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I'm in our dorm, sitting on my bed and reading, when Baz storms in. I don't even lift an eyebrow. This happens a lot.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1... and-
Baz groans and collapses on his bed, just as and when I knew he would. I've memorized his ways.
"Fucking Bunce!" he says, rather loudly. (Ah, so that's what he's upset about this time. Penelope.) "I was top of the class, but no... she just had to go and suck up Bellamy!"
"I think you're looking too much into it." I respond drily, not looking up from my Latin book.
"I didn't ask your opinion, Snow." Baz sneers. I simply shrug in response.
"I think you're just jealous."
"You've got to be kidding me."
Knowing ignorance was a bliss I would never achieve, I fold down the corner of my book and set it aside, shifting my gaze over to Baz. (I hate how the way the dusk light makes his hair glow.) After a moment, he sits up, and our eyes meet. (His are so grey.) His dark hair, long uncut, falls slightly in front of his face, and I hate it.
"It's okay to be jealous of Penny. We all have our weaknesses." I like getting under his skin like this. How his face twists up when I say just the right thing.
"I am not. Jealous. Of. Bunce." he insists. I laugh a little, and he either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it. (He tends to ignore me. Except when he thinks I'm not looking. Then I know he's paying attention.)
I don't respond to him, sensing it to be a fruitless endeavour. Instead, I resume my studying, and wait for him to initiate conversation. (I know he will.)
There's silence for a few moments, and I savor it. I feel Baz looking at me again. I smirk with the idea that he doesn't think I realize.
"Simon?"
I glance over. "Yeah?"
Baz opens and closes his mouth. He looks like a fish. "I-" he pauses. "Never mind. Sorry. Just tired."
Since when does he apologize?
I try to pay no mind to it. As it gets darker, Baz clicks his lamp off and turns over in bed so he's facing away from me. I stare at his back for a time that seems longer than necessary. (I don't mean to, I swear.)
I know he's awake.
"You can say it." I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended.
Baz doesn't move. "Say what?"
I hesitate a moment. "Say that you're in love with me."
As soon as the words leave my lips, the world seems to shut down. The dorm room is silent, save for my own breathing, which I fear is even too loud. Baz rolls over so our eyes meet again, and his gaze is stonier than I've ever seen it before.
I doubted it at first. I'd labeled the stolen glances and stares as purely coincidences. I've pretended not to notice how Baz looks at me sometimes, when his sneer is mixed with hate and some other emotion. But it's his unresponsiveness that only confirms my suspicions.
And I don't think it's a bad thing, no matter how much I wish I did.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my feet on the ground, and Baz reluctantly does the same, though his posture is inverted.
"What are you talking about," he asks, though it seems more like a statement than a question.
"You thought I didn't know?" I almost want to laugh. "I feel you looking at me. You're not as subtle as you think you are." (I ignore the fact my own face is warming at the mere thought.)
The silence stretches on, Baz's hair falling in front of his eyes; his head is bowed so low. I almost feel bad.
"Snow, I hate you," he says with a tone I can't quite place. "I hate you so much." He stands. "I hate you so much it makes me crazy." He walks towards me, somewhat slowly but with purpose. I'm sure my face is red now. He's only a few inches away from me. "It makes me so crazy that I want to do things like this."
Before I can register anything, he's kissing me.
And I kiss him back, and back, and back.
Baz's hands find the sides of my face, and my arms find his waist, pulling him down onto my bed. My hands travel all around him before resting in his hair, and it's just as soft as I had always imagined it being. And-oh-I can't believe I've only just figured out how long I've wanted this. He kisses me with a hunger, barely giving me any time to breathe in between. (I won't complain. I'd let him suffocate me.)
I push him so we flip over and I'm above him. I like making him have to reach for me. He kisses my mouth open, and I want to swallow all of him. His fingers drift down to toy with the hem of my shirt, and I feel as he experimentally puts his hands on my bare skin. He's so cold. It makes me shudder.
My mouth travels lower, leaving kisses on Baz's neck. I hear his breath hitch, and I smile with the knowledge that I did that. I, Simon Snow, have conquered Basilton Pitch. I'm making him like this.
He abandons my shirt and laces his fingers in my hair, pulling slightly. I can't help but to release a soft gasp. Our lips find each other again. I tug down the collar of his shirt, pulling away from his mouth and kissing his collarbone, gently grazing my teeth along his skin. Baz holds me tighter, and I almost forget to breathe. I want him; I want him so badly. I groan into his neck as his hands dip under my shirt again and up my back. I only pull away from him to take my shirt off. This stupid cotton is getting in the way.
Baz opens his eyes and meets my gaze, a silent affirmation that this is all okay. (Fuck, it's more than okay.)
He places a cold hand on my chest, and I suck in a breath with the contact. He cuts my inhale off with a kiss, and I relax. My hands are in his hair, thanking magic that it's gotten as long as it has, because, by God, I love running my hands through it.
I kiss him with a passion I've never felt before, gently biting at his bottom lip. He takes a sharp inhale and I get that rush of satisfaction again.
I can't believe how long I've wanted this.
I can't believe how long it took me to realize how long I've wanted this.
Baz shifts and leans up to kiss my neck. I'm all-too aware of the sensation, and if I didn't hate him so much I would have told him to stop.
But it feels so damn good.
"Baz..." I whisper, my voice barely audible, as if it's forgotten how to work.
"Simon," he breathes. I can feel his exhale on my throat. Another shudder runs through my body.
I cup the side of Baz's face with one hand, leading it away from my neck. His lips are swollen. (I did that.) I kiss them with a roughness I didn't know I had. He gasps as our mouths collide.
"Simon..." he manages to say my name in between kisses. He puts one arm around my neck, holding me closer. (God. This is so good.) I kiss him hungrily, starving for this closeness. "Simon," Baz gasps again, putting his other hand on my cheek, forcing me to pull away slightly.
"What is it?" I murmur, my voice still not fully intact.
"Slow down a little," he says, the words barely a breath. I turn my head and kiss his palm, nodding.
I lean down to kiss him, and I'm gentle, I'm so, so, gentle.
I feel him relax beneath me. I get off from on top of him, slowly, so as not to break the kiss, and lay down beside him. Baz's hand reaches for my thigh, squeezing slightly. I gasp into his mouth.
We break apart after what logically was too long, but didn't feel like enough. (It never felt like enough.) I rest my hand by his ear, brushing away strands of hair that cover his face. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and the light from my lamp makes him look like an angel. His hair is slightly tousled, cheeks a little pink-strange-, and his eyes are dazed. He looks so effortlessly beautiful. Still, I get that sense of pride that I am the one that made him so open. Vulnerable, even.
Baz's eyelids begin to flutter closed, and I kiss his forehead. "C'm'ere," I whisper, my words slurring together. Baz moves closer to me-if that's even possible-and I take him entirely in my arms. Our legs are tangled together beneath the twisted sheets. His head rests next to mine, our foreheads a hair apart on the pillow. (Curse having a twin-sized bed.)
We kiss softly until we fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, mortal enemies.
And I think I've figured it all out.