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Baz remembers being thankful that he was taller than Simon Snow. He thinks back to the early days, when he would hold Simon’s things (his books, his wand, his tie, that infernal red ball he used to have) up above his head, smirking at Simon as he jumps up and down trying to reach it. That fight usually ends with Snow getting frustrated and kicking his knees to make him drop whatever it was he was holding, but the pain was worth looking down at Snow and watching his pale, freckly face flush red as his eyebrows work their way into a scowl.
He tries to remember that pain and bring it to the front of his mind when Snow, once again, collides into him. Snow’s face smashes into his chest while his nose gets buried in those bronze curls. The smell of cinnamon surrounds him and he fucking hates fifth year and the horrible dawning realization that there is indeed a fine line between love and hate and that he has fucking crossed it.
He takes a step back, struggles to keep his facial expression aloof and flicks a cool look at Penelope Bunce.
“Control your pet, Bunce. Or at least get him a leash.”
Bunce does nothing but roll her eyes at him--long past tired at their antagonism--just tugs at Snow’s arm and tries to get him to move. Not that it’s gonna work, Snow is glaring at him and thinking hard enough that he can practically see gears spinning inside his head as he tries to come up with a retort.
“You know I have a name Baz. And it’s not my fault you like skulking around hallways like an overgrown bat.”
“I do not skulk. I do, however, watch where I’m going so I don’t bash other people’s chest.”
“I didn’t ‘bash’ your chest! I bumped against it. Mildly.”
“Nothing is mild when it concerns your thick skull.”
He’s got this wrinkle between his eyebrows that means he’s working his way into a bluster when Bunce once again tugs at his arm.
“Simon, come on! Agatha’s waiting in the library.”
At the mention of his girlfriend’s name (Or is it ex-girlfriend? Gossip around Watford says they’ve broken up but Merlin knows they’re getting back together. That’s how the stories always go. The chosen one fights, saves the world and gets the girl.), the fight leaves his face. Snow shoots one last glare at him and leaves, practically tripping over himself to get to Agatha. Baz just watches him go and tries very hard not to think about Wellbelove and Snow and their fairytale love story. Whatever. It’s not like he cares.
***
Baz can feel Simon Snow staring at him. Again. Usually he’d turn around to catch him looking, ready to shoot him a mocking grin but the last time he did it, Snow gave him a small smile in return. Which is… unusual.
Also, he’s pretty sure that Simon’s been following him around. He tried to ask Niall and Dev this morning if they noticed that they’ve been running into Snow more often lately but Dev just shrugged and Niall just said, “Not gonna touch you and Simon Snow’s weird thing with a ten-foot pole.” He kinda wanted to ask Niall what he meant by ‘weird thing’ but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
It’s rather annoying that the same year Simon starts following him around—trying to catch him “plotting” or whatever idiotic thing it is that Snow thinks he does—is the same year that Baz begs off doing The Family’s bidding. The only complaint came from his Aunt Fiona insisting that his time is running out and they can’t afford to lose the chance his position offers. Surprisingly enough, his father came to his defense and it was kinda easy to ignore her rage-against-the-machine tendencies after that.
Baz has a feeling that maybe he should care about The Family’s fight against The Mage, but he doesn’t. He can’t. It’s his sixth year. It’s the last year he gets to live in the place his mother loved. The last year he spends in the place he lost her. And besides, between soccer, his horrifyingly real feelings for Simon Snow and the work necessary to beat out Bunce for valedictorian, he’s got enough on his plate.
He’s thinking about all these while he sits at the crypt, feeding on the rats crawling around the place (and Crowley this school’s gonna be overrun by rats when he leaves). He looks at the flowers on his mother’s grave—lilies, her favourite—and tries to imagine what his mother would say if she saw him right now.
She definitely wouldn’t be thrilled that her son has turned into a monster, but would she hate him? Would she think her son was dead and try to kill what he has become instead? Or would she be proud of him? For managing to live through this problem? For being one of the best students in Watford? What would she think of her son being in love with another boy? What would she think if that boy was Simon Snow?
He tips his head against the wall and tries to remember the feeling of her mother’s lips pressing against his forehead the way she usually did when she notices something off about his mood. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine the way she smelled, like smoke and cloves and warmth and comfort. He imagines her callused hand, the way all fire wielder hands are, brushing his hair back or holding his hand and making him feel safe.
A glance at his watch tells him it’s getting late so he stands up, reaches out and traces his mother’s name engraved in marble. He’s barely made it four steps away when he bumps into something. Or someone, as evidenced by the grunt of pain he just heard. The smell of cinnamon hits his nose again and…
“What are you doing here, Snow?”
Snow touches a hand to his forehead, rubbing at where it hit Baz and just looks at him in challenge.
“I should be asking you that question.”
“Crowley’s sake, can we not do this now? I’m not in the mood for your attempts at witticism.”
“You’re always disappearing into this place.”
“I’m right in front of you so clearly no one’s been disappearing.”
“Okay. What do you do in here anyway? Is this where you do your plotting? Do you have chimera hidden somewhere you can throw me at?”
“No! Plotting?! I don’t even know what you mean by that. And besides, I’ve told you before the chimera was an accident. It was only supposed to scare you, I didn’t think you’d start attacking it.”
“It breathed fire at me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Back away from it? Look, I’m tired, just go away.”
“Look, I was just asking. You’ve been going here five of the past seven nights, what even is in this place?”
The crypt is dark and kinda small. It’s late, he’s tired, his head’s a mess and he really doesn’t need Simon to keep reminding him of all the ways he has fucked up in the past. He misses his mother with an intensity that leaves his chest aching. The sound of Simon’s beating heart is so loud in the stillness of the room, a sharp reminder that Snow is so alive while he isn’t. The words are out before he can stop himself.
“My mother,” he says. “My mother’s grave is in here.”
Snow clearly didn’t expect that answer because the challenge in his expression falls. He starts stammering out some sort of apology, words tripping out his tongue. It looks so awkward it's kind of painful to watch. But it doesn't compare to the pity that's slowly making its way to Simon's eyes. He feels his stomach drop and his cheeks flush with anger. He knows it's irrational but it doesn't matter. He doesn't need pity from anyone, let alone Simon Snow. He pushes on through, shoves him out of the way and stalks out.
***
Living with the person you might be in love with is a dangerous minefield. Baz can remember all the nights he spent, hyperaware of the short but uncrossable distance between him and Simon. Mornings where the first thing he sees is Simon bleary eyed, hair tousled, looking so incredibly soft that he gets the urge to call out and ask him to curl up against him. Evenings where Simon comes home tired and bruised after fighting yet another one of the Humdrum’s creatures and all he wants to do is smooth his hair off his forehead and take care of him.
He’s a bit thankful that their mutual antagonism and paranoia caused them to never get dressed in front of each other. The most that they’ve seen of each other is a handful of shirtless moments where Baz allows his eyes to take in the shifting muscles on Simon’s back, lets his eyes linger and lets himself imagine kissing his way down Snow’s chest.
Thank Crowley they’ve already figured out a silent agreement that Snow showers at night, and that he showers in the morning.
Which is why he feels incredibly confused when Simon Snow crashes on his back while he’s brushing his teeth this morning. They have rules, unspoken rules but still rules, and he’s pretty sure that despite his normal obliviousness, Snow is aware of it. Besides, Snow didn’t even knock. He just opened the door, barged in and crashed into Baz. Who is only wearing a towel, a—considering the circumstances—very short towel.
Worst of all, he’s still got his toothbrush jammed into his mouth so he’s pretty sure trying to talk will make him look like a fool. Not that he can come up with anything clever to say. Not with Snow still pressed against his back, golden skin on his. Snow takes a step back, blinking in shock and then just… stares, eyes fixed disturbingly low on his back. There’s barely a couple of inches between the two of them and he can practically feel the warmth of Snow’s breathing against his skin. He briefly wonders if that heat could be enough to set him on fire.
He taps his toothbrush against the mirror to make Simon look at him and when their eyes meet, he just raises an eyebrow.
“Right. Wow, okay. Sorry,” says Simon, shaking his head as if to clear it. Then he turns around to leave, mumbling to himself and closes the door, but not before Baz could hear something that suspiciously sounds like smells like caramel.
He stares at himself in the mirror, trying to get his thoughts in order. He spits into the sink and thinks, “What the fuck just happened?”
***
It’s kind of disturbing how used they’ve all become to the various annoyances the Insidious Humdrum to Watford. During the fall dinner, some goblins sneaked through and wrecked a girl’s bathroom. A swarm of wrackspurts took over their elocution class last week which would have been amusing if not for the seven students sent to the infirmary because they were tripping high on wrackspurt bites (okay, it was pretty amusing). Tonight’s annoyance of the week however is not something he thinks he could get used to, because apparently the Humdrum just sent a manticore loose on the Wandering Wood.
Something that Baz finds out when something knocks him over as he’s passing by on the way back to the dorms. He’s flat on his back and blinking against the sky, when he recognizes what (or who) knocked him over. Simon Snow who has small, bleeding gash on his forehead is straddling him, thighs on either side of his hips. He can feel Snow’s hand cupping his cheek, thumb rubbing softly under his eyes.
“Baz, are you hurt?”
“Apart from you knocking me out? I’m great.”
Snow just makes an annoyed sound at that before heading back to the fight, waving and slashing his sword around. He can see Bunce on the other side shouting out spells to help Simon and like hell is he just going to lie there and wait for Simon to save him like some sort of damsel in distress. Pitches can fight for themselves.
He stands up quickly, dusts off his slacks, rushes next to Bunce and draws his own wand out. He and Bunce casts spell after spell but they barely affect the creature. Nothing happens until by chance, they both cast “And we all fall down!” at the same time. It doesn’t knock it out, but the combined force of the spell manages to tip the manticore over and that’s enough to give Snow a chance. He goes in strong and stabs him with the sword, killing the creature.
Simon rushes to where he and Penelope are standing. He hugs Bunce and waves away her questions with a simple I’m okay I’m okay. After Bunce has finished checking him over, Simon makes his way and stands right in front of him.
“Thanks for the help, Baz.”
Baz wants to fuss over him, too. Wants to check the still bleeding gash on his forehead and take Simon into his arms so he can feel him breathe and know that he’s okay, he’s alive. Watching him fight the manticore, while a little hot, was fucking terrifying. He wants to tell Simon that he’ll be there if needs help, just say the word. Wants to tell him, it may not be much but he’ll try and protect him. But that isn’t how it goes with them so what comes out of his mouth is,
“I can’t very well let that creature kill you. That’s my job.”
He expects a retort. Something clever wrapped in annoyance. But what he gets instead is an assessing look from Simon and a firm, “Or not.”
“What?”
“Or not. I don’t like fighting you.”
“How unlucky for you, it’s my favourite thing to do.”
“Or not,” he insists, “I like you.”
Baz feels his world stutter for a second. He likes me He likes me He like me plays in his head over and over. There’s something rising in his chest that feels like it could be fear or relief or hope or all of them all at once. He hears a slight tremble in his voice when he speaks.
“What do you mean you like me?”
“I like you. Like, your face and just… you.”
“Have you forgotten that we’re mortal enemies?”
“Not really. But I don’t think that matters much.”
“It matters! How are we going to be boyfriends if you hate me?”
Simon, the brat, just scoffs at that. “I don’t hate you,” he seems to think about what Baz just said, “Wait, so you DO wanna be boyfriends?”
“No!” Simon raises his eyebrows. “Maybe,” Simon smiles, “Okay, yes. Yes! But how will this even work? It can’t be this easy. We’re supposed to—“
Baz doesn’t get to finish saying with they’re supposed to be because Simon’s mouth is on his. It’s better and worse than he ever dared to imagine. Simon’s lips are soft and hot and a little chapped but it doesn’t fucking matter because this is fantastic. Simon surges up and Baz’ hands fly at his waist, holding him steady, holding him close. A line of fire dancing where ever Simon’s skin touches his. Simon bites down on his lower lip and he hears himself moan, low and a little desperate. He kisses back harder, opens his mouth and uses his tongue, encouraged by the sounds Simon is making.
“Right. So I’ll just head back alone then. See you tomorrow, Simon. Baz.”
They pull apart, at the sound of Bunce's voice, both of them breathing hard. He watches as Penelope walks back to the castle alone--he’d forgotten she was even there. He looks over Simon, takes in his flushed face, glazed over eyes and slightly swollen lips. He feels a little flattered that Simon seemed to forget about her, too.
Simon runs his thumb against his ear, “Hey, Baz,” he kisses him again, “We’ll make it work.”
He observes Simon’s face trying to look for doubt or any sign of hesitation and all he sees is determination. He lets the pleasure and happiness thrumming through his body show on his face. “I guess we will.”
***
Baz had always been a light sleeper. His vampire senses are annoyingly sensitive and the smallest sounds, the softest touches can wake him up. So when Simon Snow, back from the library where Penelope dragged him to study, just falls into his bed, his hand hitting Baz in the chest, he wakes the fuck up.
“Crowley’s sake, Snow. I expected better wake up calls when I started dating you.”
Simon just hums at him, shifting so he can lie more comfortably on Baz.
“Are you even listening? You’re kinda heavy, you know.”
“You have super strength, you can take it.” He sighs, “I’m so tired.”
“I did tell you I could teach you instead. I'd make it fun. I’d be a better teacher than Bunce was to you.”
Snow raises his head to look at him, “You'd be distracting. Also, don’t let her hear you say that. The two of you will end up using me in some sort of teaching competition.”
“But I’d win, right?”
Simon just hums at that, “Sure.” He gives Baz a kiss and goes back to using his chest as a pillow.
“Time to sleep now. Good night, Baz.”
“Good night, Simon.”