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BAZ
“I’m just trying to help! You don’t have to be such a complete arse about it!” He’s such a child sometimes, his tail whipping around angrily behind him like a Devil’s pitchfork.
“I’m the arse? That’s rich, Snow. You’re the one who even brought this up in the first place.”
“Yeah, well at least I’m not afraid to face my fucking problems. You won’t even try!”
For a moment it was like nothing had changed. Like I had slipped right back into my plotting, vindictive, 14 year old self. “Fuck you, Snow,” I snapped, the words coated in venom.
He stepped back as if he’d been stung, and I immediately felt a sharp stab of guilt flood through me.
“Simon…” I began weakly. He hadn’t even finished shoving his arms in the sleeves of his coat and he was halfway out the door, shutting it behind it with a resounding slam.
I flinched at the sound, closing my eyes and hearing it echo through the small apartment. At least Bunce was still in classes….
X
It was a few hours later when Snow came back, juggling his keys, two coffee cups, and a massive yellow shopping bag, the door banging loudly against the wall when he finally managed to open it. He’s always bursting into places. I don’t think he has the capacity to make a quiet entry.
For a moment, I brightened at the thought of one of those cups being for me, a delicious, pumpkin mocha breve flavored apology, but instead watched him drop his bag onto the table and hand the coffee to Penny, who was sprawled on the couch reading.
“Thank you Simon!” She smiled brightly as she looked up from her book, “A History of Magickal Speech and Linguistics.” Typical Bunce.
“Snow...” I began, sucking up my pride and taking a step towards him.
He ignored me, shucking off his coat and rifling through that hideous yellow shopping bag.
“I’m really sorry about what I said. It was… an overreaction, to say the least, and I wanted to apologize.” Despite the apology being sincere, it came out quiet, twisted and uncomfortable in my mouth. To my credit, us Pitches have never really been one for apologies.
He scoffed. “Apology not accepted. I’m still mad at you.”
“Simon,” I said, reaching a hand out to rest on his shoulder. He ducked away from my touch.
“Nope! No touching until I’m done being mad at you. I’ve even found a way to make sure of it.”
In one fluid motion, he turned the shopping bag upside down, and I watched as a dozen different metal crosses spilled out onto the wooden table. Crowley he can’t be serious….
SIMON
“Until I’m done being mad at you,” I began, ripping the packaging off of a particularly large silver cross and fastening it to my neck, “I’ll be wearing these, and don’t worry, I bought several.”
“Where the hell did you get all of this anyways?”
“Blowout sale at Forever 21,” I answered smugly, fastening an ugly cross bracelet to my wrist. “Apparently crosses are ‘aesthetic’ now or something.”
Penny was practically cackling in the corner with her book. “You really messed up, didn’t you Baz?” she snorted, taking off her glasses to wipe her eyes. He shot her an irritated look.
“You can’t possibly be serious about this,” Baz said as I continued snapping bracelets onto my arms. “How are you supposed to go out in public without looking completely unhinged?”
“I manage perfectly fine in public with wings and a tail, thank you very much.”
“Invisible wings and a tail.”
“You know Simon, some of these aren’t actually that hideous,” Penny said, hopping up from the couch to take a look at my assortment. “Ooo, actually, mind if I borrow this?”
“Crowley, don’t encourage him,” Baz sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple.
Before long, my arms were stacked with cheap bracelets up to the elbow, and there were at least five metal chains of varying lengths swinging around my neck. I’d even snapped a few bracelets to my tail, just in case Baz got any bright ideas.
“It looks good, but your head is still exposed,” Penny contemplated, holding her hand up against her chin. “Hold on a minute I have an idea.” She ran down the hall to her room, and returned with an old fabric headband.
“Hand me that bracelet, Simon. No not that one, the other one.” I finally pinpointed the one she wanted, a particularly cheap and fragile looking piece of intertwining metal crosses. She promptly twisted it, snapping off the crosses one by one and casting Glued at the hip to make them stick to the headband.
“There,” she said, placing it onto my head like she was crowning me (the almighty king of pissing off my boyfriend). “Completely Baz proof.”
Baz had his arms crossed, scowling in the corner. “Thanks, Bunce, your help is truly appreciated.”
She shrugged and flopped back on the couch, opening her book with a smile. “Good luck with the groveling Baz.”
He flicked his eyes back to me. “I’m not leaving until we settle this, Snow. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to haunt this apartment. You’ve got to take those off eventually.”
I shrugged. “Do what you want,” I said, before heading off to my bedroom, leaving him to stew and plot over how to win my forgiveness. (If there’s one thing Baz was always good at, it’s plotting.) Truthfully, I wasn’t even that mad anymore, but old habits die hard, and sometimes it felt good to tease him a bit.
BAZ
Simon Snow can be the most stubborn bastard on the face of the earth.
Three hours. Three hours of holing up in his room and completely ignoring my attempts to talk to him from outside the door. Instead, he just cranks up that infernal stereo to drown me out.
I wonder how long he’s going to keep this up, or if he’ll force me to beg or something. (Would I beg? Pitches don’t beg, but for Snow… maybe.) I might as well, since I’ve already been reducing to pawing at his door like a lost dog, and getting a cramp in my arse on this hard wooden floor.
He wouldn’t force me to beg. It’s an extremely arse-like move, and not at all Simon. He’ll just carry on with his ridiculous jewelry until he gets tired of wearing it and of being mad at me. No, that’s something I would do. Because Simon was right, I am a complete arse.
Normally whenever Simon brings up the concept of… therapy, I just shift the topic into something much more innocuous that doesn’t scare the shit out of me, but today, he seemed dead set on discussing it.
“I see how you have nightmares, Baz,” he had said, his voice painfully gentle. “It could do you a world of good. It’s been… helpful. For me at least.” His eyes looked so soft and almost pitying, like he knew I was some fucked up damaged goods that needed to be treated with kids gloves.
I don’t need to talk about my problems. I don’t want to. The thought of spilling my guts to a complete stranger, boohooing about how hard it is to be a brooding gay vampire, makes me queasy. I have Simon, and that will always be enough. Even when he insists on being a brat and wearing 37 different crosses rather than talk to me. (Yes, I counted.)
Finally, the music filtering out of Snow’s room shuts off, and I hear footsteps accompanied by the slight clink of metal jewelry approaching the door. It creaks open, and Snow’s freckled face peers out, eyes squinting, his golden curls pushed back against his head with Bunce’s ridiculous pink headband.
“You’re still here,” he says. He doesn’t sound surprised, but he doesn’t sound angry either. I take it as a good sign.
“Of course I am,” I say, closing my textbook and setting it aside on the floor. “I told you, I’m not leaving until we settle this like proper boyfriends.”
For a moment, I think I see a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he quickly regains his neutral expression. “Well, I suppose you’ll be staying for dinner then,” he says, stepping out from behind the door and whisking off into the kitchen.
“What are we having?” I called, throwing my books in my bag and heading towards the living room.
“Italian.”
“Simon! I’m sorry okay!”
SIMON
Unfortunately for Baz, Penny and I enjoyed a delicious double helping of garlic bread, while he stared from across the table, practically licking his fangs.
Baz can’t eat garlic. He doesn’t hiss and spit at it like some kind of feral cat, but it doesn’t quite… agree with him, perse. However, he does possess a nose, so he was definitely still being taunted by the delicious, buttery aroma wafting through the kitchen.
I cook a lot more than I used to. Technically any amount of cooking is more than I used to do, but I actually quite enjoy it. After a few very charred first attempts, I had actually grasped how to make more than just toast, which had been the previous extent of my culinary capabilities.
My therapist suggested I take up something as a kind of “occupational therapy.” I tried exercise, which was pretty much an extremely torturous failure. After that there was keeping a journal, but I was always shit with my words and would forget to keep up with it. Eventually, I settled on cooking, figuring that I’d always had an interest in food (or rather, eating it.) I’m no Cook Pritchard, but at least I can fend for myself now instead of relying on Baz to feed me with takeout.
I did feel a little bad though, so I made sure to keep the garlic out of the pasta I made. (Just because I was mad at Baz doesn’t mean I wanted him to starve.) He ate his pasta slowly and quietly, holding a hand over his mouth to make sure his fangs didn’t pop. He’s still not entirely comfortable with us watching him eat. Before, he wouldn’t even be in the same room as Penny while he ate something, claiming she’d find it “completely unappetizing,” but at least now he’s willing to sit at the same table.
“Sick of those bracelets yet, Snow?” He’d finally asked, setting his silverware aside and looking up at me.
Truthfully, they were annoying the hell out of me, always clinking and sliding around. I’m pretty sure the metal rings were turning my fingers green, too, but Baz didn’t have to know that. “‘Ou wisth,” I said, shoveling another forkful of spaghetti into my mouth.
I could see him burning with the urge to tell me to chew with my mouth shut, but he resisted. “Simon, I really think we should talk about this,” he said through gritted teeth.
For a moment, I almost said yes. Even though I was mad at him, I still missed Baz. Talking to him, kissing him, and… other things. But then, I thought about our fight this morning and the way he’d snapped at me. Hard and ruthlessly cruel, just like the Baz from Watford. My enemy. Thinking about it made me sting all over again, so I chose not to.
“Mmm, I don’t think so,” I said, scooping up my empty plate and carrying it to the sink. I felt like an arse, but I was too stubborn to give in. Not after what he’d said to me. Hot, soapy water dripped onto my bracelets as I scrubbed my plate, and I desperately resisted the temptation to rip them off and hock them in the nearest rubbish bin.
“Actually, I think I might just go to bed. I’m tired,” I said, turning off the water and wiping my hands. For once, Baz didn’t say anything. He just sat there at the table, expressionless, while Penny shifted uneasy glances between the two of us. I looked away.
“Goodnight Penny…. Goodnight Baz,” I added, barely looking up before taking off down the hall.
Even from across the flat I heard the quiet echo, “Goodnight Simon.”
PENNY
The moment Simon left, Baz dropped his head on the table and groaned.
“I’ll take it groveling hasn’t worked?” I asked, scooping up our dirty plates.
“He won’t even let me grovel. How am I supposed to apologize if he won’t listen to anything I have to say?”
I shrugged and headed for the kitchen, Baz trailing right behind like a lost puppy.
“Bunce?” he called, following me into the kitchen. “...What am I supposed to do?”
He must really be desperate to come to me for advice, but then again, if anyone knew Simon better than Baz, it was me. I thought for a moment, casting Clean as a Whistle on the dishes and placing them into the cabinet.
“Baz, I think you’re overthinking this,” I said after a moment, busying myself with the leftovers and dumping them into tupperware containers.
“Great powers of observation, Bunce,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s all I’ve thought about all day.”
I looked up to glare at him. “Well, perhaps you could start by being less antagonistic and trying to pick a fight with everyone you talk to, as I seem to recall that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”
I’m certain if Baz had the capacity to blush, he would have. “I’m… sorry,” he said, drawing his arms in close to his chest. It was rare that I saw Baz looking unsure, and especially rare seeing him apologetic. Normally I’d chalk this up to a personal victory, but instead, I just felt a bit bad for him.
“Look,” I said, softening a bit. “He’s not really mad anymore. Just stubborn. Well, maybe a little mad, but he’ll get over it soon enough.”
Baz ran his hands through his hair, pushing back the long black strands that were falling in his eyes. “I guess so,” he sighed, still frustrated.
“Well, what do you normally do to make up for being a total arse?”
Baz bit his lip, suppressing the smirk that was beginning to form across his face. “Well…”
I wrinkled up my face in disgust. “Oh Merlin, ew!”
“Well now you see my problem. He won’t let me touch him!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.
“You guys are so typical,” I said, snapping the lids on the containers of leftovers. “Not everything has to be solved with sex. Think Baz, just for a minute. What else is more important to Simon than anything in the world? Figure it out, and bribe him with it.”
He looked at me, vacant and confused, before his eyes went down to the tupperware container of pasta in my hands and his dark grey eyes lit up.
“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly, dashing down the hallways and towards the front door.
“Where to?”
“Tescos.” He shoved an arm in his coat and wrenched open the door. “I’ve got something of a plan. A literal half-baked plan. And Penny?”
Penny. That might take some getting used to. “Yeah?”
“...Thanks.” Before I could say anything the door had slammed shut and he was gone.
Simon’s door cracked open.
“Penny? Did Baz just leave?” His mop of curly hair peered out from behind the doorway, the makeshift headband apparently discarded.
“Yeah, just a moment ago actually.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding slightly deflated.
“Don’t worry,” I called, heading into the living room. “He’ll be back. He practically lives here anyways.”
“I’m not worried,” he insisted weakly, half hidden behind his bedroom door. “Just curious is all.”
I rolled my eyes, flopping down on the couch and opening my book. “Sure, Simon.” Both of them are too stubborn for their own good- it’s practically a match made in heaven.
BAZ
“Simon?” I called, knocking lightly against the doorframe with my free hand.
There was no response.
Cautiously, I cracked open the unlocked door, and found Simon sprawled across his bed sleeping- open-mouthed and drooling- and completely oblivious to the beams of early morning sunlight creeping in and landing squarely on his face.
I set the package in my hands on the nightstand and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, lightly brushing my fingers across Simon’s unruly bedhead. He can never quite manage to tame the messy curls on top, to the point where he just gave up and let them have their way. I like it better like this anyways. Much easier to run my hands through, and softer.
“Simon,” I whispered, delicately pushing the mussed up strands aside. “Simon wake up.” At Watford, Simon was one of the heaviest sleepers imaginable. The Humdrum could have shown up in his bedroom and he would have just carried on drooling.
I shook his shoulder gently through the duvet, feeling the bony expanse of his wings tucked up snugly underneath. Still, nothing.
“Wake up Sleeping Beauty,” I said, pulling back the blankets and continuing to shake him awake. His arm was sandwiched awkwardly between the mattress and his body, likely blanket-creased and tingling with numbness. Typical Simon. He always rolls around in his sleep, probably a leading contributor of that unruly bedhead I love so much. Smirking, I reached under his chest to tug his arm free, but brushed against something metal and hot like a fire poker.
“Fuck!” I exclaimed, yanking my hand back and wincing. Simon jerked awake, almost falling out of the bed as he bolted upright and looked around the room, confused and still half-asleep
“Baz?” He squinted, raising his hands to rub his bleary eyes. While the numerous bracelets and necklaces from yesterday were gone from his neck and arms, there were still a few cross shaped rings decorating his slender fingers. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry,” I said, closing my fist around the burning sensation on my palm. “I didn’t mean to wake you like that.”
He reached for me tiredly, silver rings glinting in the sunlight and causing me to jump back slightly and out of his grasp.
“What-” he looked at me and then back at his hands before realization flickered across his face, his tired eyes widening. “Shit, did I burn you?”
“It’s fine. It was my fault.”
“Let me see,” he commanded, shucking off the remaining rings into the nightstand and taking my hand. Cradling it softly, gently, he opened the palm and revealed a shiny red burn mark right across the center.
“Fuck, I’m sorry Baz. I thought I took them all off last night but I forgot about these ones.” Tan fingers turned my hand over, probing the area, but all I could focus on was how good Simon’s hand felt in my own again, seeming to sap the pulse of pain away with every touch. I looked at him, his freckled face and cornflower blue eyes narrowed in concentration, and felt my hand twisting to link our fingers together.
He paused a moment, looking at our joined hands and letting them rest there, before finally looking back up at me, hesitantly.
“I’m sorry Simon-” I rushed, turning towards him and squeezing his hand in my own, pain be damned. “I- I’m sorry for snapping at you when you were just trying to help and I know I can be a shit boyfriend but I want to try and be better for you and-” I swallowed hard, continuing before I lost my courage “-I’ll go. To that… therapy thing. If you still want me to.”
“You will?” He said, a grin spreading rapidly across his face.
I expected to feel nauseous, to hear a quiver in my voice perhaps, but the sound that came out was solid, resolute. “Yeah. I’ll go. If it’s important to you, I’ll go.”
“Baz,” he said, his voice warm and his arms reaching out to pull me in. I wrapped my arms around him tight, running my hands along freckled skin and occasionally the leathery expanse of his wings, slowly unfolding themselves across his back after a long night spent tucked away. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I said, moving to thread my fingers through his hair and closing my eyes. When I inhaled, it smelled vaguely sweet, like cinnamon and spice.
“Oh! I almost forgot.” I untangled myself from Simon’s body and leaned across the bed, reaching for the container I’d placed on the nightstand. I suddenly felt extremely inarticulate and awkward presenting my crappy work to Simon. I’m good at most things, sure, but living at Watford and having a dozen other cooks around our estate hadn’t given me much reason to learn.
“I’m guess I didn’t really even end up needing these, but I… made them for you, I guess, I don’t know.” I peeled back the lid and pushed a container of homemade, probably somewhat overdone sour cherry scones into his hands.
Simon looked up at me, my beautiful Simon, bright and golden and radiating like the sun, before cramming scones in his mouth two at a time.
“I’m tho in love with ‘ou,” he said with his mouth full, spilling crumbs all over his shirt and across his bed.
I smirked, leaning over to wipe the crumbs off his face. “I know.”