Work Text:
Baz
I’ve never been good at packing bags. I have too many clothes and want to take them all even for a weekend trip. It’s such a problem that I’ve spelled both my suitcase and my closet at Watford larger on the inside. I cannot bring my entire wardrobe to spend the night at the Bunces’. I’m not even sure I can take a bag, or if that would seem appropriate. I could ask Professor Bunce, I suppose, but I’d set myself on fire before I went to the Headmistress’s office to ask her if I can take an overnight bag to visit my boyfriend at her house.
I’m being utterly ridiculous. No one is going to care if I bring a bag or not.
I stare at my schoolbag. I’ve emptied it on my bed, my notebooks and pencil case falling messily over my dark green bedsheets. This is a sign that I’m in a crisis. I hate it when my school supplies -or any of my belongings, really- are not orderly.
What do I put in this bag? Underwear and socks. That’s a good start. Pajamas too. I grab those items without giving it too much thought. My underwear and socks are all the same, and I only have one pair of clean pajamas, so the choice is not complicated.
Picking clothes is another story.
I could wear today’s clothes again, after all, I doubt Snow would have something to say about it, but I haven’t quite fallen that low. I review the clothes in front of me. I need something neutral, because I am going to the Bunces’ and not a drag show, but that looks good on me, because I am going to see my boyfriend and not to a Coven meeting. (That last part is entirely unsure, I’m eighteen and Natasha Pitch’s son, Professor Bunce might try to drag me to a meeting in hopes of using me as some political tool.) (What’s tragic about this is that I probably would do it if she promised me more time with Simon in exchange for my support.) (My ancestors are all ashamed of me.)
Focus, Basil.
First, I grab a pair of jeans, because I remember that my jeans made quite an impression on Snow when he showed up at my house last December. I might as well wear something I know he might like. To balance out the casualness of the jeans, I also take a simple white shirt and a lovely beige cable-knit jumper that I found at the back of my father’s closet. He was probably around my age last time he wore it, he’s not going to miss it. There’s a logo on it, which I find a bit distasteful, as small as that embroidered polo horse is, but not enough to relinquish the jumper.
That should be enough. I do not need to pack more than this. I’m only staying for one night, this is what Professor Bunce and I agreed on. She’s already not pleased with having the fallen Chosen One in her home, so the Pitch heir? The woman might kick us both out on the street if we breathe too loud.
Which is precisely why I don’t intend on staying in her house. But I’ll have to see how Snow feels about that. I’m not sure how Snow feels about anything these days. The Bunces have given him an old phone they were keeping for one of their millions of children, but he never answers my texts asking him how he’s doing.
Which makes me think.
I take my phone out of my pocket, a gesture that I have regretfully become very used to doing these past few weeks, since the ban on phones was lifted. I’m practically glued to that tiny screen now, when I could go days before checking it only two months ago. Who can blame me, when my boyfriend is on the other side of that screen?
Simon
I’m packing my bag right now, is there anything you want me to bring you from school? One of the Aero mint bars I’ve stolen from you, perhaps, or a handful of merwolf fur?
lol what have the merwolves done?
Existed in my vicinity? You know, I spit in the moat every night now
the merwolves are not the enemy, basilton
Yes, they are. They very much are
if you were serious about your offer, can you bring me one of those fancy pens the minotaur has a stock of? i always told myself i’d steal one before leaving school
Oh, so you want me to break in a classroom and steal a pen?
it’s not the most illegal thing you’ve done. it’s not even the most illegal thing you’ve done in the past six months.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an upstanding, law-abiding citizen
sure
please get me the pen
If you want a fancy pen, I could just buy you one. It could be a belated Christmas present
who gifts pens for Christmas?
My father
of course…
i don’t want a fancy pen, i want one of the minotaur’s pens
please baz
Alright, I’ll see what I can do
thanks!
Why does that matter so much to you?
idk
i just remember being 11 and hating everything about greek lesson and then seeing the minotaur take out one of his pens and thinking ‘wow, i wanna steal that’
You were a very strange 11-year-old
mate, you wore loafers
There is nothing wrong with loafers
yeah, if you’re 65
Quit insulting me
never going to do that, darling
It takes everything in me not to giggle at his last message. He called me darling. Through a text, yes, and when he was teasing, but he did. Never did I think Simon Snow would call me darling one day.
…
I get the stupid pen, obviously. Stealing it is not even a challenge. Professor Minos doesn’t lock his classroom, ever. Everyone knows that, because it has made of this room a popular make out spot. People seem to think there’s something thrilling about the prospect of the Minotaur catching them. To me, that looks more like the stuff of nightmares, but who knows what straight people are into.
I get another thing, too. Something that Snow hasn’t mentioned, but that I think might matter to him more than a stolen pen. I put everything in a small bag I used to carry my skincare products when I had less skincare products, then finally close my bag. I check my watch. 4:42. Perfect timing. I have to meet Professor Bunce on the parking lot at 5.
I’ve never been this happy to see this woman in my life. Brilliant as she is, I don’t care much for Mitali Bunce. She’s a person I can have a good conversation with, when we find ourselves talking, and I admire the work she’s done on the decline of the use of wands as magickal artefacts in the Middle Ages, but that’s about it.
She opens the trunk of her car so that I can put my bag inside it, and then we get inside the car ourselves. I think about my aunt Fiona as I sit on the front passenger seat. She doesn’t let me do that anymore… Merlin, I hate the backseat. There’s hardly any room, my bad leg aches when I leave Fiona’s car. In Professor Bunce’s car, I can make myself more comfortable.
“Is anyone coming to pick you up tomorrow?” Professor Bunce asks.
“No. I’m taking a train.”
“I won’t be able to drive you to the station, I’ll be busy.”
“I didn’t assume so. It’s already very kind of you to drive me today.”
“Well,” she comments, taking her eyes off the road for a second to look at me with a piercing look in them. “We are going to the same place.”
“Yes. Thank you for allowing me to stay the night.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
I doubt she’s doing it for Snow, either. Certainly for Penelope, who has had to endure all of Snow’s moods, from best to worse, all on her own since I have gone back to school.
That was a tough decision. Going back. Every atom in my body screamed at me to stay with Simon, but… what would have been the use of that? My presence didn’t seem to make him feel any better, in fact, I could tell that sometimes, I made him feel worse. He couldn’t quite register why I worried about him so much then, because I had ‘hated’ him for so long and my love was still a rather foreign concept to him, which caused him more trouble than it was worth. I decided that taking a bit of distance would probably be beneficial to him -to both of us. He has had time to become used to the new turn our relationship has taken in a less brutal way. Texting is easier than being stuck in a room together with all our contrary feelings and difficult memories. I have had time to accept that I am dating Simon Snow. It’s not a particularly long and realistic dream.
And now that we’ve had all this time to process, I am dying to see him again. The last time we were in the same together wasn’t joyful… He was still reeling from everything that happened on Christmas. At least, he had started talking again, but he didn’t do it much -much less than what is normal by Snow’s standards- and he was always morose.
The drive is unbearably long. Less than an hour long, but it feels like so much more. The fact that Professor Bunce isn’t talking to me doesn’t help. We could have at least had a conversation, but I suppose that’s not what she had in mind.
All the lights in her house are turned on. With how many people there are in there, it’s not surprising. All the Bunce children, plus the other Professor Bunce, plus Snow. It’s a miracle they even all fit in here. London houses are not very spacious.
“Just a warning,” Professor Bunce tells me as we’re walking towards the house. “We don’t do proper meals here. If you’re hungry, grab something from the kitchen. You have no reason to wander the house, but in any case, don’t go to the upper floor. My husband doesn’t want anyone up there.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Lastly, don’t use magic unless it’s on yourself, Simon, or inanimate objects. My children are banned from casting spells on one another, I’m not having you do it.”
I don’t see why I would ever cast a spell on one of her kids, but I agree anyways.
She climbs up the three steps that lead to the front door and put her key inside the lock. Noise surrounds us as soon as she opens the door. Merlin, the Bunces are loud. I can hear two different people screaming, the TV, some loud music, and something beeping -probably a microwave.
This evening is going to be long. I have a feeling that soon, I’m going to start hearing heartbeats too. (It only happens when I’m tired, which is ironic considering all it does is irritate me when I’m already in a delicate state of mind.)
“I’m home!” Professor Bunce shouts, adding to the general noise.
I watch her kick her shoes off as I crouch to take mine off carefully. She’s abandoned her bag on a narrow table conveniently placed close to the door, and is already heading off to another room. She’s a terrible host, but I’m not about to complain about it. All I want is to be back with Simon, so the quicker this happens, the happier I will be.
The issue is: I don’t know where he might be. Perhaps in the bedroom the Bunces have arranged for him, but I don’t know which room it is.
It’s not an issue for very long. When I stand up to take off my coat, there he is, standing in front of me with a shy look on his face and the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. The sight of him makes me feel warm.
“Hello, Snow.”
“Hi, Baz. I’m glad you’re here. Uh, you shouldn’t put your coat on that rack. It’s fallen down three times this week.”
The Bunces are useless magicians. Couldn’t they spell their coat rack to the wall?
“Here, give it to me,” Snow says. He steps forward to take my coat. He then opens a sliding door which reveals a long metal pole with tons of hangers. He puts my coat on one of them.
Then he steps even closer. He’s definitely in my personal space now. I can’t say that I mind.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He smiles at me. His body staggers, as if he was going to lean in to kiss me and then changed his mind. (Was he going to lean in to kiss me and then changed his mind?)
“Do you want to go to my room?” he asks. I raise an eyebrow, and he turns bright red. “I mean not… I mean… It’s calmer up there. And you can like, spell the room silent.”
Can he hear himself?
“Snow, do you know what spelling a room silent even means? It’s to stop other people from hearing what goes on in the room, not to stop any sound from coming in. Unless you do mean that you want to hide the sounds coming from your bedroom when we’re in there.”
His cheeks must be burning hot by now. Crowley, I wish it didn’t make me feel weak in the knees. It’s not helping me keep my composure. A smirk on my face is better than a disgustingly lovestruck smile. More typical.
“That’s not what I… I’m sure you understood me, you bastard! Just… Just come with me!”
I can’t help but laugh softly.
I follow him through the mess that is the Bunces’ house. They have… so many things. Enough furniture to cover the entire floor space, pictures and other kinds of decoration on the walls, plants. Stacks and stacks of books, piles of papers and files. It makes me feel claustrophobic, but at least, it looks lived in. Pitch Manor was the opposite... when my parents still lived there. I’m not sure what the house in Oxford looks like.
“Where’s Penelope? I’d like to say hi.”
“Oh, she’s out.”
“Out? At this time of day?”
One of the Bunce kids nearly runs into me as I’m about to step on the stairs. I’m able to catch the handrail to avoid falling on my face.
“Oi, Priya, watch out!” Simon says.
“Sorry!” the kid shouts back.
Snow looks at me over his shoulder, a sorry look on his face, before he starts climbing the stairs.
“So anyway, yeah, Penny’s out. Her new hobby is tutoring kids. She’s gone almost every day for a few hours. She doesn’t want to admit it, but I think her siblings were driving her mad and she was getting extremely bored being stuck here all day instead of going to school.
“See, that doesn’t surprise me.”
He chuckles. “Me neither.”
“Don’t you get bored?”
That’s probably the wrong question to ask. I want to ask it anyway. I feel like we’re at a point in our relationship where I can ask the wrong question. It’s not going to make Snow hate me more. (It’s not going to make him hate me, full stop. He doesn’t hate me anymore.)
“Honestly? Yeah, I do, but it’s good to be bored, I think.”
We reach the top of the stairs. Snow turns right, and I follow him. “Is it?”
“Yeah. Didn’t get much chance to be bored when I was stressing about saving the world all the time. ‘s really relaxing being bored, actually.”
His voice gets a little less cheerful. It makes me want to… Oh, fuck it. He’s my boyfriend. That’s something I can do.
I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. His shoulders jerk up slightly in surprise, and he turns his head to look at me. I give him a small smile. His expression softens. He squeezes my hand back and doesn’t let go.
He opens a door and leads me inside. “So this is my room.”
It smells like it is. Smells like him. His new scent, not how he smelled when we lived together. Something about it reminds me of the smell of a campfire that has burnt out. Lingering smoke in fresh night air, a faint taste of ashes at the back of my throat.
It looks like him, too. Plain and simple. I’m sure he took it as it was and didn’t add anything to make it his own. He never had decoration on his walls or his desk at Watford, so I’m not surprised.
The room is small but, unlike in the rest of the house, the space is occupied well. Probably because none of the Bunces have gotten a chance to put their mess all over the place.
Simon has a wardrobe, a desk with a laptop that must have belonged to one of Penelope’s parents -it’s an old model of MacBook, the kind of laptop Professor Bunce currently uses-, a single bed and a nightstand topped with a lamp and alarm clock, and a cupboard on which can be found a pile of comic books and… a vase with flowers. Which are still in the clear wrapping the florist they were bought from must have put them in. Does he not know he’s supposed to get rid of that before putting flowers in a vase? (Perhaps he doesn’t, actually. I doubt they often bought flowers in the care homes he grew up in…)
He notices my interrogative gaze on the flowers and, regretfully, drops my hand to hurry to the other side of the room. He takes the bouquet out of the vase. The water dripping on the hardwood floor makes me cringe internally.
“I… uh… I got these for you. You know because… Well, today’s Valentine’s day. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea because the guy is supposed to give his girlfriend flowers but we’re both guys, and it’s not like I think you’re my girlfriend! But I don’t know, I just thought you might like flowers and I wanted to…”
I rush up to him and lay a hand on his arm. “Hey. Simon. Relax. I’m not offended about the flowers. In fact, I’m very happy about the flowers,” I say in a soothing voice as I take the bouquet from him. It’s not roses. I suppose he thought it was safer not to get roses. Less meaningful. Anyone knows what a red rose means, but I doubt he’s ready to offer me that yet, and getting me pink roses is probably something that didn’t seem like it would be a good Valentine’s day present.
Or perhaps he didn’t think about any of it, and only got those flowers because he thought they looked nice.
I don’t need to overthink this.
He got me flowers. That’s the important part.
“Really?” he asks, his big blue eyes adorably hopeful. He’s an idiot if he thought I wouldn’t be over the moon that he bought me flowers.
“Yes, really.”
We’re very close. So close that he must feel my breath on his face when I chuckle happily as I glance back and forth between him and the flowers.
Now would be an appropriate time to kiss him, right?
If his smell has changed, his taste remains the same. Does liking the taste of his saliva make me completely deranged? Probably. I can live with that.
I feel his hand hesitantly fall to my waist. Even if I am not, in fact, his girlfriend, he has kept some of the habits he developed dating a girl. He holds me like he would hold a girl. He often takes the lead.
When our lips part, he keeps his face close to mine, forehead against forehead, eyes closed.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, like a secret.
“I’m glad I’m here too. I’ve missed you.”
He smiles, oh so beautifully. This smile has so rarely been directed at me that it makes my heart race like it did the first time.
“I missed you too. I’ve been counting down the day to your break,” he admits sheepishly.
“Oh really? You were that impatient to see me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”
I peck his lips, just because I can, then step back. I’ve got a little something for him too.
First, I put the flowers back in the vase they were in, then I pick up my bag from where I dropped it. I open it and look for the things I packed for him, making sure to only take the items I have wrapped in one of my handkerchiefs to protect them.
Simon is looking at me curiously.
“I brought you this. I don’t think if it really qualifies as a Valentine’s day gift, but… Happy Valentine’s day anyway.”
He’s careful when he manipulates the handkerchief. The way I am holding it must have indicated that its content was fragile, or at least, that it is something worth being careful with, which it is, I believe. Unless I’ve completely misinterpreted the emotion in his voice and eyes when he told me about those things. Then, I’m just going to make a fool of myself, and possibly upset him.
The mere thought of it turns my stomach. Why haven’t I considered this before? 5Next Valentine’s day, I’m sticking with chocolate.)
“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculous it is to have your initials and your family’s coat of arms embroidered on a handkerchief? Has anyone every told you how ridiculous it is to have a handkerchief, full stop?” Snow asks teasingly.
“You, many times, I believe.” My voice is a bit tight when I answer. His fingers are undoing the tiny knot I managed to tie to hold everything together. It takes him a few seconds, because those hands are made for sword yielding, not delicate work.
I stop breathing when the fabric of the handkerchief falls open and the small animal figurines inside it are revealed to Snow’s eyes.
Snow’s eyes which quickly fill with tears.
Fuck. Is that a good reaction or a terrible one?
“Baz… You… Is that…?”
“I found them in the barn. The memories attached to them seemed important to you. I thought you might want them back.”
“You…” His hand is trembling. “Baz… That’s so…” He closes it around the figurines and throws his arms around me.
I wasn’t expecting it. I trip backwards and nearly don’t regain my balance, but thankfully, I do manage to stay up on my feet, though I can feel a pulsing pain in my leg from the way it moved when Snow’s body crashed against mine.
I hug him back. He’s trembling much more than I would like. I think he’s crying.
Maybe he wouldn’t be if you had brought him something else than a keepsake from his dead friend, you moron.
I sure know how to pick my Valentine’s day gifts…
Tentatively, I stroke the back of his head. He has cried in my arms before. I remember that he liked me touching his hair.
“Simon, I’m sorry to ask, but are those good or bad tears?”
Now I’m sure that there are tears. I can feel them wetting my shoulder.
His arms tighten around me. It hurts a little. “I don’t know.”
“Do you… wish I hadn’t brought you this?”
He immediately shakes his head.
“No. I’m… That’s wonderful.” The way his voice sounds when he cries breaks my heart. I wasn’t supposed to make him cry anymore. “I just… Big feelings. Not sure what to do about them.”
“That’s okay. What do you want me to do?”
“Just keep holding me.”
I can do that.
…
Snow and I end up cuddling on his small bed. There isn’t enough room for two grown men but I’m too tired to cast a spell powerful enough to turn the bed into a double until tomorrow morning, and it’d be a disaster if it returned to its original size while we were asleep.
Besides, I don’t mind being pressed up against him in the slightest, especially as it allows me to notice that he has gained weight since last time I saw him, which is good because he had lost a lot of it last time I saw him. He barely ate anything for days after the Mage’s death. He barely did anything at all after the Mage’s death. Barely ate, barely talked, barely slept.
Cried a lot.
I gently wipe his cheek with my hand to dry the last remaining tears on it. Then, I press a kiss to his cheekbone, just under his eye. I can feel his eyelashes flutter against my nose, it tickles.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes.”
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
About her. Dare I think, about him.
For all the pain I know it has caused him, Snow hasn’t talked about the deaths of two very important people in his life to anyone. Bunce wouldn’t stop sending me worried texts to me about it. You cannot force him to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, Bunce. Grief is complicated.
The messages she sent back after I said something along those lines were always awkward. People don’t know what to do with themselves when I allude to my dead mother.
In true Snow fashion, he shrugs.
“I don’t know if I want to talk about her…”
He can’t even say her name. That’s not a good start.
“That’s okay.”
“… but I… I haven’t really… I haven’t let myself think about her.” His hand is in his hair, pulling at it. He’s going to make his scalp hurt. “At all. Not since… There’s just been so many other things, you know. If on top of it all I started thinking about her… I couldn’t have…”
He pauses to catch his breath, as his speech was becoming shaky. I run my fingers up and down his spine tenderly.
I can feel his heart hammering in his chest as if it was beating in mine. That’s how close we are. He’s crushing me underneath him and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Especially not if that physical proximity can bring him even an ounce of comfort.
“When I saw the little animals… It was the first time I allowed myself to think about her. And it felt… Good. And like I would never feel good again at the same time.”
Those are not pleasant words to hear from the mouth of someone you care for. But… “I understand.”
“We weren’t even that close…”
I smile sadly. I understand that too. Trying to diminish the relationship to diminish the pain. I was so young when she died, I hardly knew my mother. I don’t even have that many memories with her.
Snow has memories with the goatherd. Plenty of them. I remember my utter confusion when I watched him leave the room to be with her for hours and hours on end when we were kids.
Sure, he visited her less often as he grew older. But they were close. He got her Christmas presents. I’m not sure he even gets Penelope Christmas presents.
“You’re allowed to be sad, Simon.”
“Yes, I know that, but I didn’t want to be sad today… I mean, look at us, it’s the first time I see you in weeks, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve spent 99% of the time we’ve been together crying!”
“At least we were together! If I get to hold you in my arms, I don’t mind that you’re crying.”
That makes him laugh.
“Your standards are so low, Basil.”
“You shouldn’t have an issue with that. It means you can make hardly any efforts and still have me utterly charmed.”
He props himself up on his elbows to look at me better. He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “But I want to make efforts. I want this to work.”
“This?”
“Us. I don’t want to be a terrible boyfriend. I wasn’t going to be a terrible boyfriend tonight. I had something planned! I wanted to take you out and… Oh, fuck, we haven’t eaten. Are you hungry? I should have asked if you were hungry.”
I laugh. “Relax, Snow, everything’s alright. I’m not hungry, and you’re not a terrible boyfriend.”
“Really? Cause you got me this super thoughtful gift and I just got you flowers…”
“I’m very happy with the flowers. What I gave you is hardly a gift. It’s items I’m returning to you.”
“The thought behind it is the gift.”
“Snow. We’re not going to argue over gifts.”
“We’re not arguing!” he says, in the same tone he once used to call me a dick or accuse me of plotting against him. It’s very amusing.
I drag my hand up his back until it’s in his hair. I bring his head down and kiss him.
“No we’re not,” I say against his lips. “We’re kissing.”
His eyes sparkle.
“Sounds like a plan.”