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1
Snow is much prettier in his sleep than when he’s awake.
I’m not sure why- it’s probably a number of things, all mixed together, such as how his brow unfurrows, smoothing out his face. Or how his eyelashes show up dark and long against his cheeks, which flush slightly from the night air (Snow always insists on keeping the window open, even in the dead of winter). Maybe it’s how his skin, normally a golden tan, turns softer, lighter, from the moon's glow.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that during the day, I can’t just stare at Snow to notice these details.
During the day, any glances are covered by glares, or sneers, or some nasty comment about Snow’s magic.
During the day, we’re rivals. During the day, I have to pretend that I’m not yearning for Snow with every ounce of my body.
But at night…
At night, while Snow is sleeping…
While Simon is sleeping…
I can just relish him in peace, by myself.
Is it weird? Creepy? Absolutely- I’m not going to lie to myself about that. But hey, I’m desperate- especially since Snow has designated us enemies, which I admittedly played a hand in. I hadn’t realised my emotions until our third year, when I recognised the feeling in my stomach whenever I so much as looked at Simon to not, in fact, be blatant disgust, but rather quite the opposite. By then, however, it was too late for me to go back on every snobbish remark I’d made over the course of the previous two years- so I resorted to more snark in order to keep up the act.
This, through time, has grown into a rivalry that I should be complaining about, except it keeps Simon’s attention on me, which in all honesty I really don’t mind. Quite sad, for a Pitch to be brought down to this level of despair- to think I’m almost brought to my knees from a glance.
However, I don’t have to worry about that here, in the peace of the night, with no one but myself. Honestly, I could do anything, in the quiet. But I’m content with merely sitting here, watching Snow, until the depths of sleep call myself as well to their abyss.
2
I’m an astrology nerd, and Simon Snow has galaxies across his skin. Universes, along his spine. Nebulas waving over his shoulders.
It’s hot out that night, at least Simon insists it is. I can never really tell. Perhaps it’s a vampire thing, or maybe it’s just me. It doesn’t really matter, anyways.
This being said, due to the heat, Simon is merely in his boxers, instead of pairing them with a t-shirt, as he usually does. So I have to deal with that. I would be complaining, if I could bring up the nerve to acknowledge it, but what do I have to complain about, really?
So here I am, mapping the freckles across Simon’s skin, finding a thousand constellations among them.
Cassiopeia, in a zigzag across his shoulder blade.
Gemini, a careful combination peeking from his hip.
Ursa Major, wrapping around his arm, Ursa Minor not far.
It truly is amazing how Snow's freckles resemble the night sky, correctly planting each star in its place. I would gladly stare at them forever, if I could, committing them to memory. I wish I had better lighting, while my night vision is better than a humans’, it isn’t perfect- I’m positive I’m missing the small ones, passing the chance to note every little star formed on Snow’s back.
The real night sky can’t hold a candle to Simon’s constellations; those stars are dead, unreachable, but Simon's sky has life to it- I could reach out and touch it, whisper my fingers along Snow’s back; tracing the constellations softly. I could name each one, plot them out, memorise their feel, their locations, the stars around them.
I wouldn’t, for the chance that if I did, Simon would wake up- and where would that leave me? There is no chance I’d get to keep that, keep Snow. No chance I could discover all of Snow’s stars, mapping out more constellations on his skin. No, I would be reported, expelled, and I would never get to see Simon again.
So I stay where I am. Watching from my own bed, spotting the differences, the similarities, the scattered lights against Snow's skin.
I stay, wishing I don’t have to, but knowing anything else is impossible. I stay, watching Simon, my own universe, galaxy, a black hole I would gladly lose myself in.
I have always been an astrology nerd, set on things staying as they are, but for Simon Snow?
For Simon Snow, I would rewrite the stars.
3
Snow is having a nightmare, and I have no clue what to do about it.
Simon is tossing and turning in his bed, letting out occasional wimpers, his brows angling close together while he bites down on his lip.
It kills me to see Snow like this. This is the second night it’s happening- last night, too, Simon had had nightmares. I hadn’t been able to sleep, due to all his rustling and cries- and maybe a little bit due to concern. But that hadn’t played a role in my lack of sleep. Not at all.
Either way, it’s happening again tonight, and I don’t know what I can do to help. As far as I’m concerned, there are no spells for bad dreams. If I knew any, I would help… Just so he can be quiet, and I can sleep. Vampires do need sleep, they, we, can't stay up forever. That one is just an idiotic rumour. One of many, though a few are based on fact- while vampires don’t burst into flames through contact with the sun, it does burn us- like regular humans, except we’re more sensitive.
“P-please,” Simon whimpers, the word slipping out through his mouth. For a second, I wonder if he’s awake, and I startle, but after a few more incomprehensive words, it’s clear Snow is merely sleep-talking.
I have another sleepless night.
___
Nightmares, nightmares… nothing. I’ve been searching for an hour, for any sort of nightmare spell. And while I’ve found one or two spells to give someone nightmares, I’ve found nothing about taking them away.
But I know one person who might. However, that person is the best friend of my sworn enemy… Even if that enemy is also my biggest crush.
“Penelope Bunce.”
Penelope startles at the sound of her name, and turns her head to look at me. “...Basil.” She has a sceptical tone to her voice. “Why are you talking to me?”
Well. If she is going to be rude about it. “...No, nevermind.”
“What do you want, Baz,” Penelope narrows her eyes at me.
“Do you know any spells for curing nightmares?” I try to keep my eye contact, and just barely manage it.
Penelope turns completely, crossing her arms. “Why? Is the great Basilton Pitch having nightmares?”
“Grimm-Pitch.” I don’t normally care, but I feel the need to correct her on something. I don’t like to ask for help. “And no, for your information, I am not.”
“Then why do you need an anti-nightmare spell?”
I cross my arms too, and lean on the wall. “Curiosity? What does it matter to you, do you know a spell or not?”
“I guess you don’t need it that badly, then.” Penelope turns to leave.
“Wait- fine. If you must know, your little chosen friend has been having them. Nightmares,” I grumble, reluctant to admit I’ve noticed.
“He is?” Penelope turns back around, looking more confused. “But… why do you care?”
She really asks too many questions. “I don’t.” I do. “He makes too much noise. It keeps me awake.” Out of concern.
“...Okay.” Bunce still looks hesitant, but she relents, and gives me her answer. “You could try ‘don’t let the bedbugs bite’. Emphasis on the don’t and bite.”
“Okay.” I hesitate, before mumbling out a small “Thanks” as I leave. Penelope stands in shock.
___
I didn’t get to use the spell that night. Simon had come into the room after I was already asleep.
But tonight, after I came in from hunting, Simon was asleep.
And he was having a nightmare.
This one is less fitfull than the previous couple- but it scares me more. Simon’s fists are clenched tightly in the sheets, and he’s shuddering. A few tears well up in his eyes.
Before I can take a breath, I whip out my wand. My hand is shaking slightly. I steady it. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”
For a moment, nothing happens, and I worry it didn’t work- but then Simon relaxes. I take a step back, as what looks like a giant mass of black bugs crawls from beneath Simon’s bed and out the window.
I fall backwards, collapsing onto my bed and curling under the covers as the exhaustion from the spell drags me into dreamland.
4
Simon Snow is asleep. He’s got his knees curled up to his chest, one arm tucked beneath his head, and the other strewn across his pillows, wrapped in bandages, which causes my throat to tighten so I choke on my breath.
I hate the sight of it. Hate the sight of Simon hurt, which really is an issue considering how much I threaten it. But if I don’t keep up the visage, I would be left with…
I’d be left without a wall. I’d be left with my emotions, spilling out every time I see Snow, for everyone to witness. For Simon to witness. And that is a worst-case scenario. Because the chances of Snow liking me back…
It’s weak of me to let out my emotions here. If Snow was ever to wake up, I would have no explanation for myself- the Mage would probably have to take Snow's request to swap roommates.
But Snow hasn’t woken up- not yet, and he won’t in the future. (Probably. Hopefully.) However, that proves to be a good thing- for now I can just stay and cry over Simon alone, by myself.
Simon will never have to know.
I would rather die on fire, at Snow’s hands, then live alone in the cold of a broken heart.
5
Sometimes, I swear Simon watches me back.
Times when I fall asleep before Snow, when I lay awake under the guise of slumber, I can vow that a pair of eyes are watching me, a body sitting up to stare.
I always convince myself it isn’t true.
There’s no way it can be.
But on nights like tonight, I almost wish it was.
I woke up at midnight, suddenly- I didn’t move, some instinct told me not to. And that feeling was there again. It’s as if I could feel a gaze whispering up my neck, gaping at my soul, scoping out every corner of my body. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Simon.
Wishful thinking is what it was.
Even if Snow is looking at me, it‘s probably just to prevent any “plotting” he thought I might get up to in the middle of the night.
Plotting. Yeah, right- the furthest I ever get with my plotting is when I try to figure out ways to come into contact with Snow inconspicuously- I give myself a ten point bonus if it includes any violence or cruelty, and I give myself a fifty point demerit if it includes any violence or cruelty. Really, a vicious world.
Plots…
Maybe I could catch Snow in the act.
Maybe, I could confront him.
And maybe, just maybe, Simon would give me an answer.
Maybe it would be one I could flush at.
…Or maybe I should go back to sleep.
However, that’s proving impossible, since the alleged eyes watching me send chills up my spine.
So, I cave. I turn, slowly, trying not to rustle the sheets. I settle, now facing Snow’s bed- and open my eyes.
Only to see Simon asleep, the sheets pulled almost up to his ear, wrapped around him as if he were in a cocoon.
I don’t know if the fact I’m not being watched makes me happy, or disappointed. Probably some weird mix-up of both, if I’m being honest. Either way, I can go back to sleep now.
I don’t think to remember Snow never sleeps with the blankets that high.
+1
I’m panicking. I’m panicking a lot.
Because.
Because Snow has just sat up.
Because Simon Snow has just sat up; in the middle of the night, looked me dead in the eye, and went, “You watch me. While I'm asleep.”
It wasn’t really a statement. It wasn’t really a question, either. I don’t know what to do.
“So do you.” It’s a reach. It is such a reach, I proved just the other night it is, and my composure almost breaks as I try to keep my voice steady and hide my exploding emotions.
Simon doesn’t say anything at first. For once, I can’t read his face.
Eventually, after what seems like a millennia but is in reality probably just a few seconds, Snow nods. “Why? Why do you?”
I really do not know how to answer that. “Same reason you do,” I reply smoothly- it doesn’t feel smooth, it feels choked, but if I told myself my wall is coming down-
No.
The wall is not coming down.
“And why is that?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I really don’t have a response for that, either. So I don’t say anything. I just shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.
Snow sighs, standing up and flicking the light on before coming back to his bed. He doesn’t sit down this time though, instead crossing his arms and staying on his feet.
I have to look up at him now.
Simon sighs again. “You could have just said something. You... you should have just said something, instead of- I don’t know, I-” he runs his hands through his hair, cutting himself short.
“Use your words.” It’s a habit. A traditional phrase, one I’ve practised to a point where I can execute it flawlessly in my sleep- the certain lilt in my voice, which emphasis to put on what syllables, the exact angle of smirk needed to frustrate Simon. Still, saying it here, now…
It pains me. But the thought of opening up pains me more.
“Baz. I'm trying to talk to you, for the love of God, will you just drop the act!?!” Simon swears like a Normal when he’s angry, I find it more endearing than I probably should. He slumps backwards onto the bed, kicks his feet up and covers his face with his hands.
I don’t know what to do- if I open my mouth; I’d either spit out every emotion, every thought screaming inside me trying to escape, to comfort Simon, or I would come up with another poorly built snarky comment.
So I stay quiet.
After a minute, or five, or ten, Snow sits back up. “What do you think is the reason I watch you?”
“What?”
Simon gives me a look.
“...You… are watching… for plots.” I sound very uncertain. I am uncertain. I’m uncertain about everything going on right now.
Snow furrows his brow, before he asks, “Is that why you watch me?”
I consider lying. It would be easy, really. To blow this all off and go back to pretending nothing happened in the morning. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. I speak softly, so quiet it’s barely audible. “No.”
Snow still hears it.
Snow still hears it, and he still responds.
He still hears it, and he still sits up.
Snow hears it, and he still takes my hand in his.
Snow hears it, and still, he speaks.
“Me neither.”