of the younger boys has put on Doctor Who. It’s Tennant, which should be a good enough distraction from all of my self-imposed banned thoughts.
I guess I could have it worse. At least I get some food and a bed to sleep in, most nights. I suppose I could’ve been sent out to the streets and been told to fend for myself. This couch might be older than me, but at least it’s something.
Somewhere in my mind, I register the sound of the door opening behind me, but I don’t pay it any mind, until I hear my name.
“Simon?” It’s Ms. Evans, an older lady at this care home that has taken extra notice of me. It’s nice to know someone is looking out for me, in whatever way she can.
She’s looking kindly at me when I meet her at the door. “Yes, ma’am?”
She holds a plain white box out to me. “This was delivered for you.”
For me? I haven’t ordered anything, I don’t have the means to order anything. “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I respond, grabbing the box. I run my hand along the smooth side of it. “Do you know who it’s from?”
Ms. Evans smiles softly at me and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t.”
I nod in response, and she turns and leaves the room.
Odd , I think. I consider opening the box right then, but it could be from the Humdrum, or it could otherwise be something dangerous, and it’s probably more responsible to open the package somewhere where there’s less people around. It’s not even wrapped, or taped shut, or anything.
I make it all the way to the bedroom before I realize how suspicious this is. An unmarked package showing up for me at a place where only the Mage knows where I am? And surely this isn’t from the Mage. He would have warned me, or even shown up in person to give it to me. I don’t know who the hell sent this, or what the hell it is, but it occurs to me that it’s probably nothing good.
Whatever. If there is some kind of magical threat in the box, it’s going to get out sooner or later. Better to let it out while I’m prepared. (At least there’s no one else in the bedroom right now.)
I summon the Sword of Mages and set the box down on my bed, standing before it as I slowly, carefully lift the attached lid and reveal–
…scones.
A dozen fresh scones–sour cherry, by the looks of it–innocently sitting inside a pastry box that I have drawn my sword on. I’m glad no one walks in, because this scene must look crazy.
Look. It’s not unreasonable to think there might have been something dangerous in the box. It’s not my fault I was too prepared.
With one mystery solved, another instantly takes its place: Who knows where I am and cares enough to send me scones? And why? It’s just past mid-June. (I think the Solstice is today.) Who could have already found my location?
Realistically, I know it’s probably Penny. She probably found out where I am somehow–magic, or threatening the Mage, or something–and she feels bad that she can’t come see me. I know it’s probably not Agatha. (I don’t even know if we’re still together, technically. I know she knows I saw her holding hands with Baz in the Wood.)
Maybe I shouldn’t trust mystery scones, but I believe Penny is stubborn enough to get these to me. I smile to myself, thinking about the hoops she probably had to jump through just so I could have something nice, and I consider myself lucky to have a friend like her.
~~~~~~~~~~
SIMON
The first meal back at Watford is the first moment each year that all of this begins to feel real to me again. I load so much food on my plate that I have to be extra careful carrying it back to the table. When I sit down, Penny’s already in her seat across from me. I set my plate down, take my seat, and immediately dig in. Penny’s making a face at me, but I ignore it.
“Have a nice summer, then?” she asks.
I nod, and she slides a plate of scones over to me. “Here. I figured you’d want them.”
“Oh, yeah!” I say, putting my fork down and remembering not to talk with my mouth full. (It’s too early in the year for a lecture from Penny.) “I wanted to thank you for the scones you sent over the summer.”
Her eyebrows furrow, and I pause. “What do you mean?” she asks, and I suddenly start feeling more apprehensive about the mystery scones.
“The…dozen scones I got over the summer? That were delivered to my care home without a note or message or anything?” I explain. “Were they not from you?”
“They were not.” I can’t read the expression on her face. “Who sent you scones? Was it Agatha?”
“Un-fucking-likely.”
Penny sighs. “You don’t have to be like that, Simon. She’s still our friend.”
“Yeah, and apparently she’s real good friends with Baz now, too.” Wait. I barely pause for a second, and then, “Do you think Baz sent them?”
Penny groans and drops her head into her hands. “Why on earth would Baz send you scones ?”
“To rub it in my face that he’s with Agatha now!”
“That doesn’t even make sense, Simon. If he was trying to rub anything in your face, wouldn’t you have known it was from him?”
“You never know with Baz!” I know she’s right, but I still think Baz is up to something, so I’m not going to let her have this one.
I shift my focus to the other side of the dining hall and stare at the back of Baz’s head, as if intense enough eye contact will set him on fire. (I wish it would.) He’s already here. I was hoping I’d have a few days of freedom from him, but it was foolish of me to think anything regarding Baz would work in my favor.
He’s such an asshole, and I know he’s plotting something, and I’m going to figure out what.
BAZ
Snow and Bunce are discussing a surprise delivery that Snow received over the summer, and I am using all of my (admittedly very strong) willpower to look indifferent to their conversation. I shouldn’t be able to hear their conversation at all. (Damn the unnamed vampire thirteen years ago.) I know I should be ignoring their discussion–for my own sake if for no other reason–but I find myself unable to pull my focus away from Snow and Bunce’s words.
I must admit, receiving a mysterious package of baked goods must have put Snow on edge more than one would seem to anticipate. I am ashamed at my uncharacteristic lack of forethought, for whatever the shame is worth to him. (Everything, probably. The bastard probably feeds off of my embarrassment.)
I sent the scones in a moment of weakness, and this lapse in judgment weighs heavily on my shoulders. Snow will know that I was plotting.
To his credit, I was . Just not his downfall.
I made a certain discovery this summer, during a meeting with the Old Families. I hate attending meetings of this sort, but I found myself without a choice in the matter, so I was sat on the outer edges of the room. Granted, I was likely paying the meeting more attention than was worth my effort, but I cannot be all too upset with myself when I learned about a certain magical anomaly that took place on June 21, 1997.
I only have one mental association with June 1997, and it would be a damn good explanation for this magical anomaly.
Simon knows–everyone knows–that he was born in June, seeing as he was only a newborn when he was found. But the knowledge of the magical anomaly, combined with the magical associations of the Solstice (of course he would be born on the Solstice, damned sunshine boy) became too much, and I suddenly knew something about Simon that was very important to him, but I couldn’t tell him, and I sank further down, down the ever-tightening gyre that was growing to occupy my mind.
I didn’t pay attention to the rest of the meeting.
But it made too much sense, his birthday being the Solstice, and the thought of him spending the day alone without knowing anyone cared ripped my heart from its place in my chest and crushed it before my eyes. (I care, Simon. I care.) So I ordered him cherry scones from a local bakery.
It was relatively easy to find him, too, with a simple tracking spell, and it didn’t take much effort to find the address of the care home he was at. (I didn’t know he stayed in care homes, but I’m trying to reign my anger in regarding that aspect of this entire situation. However, the blasted Mage continues to climb farther up my shit list.) He’ll never know it was from me, but my only hope is that it brought him comfort on such an important day, even if he remains unaware of the day’s importance. (I’d make it a national holiday if I could. Let everyone know how special this boy is.)
“Baz?” Dev’s voice pulls me back to the present. I almost can’t believe I let myself slip away like that. Almost. “Did we lose you?”
“I’m with you.” I don’t want to tell them about my summer spending habits. Or my one singular summer spending habit. I have no doubt Dev and Niall can tell I’m not all the way here, but I also have no doubt that they’re decent enough not to ask. They’re good men.
“Right. Well, I hear that Snow and Agatha broke up for good this time.” Niall says with a grin. I consider myself lucky to be unaware of what they were discussing before. “You going to get in on that?”
I look at him for a moment. “No, I’m not going to ‘get in on that.’” I hope Snow heard me say that. (I might have slightly raised my voice.) Niall’s not talking about Wellbelove, (I’m not either) but Snow doesn’t have to know that.
“Your loss.”
Simon Snow, you beautiful menace, must you occupy my every waking thought?
I have no idea what I’m going to say when he accuses me.
SIMON
I can’t wait to hear what Baz says when I ask him about this. It shouldn’t make sense for him to have sent the scones, and by most lines of logic, it doesn’t. But if I know anything about Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, it’s that he is exactly the kind of manipulative, petty bastard that would pull something like this to try to distract me from his plotting.
It wasn’t Penny, and I know it wasn’t Agatha or the Mage. I might be the Chosen One, but not many other people spend their time thinking about me. (Does Baz spend his time thinking about me?) (He must do, if he’s plotting my death all the time.)
I came back to our room straight after dinner. There’s nothing going on this evening, and I told Penny I had to finish unpacking. I’ve been waiting here; surely Baz will be back soon.
I hear footsteps outside the door. Speak of the devil and he will appear . (Or think of the devil, I suppose.)
The door creaks open, and I’m standing and questioning him as soon as he steps inside.
BAZ
“Was it you?” Simon asks before I’ve even shut the door. I think about stepping right back out and leaving. It’s too early in the year for this. I don’t step out. (I hate leaving him.)
I take my blazer off and start hanging it back in my wardrobe. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific, Snow.” I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I can’t let that on lest he run me through with his sword. It’s too early in this fairytale for that bit.
“Did you send scones to my care home this summer?” He sounds angry, and I should’ve expected this.
“Why would I send you scones? My money is better spent on literally anything other than you.” The words burn the inside of my mouth like rat poison on the way out. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Well, it wasn’t from Penny, and there’s not a lot of people it could’ve been.”
“Why don’t you ask Wellbelove? Surely your darling girlfriend is nice to you sometimes.”
That one gets him. Something like hurt flashes in his eyes for a moment, and I want to fall on his sword myself. “Agatha’s not my-” He stops himself. “It wasn’t from her.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Thanks to you.”
“It was probably one of the first-years from your little fan club or something.” I sit at my desk, trying to make myself look nonchalant. I don’t think it’s working, but I think Simon will buy it anyway.
“I don’t have a fucking fan club! Just admit it was you!”
“I’m not in the business of lying to you, Snow, unless it’s on my own terms.”
He sits down on his bed. (Though I can’t see him, I’ve memorized the sound of all of his movements in this room.) “Whatever. Fuck you.”
The corner of my mouth curls up, despite myself. (He’s cute when he’s angry.)
In some other universe where Simon and I aren’t ultimate, destined, written-in-the-stars enemies, I might have told him the truth, but alas, such a universe doesn’t exist, and I am forced to go on living in this one, where the truth would lead the business end of his sword to my throat.
When I turn around, he’s already laying on his bed, his back to me. He gets like this sometimes, and I play my role and ignore him. Let him think I don’t care about him. It’ll be better for him in the long run.
~~~~~~~~~~
SIMON
The next morning, I’m sitting on the Great Lawn when Penny finds me. I keep thinking back to the argument last night. I don’t know what I was expecting out of that conversation. He has to have sent the scones, but of course he’s not just going to tell me that. What did I think he was gonna do, grab my hands, look me in the eye, and admit, “It’s true. I sent you scones to fuck with you, and it’s obviously working, because I’m so much better than you”?
Stupid. I’m being stupid.
“Is there any way to like, track down who sent the scones? Or why?” I ask Penny in lieu of a greeting.
She sits down beside me. “You’re still on about this?”
“I mean, there’s got to be a spell or something, right?”
She sighs, but it doesn’t sound like she means it. “If you still had the scones, I’d suggest return to sender , but I hope you don’t still have them if you got them back in June.”
I shrug. Maybe I should’ve thought of that on my own, but it’s not exactly my strong suit, thinking.
“There might be something if you give me time to think about it,” Penny continues.
I wrack my brain for anything that might be helpful, but only one thing comes to mind, and I don’t even know if it would work. “I still have the box. Would that work?”
Penny looks at me quizzically. “Yes, but why on earth do you still have the box?” I shrug again, and Penny rolls her eyes. “Is it in your room?”
“Yeah, I can go get it and bring it back,” I suggest, starting to stand.
“No need. I’ll come with you.” Penny stands as well, brushing the grass off her skirt.
I hesitate. “What if Baz is in our room?”
“Why does that matter?”
It doesn’t, really. I guess it’s stupid of me to be so dead set on him being my scone Jesus. He probably didn’t even know where I was this summer. “I guess it doesn’t.”
We walk back to Mummers together, and Baz isn’t in the room when we get back. Penny sits on his perfectly-made bed.
“He’d kill you if he knew you were on his bed.”
“Good thing he’s not going to know, then.”
I’m already looking through my things, so Penny can’t see when I roll my eyes, but I do it anyway. It takes a few minutes of searching, but I eventually find the box shoved at the back of my wardrobe.
“Here it is.” I hand the box to Penny.
She holds the box in one hand and points her ring at it, casting a perfect return to sender . Every spell Penny casts is perfect. The box floats out of Penny’s hand and out the open window of our bedroom. Penny and I exchange a glance, and I’m almost surprised it actually worked. I grab Penny’s hand and pull her out of the bedroom, racing down the stairs and out of Mummers House.
The mid-morning sun is blinding as I look around for the floating box.
“There!” I hear Penny say, and she takes off. I follow her. She knows what she’s doing better than I do.
I can see the box now, and it’s flying toward the Courtyard. There are a few students scattered about in groups, catching up with their friends they haven’t seen all summer. We must look insane chasing after a flying pastry box.
I spot Baz in the courtyard, and I freeze.
He’s with Dev and Niall, and his back is turned to me and Penny. I realize what’s about to happen.
I watch the box fly through the air, and I grab Penny and pull her behind a column with me. Our backs are against the stone, and just barely in time, I look out from behind the column just enough to see Baz get hit in the back of the head with the white pastry box.
And thus the truth comes out.
I hear Niall’s voice first, asking, “What the hell is that?”
I’m still looking from behind the column. Baz looks around, but he doesn’t see me. He leans down to pick up the box and turns it over in his hands without answering. His face is completely unreadable.
“Did someone throw that at you?” Niall continues.
“I suppose so,” Baz deadpans.
Dev looks at him for a second. “Is something up?”
Baz grimaces at the box as if it’s personally wronged him. (I suppose it has. It did hit him in the back of the head.) He speaks without looking up from the box. “You can never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” he says, presumably to his friends rather than the box.
“What?” Dev asks.
Baz sighs. “I…did something stupid. Over the summer.” His friends wait for him to continue. “I…” He scoffs before trying again. “Don’t ask me why, but I had some scones delivered to Snow. I believe this–” he explains, holding up the evidence in his hand, “--is the box they were in.”
Dev and Niall look at each other, and Dev glances back toward Baz and asks, “Why?”
Baz finally looks up. “Please don’t make me answer that.”
“Okay, but why did the box just attack you?” Niall chimes in.
Baz smiles, just slightly. “Snow’s probably up to something. He asked me about it earlier.”
A flurry of emotions are flooding through me, confusion, anger…satisfaction? I’m vaguely aware that I’m probably beginning to smell of smoke when I remember Penny beside me. I look at her, but she’s looking at Baz and…smiling. Why is she smiling?
Baz looks around again, and this time my heart stops beating as he locks eyes with me.
I hide behind the column again, hopelessly wishing he hasn’t seen me, but I know he has. I look back at Penny with wide eyes, hoping she has an idea to get us out of here.
I’m not sure how long I stand behind the column for, but eventually, I turn and walk away without looking back, and Baz lets me go. I immediately head back to our room, and Penny heads somewhere else.
I’m panicking and pacing when Baz opens the door not even an hour later. He doesn’t have the box anymore.
I still don’t know what I’m feeling, but I manage to ask, “Why did you lie?”
He saunters across the room and sits at his desk. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I take a step toward his desk. “Yes, you do. I know you do. Tell me.”
He’s pulling out books and doing homework. We haven’t even been assigned any yet, he’s just being a tosser. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
I keep slowly creeping toward his desk. I’m afraid of what I might do if I get too close to him right now. “I already know. Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”
He doesn’t say anything. I don’t know why he came back to the room if he’s just going to ignore me.
“Why did you lie to me?”
The sound of his pen moving across his paper is driving me insane. Why can’t he just talk to me? I know he saw me. I wish he would look at me.
Baz coughs, and I realize that smoke is starting to fill the room. Apparently, even that won’t get him to talk to me.
He drives me so fucking mad.
I don’t think. I cross the remaining distance between us as fast as I can and pull him out of his chair by the collar of his shirt.
“Anathema,” he says with wide eyes.
I back him into the wall. “Fuck off. I’m not going to hurt you. Just tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, quieter, less confident than before.
“Why would you do that?” I insist.
He doesn’t respond. His eyes flick across my face. I don’t think he believes I’m not going to hurt him. I don’t really like hurting him, and we haven’t actually fought like this since fifth year. I am not going to hurt him. I just want…
…I don’t know what I want.
I push him harder against the wall. “ Tell me! ”
“I didn’t want you to know I cared!”
My words come out with magic, and he responds before I can take them back. I just…stare at him for a moment, confused.
Fuck, I truth spelled him.
I let go of his shirt and back away from him. He looks mortified. “Baz, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–”
“The hell you didn’t.” His voice is cold.
“I don’t know why I did that. That’s not what I wanted to happen.”
“Learn how to control your fucking magic, then. Merlin, you really are the worst Chosen One to ever be chosen.” Baz fixes his shirt, but he looks like he’s about to cry.
I pause. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean.”
“You just said it yourself. You care. About me.”
He doesn’t respond. It’s a wonder he hasn’t stormed out yet. I think he might be frozen in place.
“What did you mean by that?” I try.
He’s running his thumb across his wrist and looking at his hands. He’s still not talking to me.
“Baz?”
“It was your birthday.”
What?
“What?”
“The twenty-first. I found out it’s your birthday.” He’s speaking so softly that I can barely hear him. But I can.
I’ve lived the past eighteen years of my life without knowing when my birthday was. “How do you know?”
He tries to laugh at me. It doesn’t work. “Do you know nothing about magical history, Snow?”
“Not really.” He’s not really making sense right now. Not that I’m really processing much of it, anyway.
“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t like the idea of you being alone and not celebrated on your birthday, so I sent the scones,” he explains. “Because I care. You were never meant to find out.”
He hasn’t looked at me since I backed off. I really want him to look at me.
He looks so small like this. It doesn’t make sense. Baz always pushes back when I push first, but it’s like I knocked him over this time. Baz–strong, graceful, fucking ruthless–looks like he’s giving up. I don’t know what he’s giving up on, but I want him back. He doesn’t deserve to feel small like this.
I approach him again, slowly this time, so he knows he’s safe. I take his face in my hand. I don’t know what I’m doing.
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are full of something. Uncertainty, maybe. Or fear. I hope he’s not afraid of me.
“Simon…” he says, like my name is something sacred. I like the way my name sounds in his voice.
We’re so close, breathing the same air and inching closer like we have a magnetic pull on one another. We might. He cares about me, and that’s the only thing that matters right now.
I’m staring at his mouth. I think I might kiss him. “I’m tired of fighting,” I whisper.
He nods, and it’s the only response I need from him.
I lean forward and press my forehead to his. He might be swooning, because I know he’s taller than me. “Is this okay?”
He nods again, against me. “Always,” he whispers, and I know what he means.
Me, too , I think. How did I never notice?
BAZ
When Simon kisses me, it’s like all the pieces of a puzzle I’ve been trying to sabotage for years all fall into place. Like he won’t let me destroy this puzzle, this…whatever is between us.
He’s good at this. He’s really good at this; I owe Wellbelove a fruit basket. He has one hand on my face and the other on my hip, burning my skin like a brand, holding me so close I almost forget what it’s like not to be this close to him.
My hands are desperately clutching at his chest. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but Simon doesn’t seem to mind.
It still smells like smoke in the room, and he tastes like smoke, and I’ve never felt more like I’m drawing closer and closer to an open fire, but instead of burning, I feel warm for the first time in thirteen years. Simon Snow, sunshine boy, with more magic and life flowing through his veins than I will ever know. He never stops surprising me.
I break away first, leaning back just slightly to look into his eyes. “Simon…” I say again, and I don’t have anything to follow it. I just want to say his name.
He smiles at me, and his eyes are brighter than the sky on the fucking Solstice. “I know.” He closes his eyes and tips his head forward to press his forehead to mine again. “I care too.”