Tension stretches between them – memories twisted into rope that keeps their hands and mouths bound. Guilt settles deep within Kevin’s chest as he gazes down at Jean, knowing in his heart that this is all his fault. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he knows it’s true by the look of pure loathing in Jean’s eyes. It’s too much – this silence – but it seems neither of them remember how to speak.
Kevin’s voice is shaky, betraying his nerves. “I’m sorry, Jean.” He wants Jean to see his earnesty, to see how this hurts him as well.
Jean closes his eyes, breathing deeply, and Kevin thinks he might ignore his words. “Fuck you.” The words are in venomous French and Kevin flinches away from him. “You left me, knowing what he would do in your absence. Keep your meaningless apology.”
The words sting more than Kevin cares to admit, but he deserves them. “I had to leave,” Kevin says quietly, “You know I couldn’t stay.”
Jean fixes his eyes on Kevin and shakes his head. “You abandoned me.” Anyone else would have missed the hurt in Jean’s eyes, but Kevin sees it and it feels like his heart is being torn apart.
“I would have taken you with me if I could.” The words hang between them, heavy and full of impossible promises. This kind of vulnerability is not something Kevin is used to, but Jean deserves the truth.
“The master would have come for me,” Jean replies. “You were ruined, they had to release you. I would have been deserting, the punishment would have been ten times worse had I tried to run.” Jean’s eyes drift to the mess of scars that crisscross Kevin’s hand.
Silence falls between them once again, but it’s easier this time.
“I understand why you did it,” Jean says finally, now staring at his own hands. Anger swells inside Kevin as he surveys Riko’s handiwork and he wishes he could have saved him. “I just missed you.”
They’ve been doing this thing—hanging out, talking about cars and dead kings, being friends—for almost a month but Adam still doesn’t feel all that comfortable with Gansey. He doesn’t think he ever will. Don’t get him wrong. He likes Gansey, he likes spending time with Gansey, he likes being with Gansey. Hell, he willingly subjects himself to Gansey’s overly abrasive other half on a regular basis for Gansey.
It’s just… He can’t let go. He’s spent years hyper aware of his every movement, every word, every action, wondering if it will betray his Henrietta roots to people like them. A part of him is always waiting for a look of derision, a condescending quirk of an eyebrow. Something that tells how he doesn’t belong in Aglionby. With them. And that he should stop trying because he never will.
Sometimes though. Sometimes Gansey can catch him off guard. Gansey who can and will talk for hours upon hours about Arthurian legends, the soft cadence of his voice lulling him into calmness. Gansey who looks at him with soft expressions and awe in his eyes. Gansey who makes him feel at peace and comfortable enough to stop being self conscious.
Most of the time, the two of them hanging out means him going with Gansey back to Monmouth. This afternoon is different though. School has let out, his father is out of town and he has no work shift to rush to. It’s the perfect time to show Gansey the relatively secret part of the river that cuts through the Henrietta woods.
It’s something known only to locals like him and he knows Gansey lives for such local secrets like this. Which is why it’s not surprising when Gansey practically rips his arm off its socket, yanking at him at his rush to get there, when he asks if he wants to go there. The usually flappable and aloof Gansey is acting like a hyperactive toddler and the ridiculousness of it makes Adam burst into helpless giggles. The sound of it must have startled Gansey because he stops yanking and just looks at him.
Gansey doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with that soft expression on his face again.
“What?” he asks, a little bit confused. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but Gansey might be blushing.
Gansey gives him a small smile. “Nothing. I like your laugh.”
2.
He loves his car. He really does. The Pig is one of his favorite things in the world. But what he doesn’t love is stalling on the side of some weird road in the middle of nowhere when he’s already late to meet up with his friends. Usually he’d just call AAA (or whatever the small town version of it is called).
Adam has been teaching him how to fix cars though. On rare moments when they don’t have school, Adam doesn’t have work and he doesn’t have a new Glendower lead to pore through. He thinks he’s done fine though, it’s going well. Or so he thinks. Which is why he takes the toolbox out from his trunk, pops open the hood and decides that he can fix it for himself. Adam would be so proud.
To his credit, he gets to spend at least five minutes poking and prodding at his engine before it sparks and he’s forced to admit defeat.
He kicks at the dirt and sighs before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He takes his phone out and dials Ronan’s number.
“Hey, Gansey. Pig stall out again?”
“You reading minds now, Ro?”
“Telepathy isn’t one of my many abilities, you’re just that predictable.”
“Thank you for that. Can you come pick me up?”
Silence. There’s a sound of scuffling in the background and when Ronan talks again he sounds a little worried. “Listen…”
“Oh no.”
“Gansey, you know I would do anything for you but, me and Noah are kind of the middle of something.” As if on cue, a metallic screeching is heard followed by Noah swearing softly.
“It’s Noah and I. Also, what are you doing?”
“A very volatile experiment.”
“Please don’t burn down Monmouth while I’m out.”
“We’ll try!”
He hangs up. Sends a text.
He’s leaning against the car, face tipped up to the sky and watching the slow passage of clouds when he hears the sound of gravel under bicycle wheels.
He waits a beat before he starts speaking, “In my defense, I really thought I had it all under control before the engine started sparking.”
Adam scoffs at that and Gansey turns to look at him. He’s wearing faded jeans and an equally faded shirt but all it does is emphasize how sharp and clear Adam always seems to him. Like he’s the realest thing in Gansey’s world.
He gets off his bike and stands next to where Gansey is leaning so he can nudge his shoulder against his. “You’re still getting better though. You didn’t set it on actual fire so that’s an improvement.”
Gansey feels his lips twitch into a smile, and nudges Adam’s shoulder back. Adam laughs and walks over to the hood of the car, inspecting the damage.
Barely a minute later he looks back and Gansey and says, “Come here. Let’s fix this.”
3.
Adam rubs at his eyes and tries to blink himself to alertness. He looks at the page he and Gansey are supposed to be studying but the numbers and coefficients have started to blur together. Gansey himself has his head on the desk and is probably sleeping already.
Right, time to call it quits then. They didn’t do that bad, really. They’ve had the concept of orthogonality and orthonormality locked down early enough in their study session. It’s the more advanced parts they had a problem with and that won’t really show up on the exam.
He reaches across the table to give Gansey’s shoulders a little shove.
“Wake up.”
No response.
“Gansey, wake up. Go sleep in your real bed.”
Still nothing. He walks around to Gansey’s side and pokes him in the ribs. Gansey’s head snaps up, wakefulness crashing into him.
“Did I fall asleep?” he asks.
Adam just laughs at that. “Yeah. But I think we’ve studied enough. I’m heading home. Go sleep in your bed.”
“Oh,” says Gansey. He takes a peek at his watch, surprise crossing across his face. “Oh, it’s late. Wait, Adam, I’ll drive you home.”
Adam thinks of The Pig and its accompanying roar waking up his father. Thinks of snide comments and where-have-you-beens he’d have to deal with, at the very least. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“It’s past eleven, Adam. You can’t think I’m just going to let you walk in the dark.”
“I have my bike.”
“Jesus, Adam. How is this a big deal? Load up the bike, too. I just don’t want you going off alone when it’s this late.”
“Gansey,” he says catching one of his gesticulating hands. Adam looks at Gansey in the eye, willing him to understand his unverbalized reason. “I don’t need you to drive me home.”
Gansey gets it of course. He lets out a defeated sigh. “Sure. But please, do me a favor. Call me when you get home.”
“Sure,” he answers. He draws Gansey in for a goodbye hug. “I’ve lived here my whole life, Gansey. I’m gonna be okay, stop worrying.”
He feels Gansey’s breath tickle the back of his neck as he replies, “You’re asking the impossible of me. I always worry.”
4.
Gansey hears a muffled thump and a curse from Ronan.
Before he can even turn to look at the commotion, he hears Ronan again. “Whoa, Parrish. Move the fuck out the doorway. What are you looking—Oh.” Even without looking he knows Ronan’s got a self-satisfied smile on by that one word. He hears Ronan laugh and walk over to him. Ronan throws an arm across his shoulders and spins him around so they’re facing an extremely red-faced Adam Parrish.
“Adam!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know you were here. Have you been waiting long? What’s wrong? You look flustered.” He looks sideways at Ronan. “Did you do something to him?”
Ronan just grins sharp. “I’m not the one who did something to him.” He ignores Adam’s hissed out warning to stop talking and continues, “I think it’s his first time seeing you in skinny jeans.”
Oh. He’s not quite sure which way to take that. He’d like to think it’s Adam thinking he looks nice but it could also mean he looks weird. He knows Adam’s mostly used to seeing him in uniform or khakis. That’s his trademark style, maybe the skinny jeans make him look uncouth or trying to be cool. It’s Ronan’s fault, really. He only wears them when he’s going out with him. Ronan always said he looked attractive in them though and he trusts Ronan’s opinions. Mostly.
While he’s having this monologue in his mind, Adam’s been trying and failing to get a word out. He fumbles on his reply before managing to tell him, “It’s nothing, I’m fine. I was just surprised. It… uh… It looks good on you. Not that your other clothes don’t look good on you. The jeans are just… nice.”
“Oh,” he hears himself say. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing now, too. He feels his lips curl into a smile. “Thanks.”
5.
He usually tells Gansey beforehand when he’s going to Monmouth. It’s a habit, born out of the early days when he thought that type of formality was required by Gansey and his kind. This afternoon though, he forgoes that notion and just goes straight inside Gansey and Ronan’s (and Noah’s, he tends to forget that) home.
His first thought is that no one’s there but he spots a slight movement at the corner of his eye as Noah materializes.
“Hey, Noah,” he says in greeting and pivots to face him. He gives Noah’s hair a slight ruffle and Noah gives him a small smile in turn.
“You looking for Gansey?” Noah asks.
“Yeah. Is he in?”
Noah nods and points upstairs. “He’s playing with his Henrietta dollhouse.”
“Thanks.”
The sight that greets him upstairs makes his breath catch in his throat. Afternoon light filters through Monmouth’s huge windows and makes everything look golden.
Gansey is turned away from him, fully focused on his mini-Henrietta. His eyebrows are drawn together; elegant fingers working skillfully as he paints a box to add to his mini-city. His glasses slip a little bit and he pushes them up with two fingers, nose wrinkling up adorably. He pauses in his work to look out the window. Gansey stays quiet for a moment and lets out a deep longing sigh. The light makes casts a soft glow on him. He looks beautiful.
“Hey,” he breathes out.
Gansey turns to him and the world feels like it’s in slow motion. Adam is drawn to the way Gansey’s lips curl into a smile, imagines how it would be like to feel the way those lips move against his own.
“Adam,” Gansey says happily. “I was just thinking about you.”
6.
He deliberates for a while but in the end, he gives in and knocks at Adam’s church apartment door. Adam stands on the other side, bleary eyed with rumpled hair. He looks so soft, Gansey wishes it would be acceptable to just burrow his face in Adam’s neck, nuzzle him and stay there forever.
“It’s late.” Adam tells him.
“I know,” he answers and adjusts his glasses. I couldn’t sleep, he wants to say. I couldn’t sleep because I keep thinking of you. I miss you. I hate when we fight. He doesn’t say any of that and instead blurts out. “Calculus.”
Adam blinks at him.
“Calculus,” he repeats. “I can’t get the answer to number four, I was hoping you can teach it to me?”
“Sure.” Adam steps back to let him in, watching him with concern. Adam takes off his coat and drapes it over a chair. “Take a seat.”
Adam sits across him and drags his school stuff out. “So, I think your mistake was not using integration by parts…”
That’s pretty much all he heard, preferring to just watch Adam in his element. Knowledgeable, focused, sure in every word that comes out of his mouth. He lets himself get lulled by the cadence of Adam’s voice, feeling the unease that has lived in their chest since the day of their fight finally settle.
-
“Gansey,” he hears someone say and give him a gentle shake. “Gansey,” the voice repeats and this time he feels a hand smooth the hair off his forehead.
“What?” he repeats blearily, trying to blink himself awake. He’s met with the sight of Adam’s face, about three inches in front of him. “Oh,” he takes a look at his watch. “Oh, it’s late.”
“I’m sorry. I kept you up late. I’m just gonna go home now,” he stutters out as he tries to gather his stuff but he’s stopped by Adam’s hands.
“Hey, no. Stop. It’s fine.,” Adam tells him. “It’s fine and you’re right, it’s late. Stay over.”
“Are you sure?” he asks with some trepidation.
“Gansey, you’re already wearing pajamas. Just stay. Okay?”
He smiles at Adam. “Okay.”
7.
Adam opens his eyes with a loud gasp. He shivers a little, more because of the remnants of his nightmare than the cold weather itself. He’s breathing heavily as he lies there, staring at the ceiling trying to calm himself. Hydrogen Helium Lithium Berylium Boron Carbon, he thinks, reciting the periodic table as an effort to distract himself from the dream.
It’s never gonna come true. He’s never going to betray Gansey. Never going to do something that will break what he and Gansey have.
He feels a hand on his arm and freezes.
“Adam?” whispers Gansey. Oh, right. He told him to sleep here tonight. The hand on his arm tugs at him. “You alright?”
He goes with it, turning so he can look at Gansey. His glasses are off and his eyes are already half closed again. Gansey at rest almost looks common. Almost. The undefinable commanding aura that surrounds him is always present. He aches to reach across and touch him. Run his fingers through his hair again. Gansey has the blankets pulled up to his chest, knees curled up. He doesn’t like the cold either.
“I’m fine.”
Gansey hums and extends a hand and feels for his wrist, thumb resting at his pulse. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he whispers back to him. “Just a little cold.”
“Yeah?” Gansey tugs him closer and shuffles towards him. He raises an arm and covers Adam with the same blanket that he’s using. “Better?”
Gansey’s arm is resting at his waist and at this close, he can feel the warmth of Gansey’s breath on his skin. He reaches out and gently slides his arm under Gansey’s head. He smiles. “Better.”
Gansey snuggles closer and drops a kiss on his forehead before settling down again. “Good. Go back to sleep.”
8.
“Gansey, I can’t.”
He tries not to, but he’s pretty sure Adam can still see how his heart breaks when he said those three words. Adam looks wrecked, too. Like Gansey confessing his love and saying “I think we could be amazing together.” is the last thing he wanted to hear. He blinks back to clear the unexpected bleariness from his eyes. It’s not your fault, he wants to say to Adam. I’ll be fine. It’s not your fault that you don’t love me the same way.
He wonders if it would be worse if Adam just doesn’t love him at all. Because Adam does love him, he knows that. He just isn’t in love with him.
“Oh…” he finally stutters out and wonders how a single syllable could sound so broken. “It’s fine,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his, doesn’t feel like his, like some other person has taken control of his mouth, the words not his own. “I understand.”
If possible, those words just make look Adam more disturbed. “No,” he says, taking Gansey’s hand in his and pressing it on his own cheek. He turns his head to kiss Gansey’s palm and he can feel the shape of Adam’s lips burn in the center of his hand. Adam places his hand on the side of Gansey’s neck. “Please look at me,” he whispers.
Gansey doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see how much he fucked things up. How he assumed things and destroyed his relationship with Adam.
“Gansey,” he hears him plead. And that’s enough to make him look. He could never deny Adam anything. “I love you.” Adam tells him.
And he knows, of course he does. They are friends. “I know.”
“No you don’t,” he insists. “I’m in love with you, Gansey.”
His heart skips a beat and he’s so so confused. “Then why—“
“I just can’t be with you right now.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Adam sighs. “Gansey, you know why. I love you and you love me but we’re not in the right time nor place to love each other.” He scoots closer until he can lean down and put his head on Gansey’s shoulder. “Right now, this search is your life and that search needs you here in Henrietta. Your death and Glendower owns your mind and keeps you here. And, me... You know I’m going to leave Henrietta. It may not be forever and I may come back. But you know I want to live a part of my life away from here.”
Gansey’s hands have moved to stroke over Adam’s hair rhythmically. He knows what Adam means. They still have separate lives to live and no matter the depth of their feelings for each other, they can’t change that. He knows that. Had known it when Adam made the deal with Cabeswater. Known it during the party at his family’s house. It’s a while before he speaks again. “So, what happens to us?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that next year I won’t be here.” Adam pulls back to look him in the eye. “And if we try this… us? right now? I don’t want us to end just because we both weren’t ready.”
“So we’re just never going to try?”
Adam lets out a sigh of frustration. “We will. We will, Gansey. Can’t you feel it? My feelings for you are never going to fade. We’ll have a chance, I swear.”
Gansey meets his gaze head on. “Okay. I understand what you’re saying. I do, it doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. That it’s not hurting right now.”
“It’s hurting for me, too,” Adam whispers.
“I know,” he answers. “It’s why I want to promise you something.”
“What?”
Gansey traces his thumb under Adam’s eye. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”
9.
When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is the bright harsh fluorescent light. He closes his eyes and tries to raise his hand to block out the light as a reflex. That’s when he notices the pinch of a needle on his hand. His hand that is apparently being held by someone.
He opens his eyes and casts his gaze around the room. Blue’s asleep on a couch, head pillowed on Ronan’s jacket and feet on Noah’s lap. Noah’s leaning sideways on Ronan who has his head tipped back against the wall, the both of them also sleeping.
He looks at who’s holding his hand and feels a small jolt of surprise to see Adam. Adam, who’s supposed to be at New Haven and studying. With the hand Adam’s not holding, he reaches out and nudges at his shoulder.
“Adam,” he whispers. Nothing. He nudges at him a little bit harder and calls again. “Adam, hey.”
Adam blinks himself awake. “Gansey,” he breathes out. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he answers. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to waking up. You had me— us —worried.”
“What about Yale?”
Confusion flashes across Adam’s face. “What do you mean what about Yale?”
“Well,” he starts. “You’re busy, aren’t you?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he said the wrong thing. Adam’s face falls and a hard glint replaces the concern in his eyes. “So what if I’m busy? You’re in the hospital, Gansey. Did you think I’d just ignore that?”
Irritation flashes at him. Barely a minute of conversation and they’re heading into an argument already. “Well, you’ve ignored me for the last month. What was I supposed to think?”
“You think I’m that callous? That heartless?” He sounds hurt. “I know I haven’t been the most reliable person lately and I’m sorry. I didn’t think it college would be that hard. But did you think I just stopped caring about you? That I don’t wish I can hear your voice and feel your hand in mine?”
There are tears hanging on his eyes now and he’s desperate to hold them back. “Then why did you stop calling me?”
Adam’s thumb wipes at the edge of his eyes. Even now, hurt and still a little bit angry, he cherishes the contact. “It’s hard, Gansey. I talk to you and I wish I could be right here in Henrietta with you. I miss you too much. I can’t bear it.”
The moment he stops talking he burrows his head on the hospital bed, hiding.
“Hey, hey. No.” Gansey reaches out and starts petting Adam’s hair. “You’re here. That matters more.”
“I’m sorry,” says Adam. He straightens up and looks Gansey in the eye. “I’m really sorry. I know I’ve been unfair to you. Everything feels too much and sometimes I get overwhelmed but please… Please always know, you’re important, too.”
“You guys done?” someone interrupts. “Because I have some words about both of your dramas.”
Gansey lets out a weak laugh. “Sure, Jane. For now, at least.”
10.
He steps out of the car and takes a deep, deep breath. He hasn’t been back in this town for almost three years. Plane tickets are expensive and his friends have opted to just visit him in New Haven instead of the other way around.
“Takes for the ride,” he tells Ronan.
“No problem, Parrish. We’ve missed you around.”
“Yeah?”
“You fishing for compliments?” Ronan wraps an arm on his shoulders and drags him forward to start walking to Monmouth. “Of course we did. You know Noah bugs me about calling you at least once a week, he’s pissed he can’t use phones by himself.”
“And Gansey?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” he answers with a smirk.
Ronan unlocks the door and starts shouting, “Gansey?” No answer. “Gansey?! You here?”
A thump. “What, Ro?”
“Will you come down? I got you something.”
“Oh, god. Is it a calf?” his voice is sounding closer. “I told you I don’t care if they’re really cute, I can’t raise one. How would I even—“
He stops talking when he sees Adam. This is probably the most unkempt he’s seen Gansey. He’s wearing a rumpled sweater, his glasses are askew and his hair is a wild tangle. God, he’s missed him. It’s been three months since his last visit and god, he just misses him.
“Adam,” he breathes out. The distance between them disappears as Gansey practically flies to his arms into a hug.
He tightens his grip on Gansey, burying his head into his neck and taking a breath. He smiles into his neck, “Hey, Gansey.”
“Alright,” he hears Ronan say. “I’m gonna find Noah.”
“You gonna be staying long?” Gansey asks, still not letting go of him.
“Sort of?”
He pulls back. “Sort of?”
Adam waves a hand at the suitcases and luggage stacked besides Ronan’s car. “For as long as you’ll have me, I guess.”
Delight is evident on Gansey’s face. “You mean that?”
Adam smiles a soft smile at him. “I do.” He reels Gansey back in and presses a kiss to his check. “I told you we’d get our chance.”
He laughs. “I know. I know.” He showers kisses on Adam’s face. “I believed you.”
The next time he leans it, Adam meets him halfway. Their lips slotting together into a kiss that’s been years in the making. All the years, the unsaid words, the longing they had being poured into the push and pull of their mouths.
“Gansey,” he whispers against his lips. “Gansey. Gansey. Gansey.” He gives him a fierce kiss. “I love you. I will always love you.”
every time I reread aftg I get emotional about nicky hemmick all over again
he’s been through so much and he gets forgotten about so often and I just love him. he doesn’t let his past define him. he doesn’t let it make him cold or jaded or angry. he chooses to see the best in people and chooses optimism over apathy.
he may be the weakest player on the team, but they wouldn’t be the same if he wasn’t there.
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.
this is different. this is you and this is me. this is you and me plus all the implications that the phrase carries. the 'us' that can never happen. the 'us' that i can't stop wishing for. the 'us' that barely even began. the 'us' that i never wanted to end. this is the idea i can't let go of. you are the lost cause i keep holding onto.
So, I always see people saying to wait until you've had a couple of classes until you buy your textbooks. And that is an A+ tip, it really is. And I always see people saying to buy used or on amazon or whatever. And that's an A+ tip too.
But you know what? If you don't want o wait for a few classes before buying your textbooks, that is fine. If you want to buy your books completely new and from the campus store, that's also fine.
In the end, it's your choice.
