Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'If I could see you now, I'd try to make you sad somehow. But I can't so I'll cry instead.'

BAZ

It’s unnecessarily grandiose to use an Open Sesame on the doors but I do it anyway because I know everyone will be in the dining hall, and I may as well make an entrance.

I wanted it this way, I wanted to be the only person who got to break the news that I’m back.

Of course, my eyes immediately travel to the nightmare trio’s table, expecting to find Snow jumping to his feet as though I’m the Queen or Freddie Mercury making a star appearance. (We had one of those once during out third year.) (Lady Gaga is an astounding magician.)

Snow isn’t at the table however, and his absence is accompanied with a lack of scattered scones and butter marks. Aside from my burning disappointment as I make my way over to the tea, I can’t help but feel irritated that the day I finally return is the rare occasion Snow decides to skip breakfast. Typical.

I try not to appear restless as I sit myself at my usual table, sending a nod in greeting to my minions as I look back over at Bunce’s table, as though Snow would have teleported there within the last couple of seconds. (There isn’t a safe spell for that, only one that risks leaving a couple of limbs behind – for once I’m not speaking from experience.)

Bunce is sat reading a book, probably a textbook on the differentiations of pronunciation in vowels and consonants when casting a labour spell. Or she should be, considering that it’s the one area of Watford Education of which she’s drastically behind me in, rather than reaching at a close second to me. Crowley, she best not had caught up with me during my absence.

Wellbelove is sat opposite Bunce, but her neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle as she looks over towards me, trying to catch my eye. I know she expects something from me. A cool look. A meaningful glance. I don’t give it to her because Snow isn’t here to annoy with it, and what other motive would I have to entertain Wellbelove’s damsel teen drama?

Snow doesn’t show up throughout the remainder of breakfast. And he isn’t in our Magic Words lesson. Or our Political Magick class either. When his name is called out, the teachers simply look around the room before moving onto the next person. Nobody seems at all uneased by the absence of the chosen one. Even Wellbelove appears bored. I can’t discreetly study Bunce from where I’m sat.

I suppose it’s possible that he’s just on another mission from the Mage.

I’m eventually able to make my way to the Mummer’s building, where my belongings should be waiting outside for me. They are. And I know that Snow is inside as I can already smell his unbalanced magic pooling over the edges of his vessel. I pull out my wand, reintroducing myself to the room with the usual spell. Usually I can still smell Snow’s spilt blood as I do this, but it’s been two months since he will have nicked his thumb to let himself in. He doesn’t use the spell because he simply can’t. He’s never been good with words and I make it my job to torment him profusely because of that.

When I enter, the room is the mess it usually is, but I pay no attention to it as my eyes are instead immediately drawn to the glorious tragedy that’s sprawled out across the bed beside mine.

It obvious something isn’t right, mainly from the shine that glows from his tawny, freckled skin, made from both sweat and magic. But he isn’t going to go off – I’ve been there enough when he does to know when he’s going to. He’s asleep, and his curls are wet and matted against his forehead, demanding all of my resistance to not push them back. He’s not on top of his covers, but they’re not on top of him either, instead being crumpled up by his feet. He’s wearing trackie bottoms, but his glistening top half is naked. His mouth hangs open, drooling and letting out soft, yet uneven, snores. He’s restless clearly, and I guess he’s ill.

I’ve never had much experience with illness, seeing as a side effect of my vampirism is that I don’t catch viruses or bacterial diseases. But I know they’re not comfortable. Mordelia once contracted chicken pox and lay in bed moping for two weeks when she was seven. I read books to her until I’d ran out of engaging ones to read her. Then I dragged a television and DVD player into her room to amuse her further. It’s not like I can do that for Snow, though. If I managed to find a TV to bring him, he’d think I’d have spelled it to play a real version of the Samara clip from The Ring or something.

Instead, I do the most subtle thing I can think of that will help. Because I’m weak. I close the window, because although he’s sweating, he’s also trembling slightly and goosebumps are scattering his arms and so I know that when he wakes up he’ll be cold. I then unpack my things and head to the bathroom because I’m not sure how else to help. Snow probably wouldn’t want my help anyway.

 SIMON

 I wake up to the same thumping in my head that’s been on repeat for the past four weeks. Constant migraines are like living with the person you hate most. You can’t ignore them, and you never get use to them. It never stops being painful.

Speaking of living with the person you hate most, Baz is back. It’s clear from the sound of the shower, that’s just been turned off, and the new additions to his desk. There’s also a faint smell of Cedar and Bergamont – I only know that’s the name because I once read his conditioner bottle out of curiosity whilst on the toilet.

Of course, it’s now that the wanker decides to finally come back. Right when I only have a few days left to live. It’s like a punch from fate – You’re not getting to die that peacefully!

Not that this is a peaceful way to go. At all.

I mean, I’ve been left alone, so I guess that part could have been considered peaceful had the other circumstances not been around. I’m sweating but freezing at the same time, yet too exhausted to bother pulling the quilt back over my body as that would involve sitting up and my body has given up on me. I’m relieved that Baz has decided to antagonistically close the window, probably trying to annoy me. Jokes on him because for once I’m fucking freezing.

I’m not comfortable at all, but I don’t move my aching muscles an inch.

I hear the en-suite door open but resist the urge I get to look at Baz in favour of my bones resting. He comes into sight pretty quickly enough, glancing at me, disinterested as he reaches for his discarded bag and shoves it under his bed. He turns, sitting on his bed and looking at me. “I’ve got to say, Snow. You’re looking incredibly rough and weedy, today.”

His legs (where he gets his height from) are before him, one leg bent at a right angle whilst the other at approximately a hundred and ten degrees (that’s a rough guess though, because I’m well shit at maths), his foot being slightly under my bed. His arms are crossed, and his hair is still wet and slicked back. I wish he wouldn’t do that. He’s wearing his pyjamas, so I guess I’ve slept throughout the whole day again. “You’re back.” I mutter out, because my brain isn’t keeping up. It’s too foggy. And my throat hurts if I talk too much.

“Really? I appreciate the reminder.” Baz sneers as he raises one eyebrow. I can’t do that; I’ve always been dead jealous that he can. “So, what is it? Is it contagious? Do I need to call on the Mage’s men to quarantine to room?”

I don’t have the energy to argue with him. Or deal with him in general. So instead I just tell him the truth. “Curse,” I reply, hoarsely.

He looks surprised, but not overly-so. Baz is much too graceful for the full-on scene of a gasp. “Which one?” He’s genuinely curious, as if he doesn’t know. I don’t believe that his bitch aunt hasn’t told him that she did this. Merlin, he was probably in on it.

I try not to call women bitches, but Fiona once spelled my feet into the ground. And now she’s damn nearly killed me. It’s only a matter of time…

I shrug, as much as I can, because I don’t trust myself to say the curse aloud, and then give in to my eyelids begs to close them, cutting off my sight of the taller boy. But he carries on the conversation as though I haven’t.

“You’re telling me you don’t know the side effects? The cure? Nothing?”

“I do,” I reply, frowning with the pain. Then I decide to explain as best I can because, otherwise he may just keep asking me questions. “It makes me ill for four weeks unless…” I trail off, wincing as my stomach churns. I can’t throw up again. “Unless the person who loves me most kisses me,” I slur, my words joining together. I know that my voice is quiet and weak. I also know that he can hear me anyway. Surely that’s a side effect of vampirism, right? Heightened senses? I know he can see better in the dark than most people.

Baz doesn’t say anything, and I begin to slip off back to sleep until his voice pulls me from my slumber. “And if they don’t?”

“Death,” I say. “I die.” I open one eye, my vision unblurring after a couple of seconds to see that Baz is frowning at a spot on the floor by his feet. As though he’s deciding something, or he’s confused. Baz has always been hard to read. You’d think that after seven years I’d have figured him out by now but I’m still mostly as clueless as ever.

“Crazy little thing called love.” He says, with no magic, but I flinch anyway. “How long has it been since the initial cursing?” He asks, looking back up at me.

I shrug, “Dunno, about three and a half weeks.”

He raises his eyebrows, both this time, dragged up into a perfect crease. “You’ve been like this for nearly four weeks?”

“Pretty much.” I sigh.

“I’m surprised your smarter half isn’t here smothering you in reverse spells. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not stupid. I know she somehow manages to come up past the gender barriers whenever I’m not here.”

I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as I bare through another particularly painful thump from my head. Then I roll my body over to lie on my side, facing Baz so that I don’t have to bend my neck to look at him. “She said she can’t because people will be coming to check on me. Like nurses or the Mage. She’d risk getting expelled.”

Baz nods. This is probably the longest, most civil conversation we’ve ever had. Usually we throw insults at each other, maybe have a full-length argument, but it usually ends pretty quickly as one of us gets pissed off and storms away. Or one of us throws a punch. (Generally it’s me.) Or I go off. “So, the cure. When’s Wellbelove going to come and save her beloved from his pending death?”

“She tried. I guess she doesn’t love me more than someone else does.” I frown, looking down at the floor because I hate talking to Baz about Agatha. And because I hate thinking about Agatha at all, especially right now.

Agatha and I have said we love each other loads of times, so it figures that I presumed it was her who would need to break the spell. Penny and The Mage presumed so too it would seem.

After Fiona cursed me with Crazy little thing called love, I immediately passed out. Collapsed right there on the carpeted floor of her apartment, leaving Penny to spell me Light as a feather and carry me out of there and back to the train. It was the next day when I woke up in the infirmary, four sets of eyes frowning down at me. The Mage, Penny, Agatha and the Magickal Doctor. (There aren’t many of those in the world, but we’re lucky enough to have one at Watford.) I wasn’t in any pain or discomfort at that point, just tired, so I didn’t even know if the kiss she gave me had worked or not until I realized I was getting sicker and sicker every day.

After that, Penny insisted on kissing me, just in case her platonic love for me was somehow stronger that Agatha’s romantic feelings for me. ‘Better safe than sorry’, she had said. It didn’t work, and there isn’t anyone else I can think of that could possibly love me. No one else has tried.

Baz left shortly after, dismissing our conversation to probably go and suck the blood out of a few rats in the Catacombs without a worry in the world for my well-being. Good. It would be weird if he cared.

 BAZ

 When I return to our room, Snow is asleep again. For a second, I have to check whether he’s breathing or not, because he looks gone and the shine of the moonlight makes his tawny skin even more pale. Even the constellations on his skin appear faded in this light.

I climb into bed, neglecting my need for a shower, and turn to face him as I try to come to terms with the idea of Snow’s era coming to an end a lot sooner than I’d first anticipated. I’d always presumed he’d outlive me.

I’m not thick (like Snow). I know why Wellbelove’s ‘true loves kiss’ didn’t work out as planned. I know it’s my fault that Simon Snow is going to die.

I’ve avoided kissing Snow since the thought first occurred to me in fifth year, there was no way I was going to do so now. This is what my father wants – The Mage’s heir dead - and now it’s going to happen. If I prevent this, what sort of son would that make me? I can’t go against the Old Families because the Pitches are one of them. My mother. She’s one of them.

I was okay with the idea of fighting Snow to the death. I’d accepted it because I know that he’ll kill me first. I wouldn’t even have to hurt him much. I could just poke at him until he goes off and takes me out with the flames or that damned sword he loves swinging around so much. Rid the world of me. Rid me of him. Rid me of myself. I was okay letting everyone think that I would kill Simon Snow, when I believed nothing could kill him. Now that he’s dying…

I feel like I should be relieved to finally have this constant pain out of my life but I’m not sure I’d survive losing him. Merlin, we’re not even friends and I’m this far gone. I can’t salvage myself now because I wouldn’t know how to and I don’t even want to. Because he’s the one thing I’m sure of when everything else goes to Hell.

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

That fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive.

That Simon Snow is alive.

And I’m hopelessly in love with him…

Despite this, I refuse to save him, even though I’m certain that I’m the only one who can.

Chapter Text

'Try thinking more, if just for your own sake.'

BAZ

Snow is awake but he isn’t out of bed. He isn’t stomping around like a bull in china shop, trying his absolute hardest to wake me up. He isn’t rushing to be first down to breakfast to scoff all of the scones. Instead he’s lay in the same position as he was when asleep. One arm wrapped under his pillow and the other outstretched and dangling between our beds. One leg bent and the other straight. His hair a mess and his eyes watching me.

Our wardrobes have mirrors on the doors, and I’m stood at mine as I mess with my hair and wrap my tie around my neck, noting the miserable eyes that follow my every move, seen through my peripheral vision.

I let him watch, taking my time to loop the end through the knot and pulling it, moving on to messing with my hair again even though it isn’t needed. Then I step back and open the door to take my blazer from inside the cupboard. “So, what’s your plans for today?” Neither Snow or I ever speak to one another about our daily plans, and it’s clear that Snow isn’t going to be doing anything today, therefore making it blatantly obvious to him that I’m simply asking to mock him.

“Tosser,” Snow replies, weakly rolling over to face the wall. It’s unlike him not to retaliate further and so I feel even more guilty than usual.

“Well aren’t you just the poster child for youthful anger management.” I sneer as I turn to face his exposed back, gulping as I pull my blazer straight. “Is today the day that the Mage comes to visit? Should I avoid the entire West wing of the school premises?”

“Fuck off, Baz. The Mage isn’t visiting me.” He sounds even more miserable than when he called me a tosser. Somehow, he also sounds worse than yesterday too, as if his vocal chords are just about ready to give up on him altogether.

“Has he not visited at all?” I didn’t mean to ask it but there’s something about Snow being this vulnerable that makes me dangerously less careful around him.

“No one has since the first week.” He shrugs, half-heartedly and it’s times like this when I see another side to Snow.

The part of him that I doubt people notice, except Bunce perhaps. There’s the Simon Snow everyone knows (or at least the entire world of mages). The one who has more magic than any other being. The one who slayed a dragon at eleven years old. The one who’s going to destroy the greatest threat to all magic and put an end to all of the wars. Simon Snow – The Chosen One. My arch-nemesis who I’ll fight until I inevitably die – this time for good.

But then there’s the boy who I fell in love with. The one who eats an atrocious amount of cherry scones with an obscene coating of butter. The one who blusters like no one’s business. The one who’s brave and courageous, believing he owes the world everything even though it served him nothing. The boy who is going to die alone, because nobody loves him enough to save him…

SIMON

 A few seconds of silence pass and I begin to wonder if Baz is lurking behind me with his fangs out ready to attack. Then I hear a loud groan and wonder whether that means he’s remembered the anathema and decided against killing me here and now.

I think he’s going to leave, but his footsteps contradict, instead walking towards his bed. Curiosity getting the better of me, I painfully roll over.

He’s sat on his bed, his back against the wall I’m facing. He has one knee bent, his arms casually hooked around it, and his other leg is outstretched.

“What are you doing?” I frown.

“Blessing you with the most charming of company.” He deadpans.

If I was confused before, then now I’m completely perplexed. “What?”

“Crowley, Snow. I’m sitting with you. It’s not like you have anyone else to even do that with.”

“Why?”

“Because despite what you may think, I’m not so antagonistic that I’ll leave the little orphan boy to die all on his own, unlike that mage of yours.”

His words were cruel, but at the same time eerily sweet, which is something that I never thought I’d say about Baz. He wasn’t the person who was ever sweet. Then again though, if he ever was sweet, it would be just like him to do so in the cruellest way possible. It’s just his nature. “Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me, it’s weird.” He glared down at me.

“Not as weird as you keeping me company as I die.”

“You really think you’re going to die?”

I’m taken off guard by the question. Of course I am, because what kind of question is that? Obviously I think I’m going to die when I’m literally dying! “You know the spell.”

“Of course, I know that spell. But you’re the chosen one and what? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m not giving up.”

“Well then you’re doing splendidly well at trying to break the curse.”

I took as much energy as I could to give him a killer eye roll and a bitch face that would make Sam Winchester jealous. “If you’re so smart then who do you consider I should kiss? Who loves me more than my best friend and my girlfriend? Because I’d love to know.” My voice cracks a few times and my voice is hoarse by the end of the sentence, but I’m smug that I managed to talk without blustering.

“Oh, I know exactly who does.” Baz replies, and the fucking bastard looks serious too.

“Sure you do, genius.” I reply.

I hate to admit it, but this actually feels good. Not just talking to someone for the first time in what feels like forever, but the arguing. Especially since it lacks our usual venom and I don’t feel like I’m going to go off anytime soon. Although my magic is spilling out all over the place, but that’s just another side effect of me being ill.

Baz looks down at his watch that I’ve somehow never seen him wear before, pulling back his sleeve slightly to see it. “I’m going to go down to breakfast before it ends to get us food. What have you even been eating anyway?”

“Someone’s been bringing me food up during dinner every day. Leaving it outside the door and then collecting it a few hours later.”

“Just dinner?” Baz questions, as though he actually cares. Which he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t.

“What’s the point in bringing more? I’m dying either way. I don’t eat much of the dinner usually, anyway.”

“You’re not scoffing the whole lot? It’s more critical than I thought.” Baz smirked. Then without saying anything else, he’s stood up and marching out of the door.

BAZ

 I don’t know what I’m doing. Merlin and Morgana, I’m bringing breakfast to the Chosen One’s death bed. What in Crowley’s name is wrong with me?

Obviously, everything.

Bunce is leaving the dining hall as I enter, giving me a fixed glare as she passes as though she’s sending on a telepathic message to not mess with her precious friend. If only she knew the reason I’m here right now is to stop him from starving to death. I feel as though I have more of a right to be angry at her than the opposite way, since she’s the one who’s not exactly making an effort for Snow right now. I can tell you for a fact that he’d rather it was her keeping him company today, but instead he’s stuck with me.

Blimey, I shouldn’t be doing this.

I ignore the lay out of grand food, instead passing it and opening the door that leads to the kitchen area. Cook Pritchard is still here, pulling out a fresh batch of cherry scones from the oven and placing them to the side. Perfect. “Basilton. Pleased to see that you’re well. All things considered.”

I rarely speak to Cook Pritchard outside of school – I don’t even know her name even though she sometimes shows up to a few social events my father puts on. All I know is that she’s worked here since before my mother died and so she’s always had a soft spot for me. I vaguely remember sitting here on this very counter I’m leant on, watching her bake cookies whilst my mother ran a quick errand. Cook Pritchard would often offer to look after me, she’s told me. The school doesn’t have any other cooks, as why would you need more when you have magic to help out? So, Cook Pritchard often gets lonely in here, tucked away in isolation. She enjoyed the chaos I’d bring as a young child. As a young adult, she enjoys my conversation.

“As are you, it appears.” I tell her, as she continues to busy herself wiping worktops. “Are you all done here?”

“For now, but I’ll be back in a few hours for lunch as always. Have you eaten any breakfast?”

“No, I woke up late. I’ve only just come down.” I lie, casually.

“Well there’s plenty left.” She smiles softly. She steps away from the worktop and places her hands on her hips. “There. I just need to put those scones out in the hall. Unless…you don’t mind doing me a favour do you?”

I do. I want to get back to our room, but I can’t tell her that. Hopefully she just wants me to take those scones out into the hall, which is fine because then I can just steal them rather than waiting until she’s left to take the entire plate. “Not at all.”

“I know you’d rather not, but would you mind taking these up to your room for Simon? I know he enjoys them, and he always tells me so, unlike most people in here. I swear they presume no work goes into any of the food around here!”

I smile, “Of course, I will.”

“Thank you, Basil. You are a sensible young man.”

“I like to think so.” I reply as I pick up the plate, along with the bottle of water she passes me, placing them both on a tray.

“I appreciate it, I really do. I would taken them to him myself if it weren’t for the gender barriers. Merlin, it’s just awful what Miss Pitch has done to him.”

I pause my actions, frowning down at the scones as I carefully pick the tray up, ready to leave. “Miss Pitch?”

“Fiona. I apologise, I don’t mean to speak ill of your family. It’s just…he’s just a boy. I feel as though the whole world forgets that.”

I know what you mean. “Fiona cursed him?”

“Didn’t you know, dear?”

I shake my head lightly, before walking over to the door. “I’ll take him some food up at other mealtimes too, if you like.” I offer, and she agrees. Then I leave the kitchen and ignore the bell for lesson, instead heading towards the Mummers House.

SIMON

 Baz’s mood has definitely took a turn since he left half an hour ago. He looks conflicted, or annoyed, and the plate of scones is sliding back and forth on the tray as he storms over to my bed and places it beside me. Then he disappears into the bathroom.

I think the worst thing about this curse is my loss of appetite. Just the smell and sight of those scones is enough to make my stomach churn, which is the work of Satan, if you ask me. I have to turn my head towards the wall in an attempt to avoid the smell, but it doesn’t really work. If I could, I would leave the room just to get away from them.

I hear the bathroom door open and then a sigh following the creak. “Why aren’t you eating?”

He sounds annoyed, and I feel bad since he just went to the trouble of getting them for me. But it’s still Baz, so there’s only so much guilt I can conjure up, even when he’s being nice to me. “I’m not hungry.” I reply.

“At least drink something. It’ll help.”

I turn my head back to see him leaning against the bathroom doorframe, frowning down at me. He seems calmer now from when he first came into the room. “I’ll just throw it up.” I pout at him.

He rolls his eyes, walking over and kneeling down. He picks up the water bottle and opens it, holding it out to me. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Don’t be a child.” He says, harshly, gesturing the bottle forward.

I groan but oblige. Exhaustingly, I begin to pull my body up into a sitting position, before leaning back against the wall. The bed’s headboard is uncomfortable on my back, but I don’t have a choice.

“Sit forward,” He orders, and I do. He reaches behind him for one of his pillows and then slides it behind my back. “There.” He holds the bottle out and I sit back and take it. “Drink slowly.”

I take a small sip, and then another. He raises his eyebrows at me, so I take one more and then he seems satisfied, taking the bottle from my shaking hands and returning it to the tray. “I’m not eating.” I point out.

“Finally.” He rolls his eyes again, before sitting back, leaning against his bed with his elbows resting on his bent knees.

“Thanks.” I reply, quietly. This time he doesn’t tell me not to.

“If you’re going to puke, at least warn me so I’m not in the firing line.”

“Fair enough.” I tell him. “I think I’ll be alright as long as I sit up for a while.”

“Good.” Baz replies as he leans his head up against the mattress and closes his eyes. I wonder what he means. Is it good that I don’t feel sick? Or good that he won’t get puked on? His face doesn’t give anything away, so I just go with the second one.

With me being sat up, I can’t exactly sleep. So, I decide to talk to Baz, since…well…he’s here, isn’t he? That small amount of water has also made my throat feel a little better anyway. “Why have you only just come back to school?” I ask but realise only after I’ve said it that I should have probably took the conversation in a different direction.

“None of your business.” He says it harshly, but his face doesn’t change from being expressionless so I doubt he’s as frustrated as he’s making himself out to be.

“Alright.” I’d usually push further, but what’s the point?

Baz opens one eye, taking his head off the mattress to look up at me. “Is that it?” He questions, both eyes glaring at me now.

I shrug.

“I think I preferred it when you were annoying me.” He mutters, but I don’t think he realises that I heard.

“So, what now? Aren’t you going to lessons?”

He thinks about it for a second, looking over at the door like he’s just longing to leave. I know he’s hating every second he’s with me. He looks back at me. “No.” He finally says.

“No?”

He groans, “Do you have to question everything? Can’t you just sit there and be grateful that you have company?”

“Talk to me then. Be company. I’m bored.” I string out.

“You are so high maintenance. How does someone love you more than Bunce and Wellbelove when you’re this high maintenance?”

I shrug and that annoys him further.

“Okay then. Let’s talk. Start with how you got yourself into a mess quite this drastic?”

I begin to think that Baz actually doesn’t know. “Your aunt did it.”

“I know that much. Cook Pritchard mentioned it earlier. When were you even with her? Why?”

“It was at the end of September. I was looking for you.”

He curls his face up in confusion. “Why?”

“Because you weren’t here.” I reply. Isn’t that obvious?

“Whatever. So, you were idiotic enough to decide visiting Fiona was a good idea and she cursed you. Then what.”

“Then I passed out and woke up in the infirmary with Penny, Agatha, the doctor and the Mage. The doctor explained what I had to do so I did it. Or thought I did. Then I left because I thought I was fine.”

Baz is just watching me, not saying anything, so I continue.

“It was about a few days later when I started feeling dizzy and tired before eventually passing out in the corridor. In the middle of a conversation with Agatha, too. That was the last time I’ve seen her. I woke up in here on my own and haven’t seen anyone since you came back. There isn’t much to tell.”

I look back over at Baz, who’s looking at the floor now. He’s messing with one of his shoelaces, just rubbing it between his fingers absent-mindedly. “I thought you spoke to Bunce.”

I shake my head. “No. I just assumed she isn’t coming up because of The Mage or whatever. I don’t know. I’ve not seen her. I just didn’t want to sound pathetic.”

He’s quiet for a second. “Well that is rather pathetic.” Baz points out and I roll my eyes. Then I decide to close them, resting my head back against the wall. “But it’s also rather…shit. That you’ve just been left on your own…”

Chapter Text

'Words are flowing out, like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither while they pass. They slip away across the universe.'

BAZ

Snow has been asleep for a while now. He dozed off after a few hours of talking about random things – right in the middle of a sentence too.

He made a whole scene of it, like he does with just about everything else. We were humorously bickering about one thing or another in between his yawns, when he slowly began to slide down his bed an inch at a time.

“Yeah, well…” He yawns as he shoves his butt forward and lays back on one elbow, “You would think that…” He was slowly shuffling forward, pulling his pillows down a bit with him. “Because you’re…” He pulled my pillow (the one that I had put behind him earlier) up a bit like he was debating whether or not to give me it back, before deciding to lie on it instead. “A…” his eyes closed as his head hit the pillow.

“A what, Snow?” I’d asked, but he’d already drifted into sleep.

I decide not to sit here and punish myself even more and instead actually go to a few of my lessons. I only have two lessons left today but they’re Magickal History and Greek which can be difficult to catch up on if they have covered a lot during my absence.

I might as well have not gone though, because not a single second of those two hours were spent focusing on anything other than the thoughts of normal blue eyes and soft bronze curls.

This does me no good, I know. But at this point it’s almost as though I’m giving up.

No, that’s not right. If I was giving up, I’d have broken the curse by now without even trying to. Just deciding in the heat of the moment to get it over with and either bite him or kiss him. Deciding on the latter. No…I’ve not given up. I guess I’m just being more lenient with myself. Soaking up as much substance of Simon Snow before he dissolves into a fragment of a memory.

Oh, the irony. That one day the elephant on my chest will have transformed into a memory – a myth, perhaps, in years to come.

The Messiah who fucked it up early.

Great snakes, what a tragedy. He couldn’t be a bigger mess.

After dinner, I finally allow myself to head back to the Mummers House. My mind has been set on this consolation prize for the past three hours; it’s quite correct to say that I’m rather miffed when my journey back is hindered by the one and only Penelope Bunce. She storms over like a deprived camel to water, a glint of determination and a good cop/bad cop lenience about her. As though she’s ready for whatever revelations I spring at her. Surely not.

“Basil.” She greets, crossing her arms as she stops just a foot from me.

We’re on the courtyard outside the building. You can feel Snow’s magic from here, as though you were stood right next to him on a normal day. “Bunce. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to.” She informs me, sticking her nose up slightly, as though she has the upper hand here.

“How relieving.” I reply, nodding upwards, as though pointing out my height advantage.

“You’re eight weeks late to school. During your absence, your aunt bestowed a fatal curse upon Simon. Now you’ve returned mere days before his demise. And you’re skipping lessons, spending extra time up in your room – a place both you and Simon ensure you spend as little time in together. You’re up to something. Just because I don’t know yet doesn’t mean that I won’t find out, Pitch.”

“And what are you up to, Bunce?” I return, the irritation evident in my voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been unfortunate enough to have to endorse your company for the past seven years at this school, and the main thing I’ve learned from the experience is that you will stop at nothing to prevent your sweet, precious Snow from coming into harms way. But now that he’s dying, you’ve suddenly backed off? You’re not even going to try to visit him? If anyone is acting suspiciously it’s you, don’t you agree?”

She growls, “You don’t understand anything.”

PENELOPE

He doesn’t understand anything.

I don’t understand anything. Not anymore.

Obviously, I don’t want Simon to die, and the thought alone makes my stomach flip and my heart clench – a contemporary chorus of dance throughout my body.

I think that if – when – he does…most of me will go with him.

Yet there’s still that hinder in my grief; a part of me that is somehow relieved in a way.

I mean, my goal has always been the same since the second I first became friends with Simon. To stop his suffering. Recently the goal has become more specific, like when I saw him after summer.

He’d just come back from care and his curls were practically non-existent because he always cuts them short when he leaves. He was mid-change and I could practically see the entire outline of his ribs. It was like looking at a piece of artwork, before the previous light sketches have been rubbed out. Faint – but there, nevertheless. It was in that moment when my most compelling idea sprouted: tell him we’re going on an adventure but instead just take him as far away from this mess as possible. Is there any place further than death?

Death is awful; an entire agreement and acceptance amongst the majority of our world’s population, yet there is also the mitigating factor to consider.

Peace.

Although, another part of me wants to take the chance of him eventually reaching a happy ending and finding exactly how to cure him.

Simon’s inspirational Penelope Bunce doesn’t know what to do.

So instead of trying to figure it out, I take a tip from him for a change, and decide to not think about it.

SIMON

 “Three days.”

Baz looks up from his book. He’s been sat at his desk for about twenty minutes now, his long legs up on his desk and crossed at his ankles. From where I’m lay, I can see a small fraction of his pale waist because his shirt is slightly untucked and ridden ever since he leaned forward to reach for his book a while ago. I wonder if he’s noticed. I also wonder why my eyes keep finding themselves drawn to it.

“What?” He replied, quietly. The room is always quiet now, since we’ve stopped fighting. It’s weird. And it’s also weird how normal his voice sounded just now without the malice and intention accompanying it.

“Three days.” I repeat, hoarsely. I’ve basically been asleep all day, but if I was awake and had the chance to, I know that I’d have felt worse.

“Until…”

I shrug, “I die. I figured it out.”

He frowns, and places his book on the desk, pulling his legs from it. He turns his chair around to face me. “That’s soon.”

“I know that. You’re suppose to be the smart one, Baz.” I laugh but he doesn’t. He’s silent instead.

“This is wrong.” He eventually says, looking down at the floor as he slouches down.

“What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to save the world of mages? It was foretold.”

“Like you said, I am the worst chosen one ever to be chosen.” I remind him, but he’s not in the mood to mock me. It’s almost as though he’s opening up to me, and I can’t help but feel satisfaction because of that, even though I know he’s only doing so because I’m dying anyway.

“No.” He shakes his head, muttering. He’s still looking uncomfortably at the floor. “You’re not. You’re the only chance we have at defeating the Humdrum. I know that. My father knows that. Merlin, even all the old families that want you gone know that. If you die…then perhaps there’s no hope for any of us…”

I gulp, and it leaves a stinging ache to travel down my throat. “I’m sorry.”

He looks up and now it’s me that’s looking away.

“I’ve let everyone down. I know everyone has expectations of me and even if I don’t want them, I’m supposed to follow them through. I’m just pathet-“

“Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault.” He looks exhausted and maybe that’s why he isn’t being cruel for once.

“Maybe not. But it’s still my responsibility,” I reply. I look back up to the ceiling and count the curves of the shadows. “It’s just kinda sad, innit? I mean, I’m an orphan from a care home. This ‘chosen one’ thing was all I really had going for me and I failed. So, what does that make me, you know? When I die, will I be remembered as anything other than a failure? A complete and utter let down.”

I don’t expect a reply, and if I was going to get one, I expected something like ‘probably not’ or ‘don’t ask me’. That’s not what I get though, but lately Baz is full of surprises.

“Yeah. You will be.” Baz says, so I pull my eyes towards him. For the first time today, we’re both sharing direct eye contact. “Bunce, for starters, will probably remember you as some sort of saint as she tells her future children about how many people you saved and all the adventures you went on. Then there’s Wellbelove, who will reminisce her days with her perfect boyfriend and the true love you both shared and your astonishingly good looks and nature.” He sounded mocking now, but still spoke softly, “The Mage will probably mark the date and ensure everyone remembers and attends some sort of ceremony every year – I can assure you I won’t grant my presence at those. Then there’s your infinite-amount of friends that you’ve somehow collected, despite your many negative traits.”

I chuckle tiredly, stifling a yawn. “What about you?” For some reason I need to know.

“What about me?” For some reason I care.

“How will you remember me?”

He gulps at that, and I find myself watching the show. Then he stands up, making his way over to his bed and sitting on it. His hands hold the edges of the bed on either side of his legs and his eyes landed on me again. “As my roommate.” He replies.

I guess that’s better than ‘arch-nemesis that I unfortunately didn’t get to finish off’.

He carries on. “My slovenly roommate – a boy who, despite not even owning many things, somehow managed to leave items discarded absolutely everywhere.”

BAZ

 A boy who looks good in everything he wears.

  SIMON

 “A boy who managed to get toothpaste on the mirror.”

BAZ

 A boy whose hair I imagine to be softer than the hairs on a feather.

SIMON

 “A boy who would always pull on his hair when he was stressed, leaving it to clog the drain whenever he rinsed it out in the shower.”

 BAZ

 A boy who smells like a campfire in the midst of a forest.

A smell that I fell in love with.

 SIMON

  “A boy who would eat absolutely anything you put before him, ranging between shyly taking it to completely stuffing his face.”

 BAZ

 A boy who I fell in love with and-

 SIMON

 “A boy I want to kiss.”

Chapter Text

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders / For well, you know that it's a fool who plays it cool / By making his world a little colder

SIMON

“A boy who I want to kiss.”

He says it in such a nostalgic manner that I wonder whether he even meant to say it at all. I doubt it. At least, I know that if I wanted to snog Baz, I wouldn’t just declare it to him. Then again, maybe if he was on his death bed…

He’s still looking down. Away from me. Maybe he doesn’t realise that he said it. Or maybe he did and is now embarrassed. Is Baz even capable of feeling embarrassed?

Either way, he’s still looking down. Away from me. If I just stay silent, will he just pretend it never happen? Will he just insult me and be on his way?

Even if he wasn’t looking down and away from me, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I can never tell with Baz.

Is he even gay? Certainly not. I’ve seen the way he looks at Agatha when I’m with her. He looks almost longing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in love with her.

I’m glad he’s looking down. Away from me. So, he wouldn’t be able to read whatever emotion it was I just felt at that very thought. I’m not even sure which person I’m jealous of… That’s ridiculous though because I love Agatha.

Even if Baz was gay, I highly doubt that I’d be the one he’d like. That pretentious prick probably sees me as some useless peasant or pawn in whatever master plan he spends the depths of the night plotting. I mean, it’d obvious he hates me at the very least.

Then again, he did just say all those nice things about me. I mean, technically those words weren’t very nice at all, but he said them in a way that was nice, if you get what I mean? He was saying them as a way of saying that he wouldn’t remember me as a failure that he hates, but instead just a boy, right? I think.

Maybe he is gay and because I’m just a boy, that’s why he wants to kiss me. Maybe he’s just a guy that likes a hook-up, no matter who the other person is. But it still wouldn’t make sense as to why he’d want to kiss me of all people. I mean, I hate to admit it, but Baz is…well he’s the dream, isn’t he? Tall, smart, graceful, athletic, and don’t get me started on his hair. He is probably funny too, to those he likes. But in that intelligent sort of way that I would never be able to understand.

Maybe he’s disgusted right now, at even the though of kissing me. Maybe this is all some plot to make me let my guard down, but he’s worried his disgust at the thought of it will give him away and that’s why he’s looking down. Away from me.

But I’m dying. Why would he bother?

It doesn’t make sense.

Maybe…

Maybe he wants to kiss me…

If only I could just know what he was thinking.

BAZ

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

SIMON

It’s only now that I wonder what I’m thinking.

Do I want him to kiss Baz? Do I want to kiss a monster?

No, not a monster. A boy.

I mean, I’ve never really payed much attention to my sexuality in the past as it was never really relevant. The age where the majority of people go through their pre/mid-teen sexuality crisis, I was either being introduced to an entire new world of magical fantasy, or off somewhere trying to save it. I’ve never really thought about me, I guess. As a person.

I’m the chosen one. The guy who’s job it is to bring my people safety and peace. What does it matter who I am?

It’s kind of ironic that when I’m finally having what seems to be a sexuality crisis that it’s on my deathbed, but I doubt I’m the first.

I wonder when Baz would have had his sexuality crisis, or revelation, if it turns out he is gay.

Perhaps he was watching a film, like Baywatch, and discovered he much preferred watching Dwayne Johnson than any of the girls. Or perhaps it was in school – maybe even Watford – and he’d found his eyes lingering on one of his football teammates much too long, Or maybe he realised he was more aroused than hungry when sucking the blood out of some guy.

I can’t imagine Baz doing that. Sucking the blood out of someone.

I’m not sure if I can imagine him being gay either. But there is only one way to find out.

BAZ

“Do it then.”

The room is silent, and my vampire senses heighten sound, so there’s no way I could have mistaken the weak, whispered words from Snow. Yet I must have. Or even misinterpreted them somehow.

I look over at him. A tawny-skinned, bronze-curled, blue-eyed tragedy. Lay on his back and peering at me as though he wasn’t about to repeat the words that I’d dreamed him say to me a thousand and one times in my head.

“Kiss me.” He says.

You’d think that with my hopeless obsession that he wouldn’t need to ask me twice, but he does. Because I know that if I cross this line, if I kissed Simon Snow, there would be no going back. I don’t think I could handle that. “What?”

“Five snakes and a dragon Baz, do I need to spell it out for you?”

SIMON

His face is twisted like he’s going to attack, and I figure I must have gotten it all wrong. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t beginning to shit it when he stands up, full length Baz, and walks over to the edge of my bed. I don’t encourage him further, because I don’t trust myself not to fuck up whatever it is that’s happening here.

He then crouches, and if I had the energy I probably would have flinched. He places on knee beside my legs, and the other knee on the other side of my legs. Leaning down now, he places one hand against the bed beside my shoulder and then the opposite forearms lay beside my other one, his hand lifted to brush my matted, damp curls from my face. It’s now that I think of how terrible I must look right now, with Baz here in all his glory, and me underneath him literally wasting away. I am grateful that I haven’t been sick since I managed to brush my teeth earlier this morning.

He looks determined, yet self-conscious, something I never would have expected from Baz. There are a lot of things happening recently that I never would have expected from Baz.

BAZ

Snow’s eyes are flickering across my face as though trying to soak up every detail of information, and I’m still not certain that this isn’t a dream. That I’m not still in that goddamn numpty coffin conjuring this all up to survive.

I’m also not sure that Snow isn’t going to pull out his sword any moment, striking me through my heart.

Go ahead, Snow. This isn’t my favourite shirt.

I move my hand down his face, under his chin and to his neck, caressing my thumb across that idiotic mole. I then lean down, and Snow turns his head to the side, allowing me to press a small, chaste kiss upon it.

I can’t believe he’s letting me do this.

There’s a line of moles here, leading right up to his jaw. They’re barely visible which is why I mustn’t have noticed them before. I do now though, and so I trail them with my lips. Then there’s the one by his ear. His cheek. His lips.

And now we’re face to face.

His eyes flutter open (I hadn’t notice he’d closed them) and hang wide and innocent. He is nothing but innocent with what he’s done to me.

“Simon…” I say.

And then he kisses me.

SIMON

My hand reaches up without command, grasping the collar of Baz’s perfectly ironed shirt and pulling him down. Then my lips are on his and the world implodes.

BAZ

He’s fire and I’m ice, melting at his touch.

SIMON

I’m land and he’s sea, smothering my senses.

BAZ

He’s the hero and I’m the villain, being at his mercy.

SIMON

He’s a piece and I’m a puzzle, with only one space.

BAZ

I’m dark and he’s light, filling my void.

SIMON

I’m death and he’s life, reviving my own.

BAZ

Simon Snow is going to die one day.

But not if I can prevent it.

Chapter Text

SIMON

Snogging Baz was certainly different than how I would have imagined it to be. He’s all rough edges and gooey middle. Like a perfectly cooked scone. Not that the centre of scones are gooey…they’re soft.

What I mean is that…I never imagined that Baz could be so gentle. Especially not with me.

Not that I ever had imagined kissing Baz before. I mean, sure, there were other things I’d thought about; running my fingers through his hair, the way his football shorts hug his thighs, the fact that I would do absolutely anything to know where he was at any hour of the day…

Kissing Agatha was like filling up a bucket that had a small hole in it. No matter what you do, what you try to cover it up with (a plaster, tape, plastic) the water will still escape, and the bucket will never be able to be used to its full potential. No matter how much we pretended we were both besotted with each other, we always ended up distracted, and neither of us were ever fully content nor satisfied.

I don’t know if that makes sense. I’ve always been shit with words – especially when it comes to my feelings.

But with Baz here, in my arms, under my thumb - I’ve got him. I’ve got him right where I need him to be. Where he’s not off somewhere hurting anyone and no one is hurting him, but instead he is here. Right where we both belong.

And I can’t even begin to describe why I can’t stop smiling and why it suddenly feels like everything bad in the world was cured but…

Well, it’s good, isn't it?

BAZ

After our kiss, I pull off his cross.

After our second kiss, he pulls off my tie.

After our third kiss, I pull myself from his bed.

SIMON

Baz is sat on the edge of my bed now, staring at his hands that were in my hair only moments ago. I can’t stop smiling. I feel like we just solved something. I’ve finally connected the dots. We may both be confused, and I may still be dying but some tension was definitely eased by at least a fraction just then.

“Baz.” I say, but my voice is even more hoarse than before so if his nickname had involved any more syllables, I wouldn’t have been able to finish it before I was flipped into a coughing fit.

Baz glances over at me without turning his head, before running a hand through his charcoal hair. “That was quite the plot twist, Snow. Ever the unpredictable.”

“You called me Simon before,” I remind him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He sneers, but it’s lacking the usual venom. “Are you going to cough up a lung?” He asks once I cough again.

“That would be well cool.” I grin. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

I’m not sure how far to push this, but I’m dying so I try anyway. I move my body towards the wall and gesture for Baz to lie beside me. He looks at me like I’ve gone completely mad but concedes and takes up the space beside me. All of it. These Watford beds aren’t made for two.

It suits me though because it means I have the entire left side of his body pressed against my right. From his shoulder to his knee. I can feel the coldness of his skin on the back of his hand touching the heat of my own and it’s the first release from my fever since I was cursed in the first place. I press my hand further against his and he takes it in his own, squeezing it and pulling them to rest entwined on his thigh. Then he turns his face flat against the pillow so I can see him watching me in my peripheral vision as I continue to beam up at the ceiling.

“A long time.” He whispers.

I turn my face to the right, cheek against pillow and my nose nearly touching Baz’s. “Huh?”

He sighs, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” He smiles, squeezing my hand again to emphasize his point.

“You should have said something,” I tell him, and he doesn’t reply. Instead, he gingerly places his free hand against my cheek and softly presses his lips against my own. And then it’s as though we’re floating in space with no surfaces restricting our movements. We’re just free and content in the presence of each other and no one else. “I like this better than fighting,” I say once he’s lay back again.

“Me too.” He replies.

BAZ

I’m not sure when we doze off, but the room has succumbed to darkness by the time I awake.

I’m still in Snow’s bed; it wasn’t a dream.

We must had let of each other’s hands at some point but now our legs are intertwined rather than our fingers so I’m not going to complain.

I drag my gaze up to the other boy’s face. He’s still smiling slightly despite being asleep.

He looks alive.

So much more alive since I returned to Watford and even more so than yesterday…

The dark semi-circles under his eyelashes have faded as his tawny skin has gained some colour – a blemish has formed along his cheek. I press the back of my hand against it but his skin isn’t too hot. The fever appears to have subsided.

He really isn’t going to die…

SIMON

I awake without having to peel open my eyes and my head feels clearer than it has in a month. I briefly wonder if I died a day early but scrap the thought almost immediately as I instead reach out for where Baz is supposed to be. When all I feel is the linen of the bed, I sit up (thankfully, without feeling sick this time) and glance around the room just as the door opens.

“Oh, you’re awake. About time.” Baz sneers. It’s hard to take him seriously though when he’s holding two cups of tea and balancing a pile of scones on a plate. He places the plate beside me on the bed and passes one of the cups in my hand. Then he hesitates (until I nod) before taking a seat beside my legs, facing me.

“This is good,” I grin, after my first sip of the tea.

“Of course it is,” Baz replies, drinking his own tea as I nudge him with my foot. “Glad to see you’re better.” I still find this surprising in spite of last night.

I shrug, “Maybe this is…you know…the calm before the storm?”

Baz frowns.

“You know, I’ll get better and then I’ll crash.”

“Snow – you’re not going to die.” He says, staring into his cup as though he’s giving me a psychic reading from the curves of the liquid.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, willing him to look up at me. He doesn’t.

“I’m talking about the curse.” He mutters. “You only die if you don’t kiss the person who loves you the most.”

“I told you, I tried to break the curse but – “ I’m interrupted as Baz looks up at me.

Something clicks in my brain and the world tilts – I adjust the angle of my cup so it doesn’t spill. I kissed Baz hours ago, and now I’m better…

It seems impossible, but also the only possibility.

“Snow.” He says, voice weak and so unlike Baz that I want to stop him from talking completely. I’m shit at spells though, so instead I reach for his collar and pull him towards me, only pausing to give him a chance to back out. Instead, his hand reaches for my neck whilst his other one balances his mug on my knee.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are as red as his swollen lips. I didn’t even think that was possible. “Baz.” I reply.

“I’ve loved you since fifth year. Or at least that’s when I realised.” Baz confesses. I grin in response as my eyes scan across his face, taking in the details I’ve never noticed before. Just under where his hair covers part of his forehead, there’s a small, white scar. I wonder when I’ll learn how he got it.

“I don’t know if I’m there yet.” I admit. “I’ve never thought about this. And…oh Crowley.”

“What?” Baz says.

“Agatha.” When he begins to move away, I hook two fingers in the collar of his shirt and stare at his Adam’s apple as he gulps. “I need to talk to her before this can continue.”

Baz gulps again so I look up at him and wait for him to look back at my eyes from where he was not-so-secretly staring at my chest. “Does that mean that this will continue?”

“Oh, definitely.” I answer too quickly, causing him to grin. “I can go see Agatha now. I feel fine and I’m sick of being in this bed.”

“Okay.” He answers thoughtfully. “I’ll walk you there. Just in case.”

He rolls his eyes when this causes me to grin even further. "You look ridiculous."

"But you love me anyway." I taunt.

This time it's him who shuts me up.