Chapter Text
OCTOBER
BAZ
I can’t understand why he’s been messaging me, and I don’t know if I should put a stop to it or continue. I love talking to him, of being able to. This is the most we’ve spoken amicably in months. He’s not a distraction, or if he is one, it's a welcome one. I’m still on top of my studies, I still go to Magic Club, only now that has been including going out with a few members during the weekends. Taking photos and posting them online of us at parks or at restaurants or at museums.
Alessandro’s girlfriend, Sophie, is a history major. We’ve gone to quite a few museums and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It’s been fun. One of the Magic Club members is a food connoisseur whose father owns a chain of restaurants, so they’ve been insisting on a new place every Friday to eat at. It’s been enjoyable, and it makes me miss home a little less.
The only issue is that I have no fucking chill whatsoever. Simon has been texting me near daily, and I’ve been responding. Every fucking time.
19 October
Snow [11:56]: Dev is throwing a Halloween party.
Snow [11:57]: I think I’m going to buy some horns and go as a devil.
Snow [11:58]: What are you going to be this year? Are you going to a party?
It’s Saturday and I’m meeting up with some classmates to work on a project that’s due next Wednesday. I’ve done my part of the presentation already, but we need photos still for our report.
Baz [12:03]: The club that I’m a part of throws one every year. So yes, I’ll be attending a party. Everyone in the club is going as a witch.
I haven’t told him that I’m in a magical club. I don’t know if bringing up magic is safe around Simon yet. I could tell him, I should tell him, to hell with his feelings. But I can’t bring myself to, and besides, it’s not really any of his business. I try not to share too much of my life with him, but that’s becoming more and more difficult with each passing text.
Snow [12:03]: Is that the group you’re always with? Are they part of your club?
Baz [12:06]: Yes. Alessandro is the president, I typically spend a majority of my time with him because he’s the most competent person there.
Snow [12:07]: You must really like him if you’re giving him a compliment.
Read 12:09
I stop texting him. I’m meeting with my group for the project anyway, and it’s not something I want to talk to him about. Instead of worrying about it, I turn my phone off and greet my classmates with a cool smile. I work on my project and we complete it within two hours. It gives me time to go back to the flat to put my things down, spruce myself up and perhaps take a nap before heading back out.
I don’t bother responding to Simon’s text. In fact, I change his name in my phone to DO NOT RESPOND, it’s one step above blocking him. I can’t bring myself to block him. I can’t even bring myself to delete his number yet. I’m so weak for him.
“Halloween is on a Thursday this year,” Alessandro says to me with a frown on his face. He’s put his hair up into a topknot and he’s growing facial hair. It makes him look better than ever. I can understand what Sophie sees in him.
“I plan on skipping my Friday classes if we wind up staying up late,” I say. It’s not as if I’ll miss much, I’m so far ahead and with such high scores that it wouldn’t affect me. It’s not as if I plan on drinking, not really, I don’t like drunks and I hate losing control of myself in any way.
“That’s wise,” Alessandro nods.
He’s taken me to a costume shop, the same one all of the members of the Magic Club come to pick up their costumes. It’s a simple get up, just a black cloak and a pointed black hat. I’m expected to wear black jeans, a black top, and black shoes.
“You’d make a better vampire,” Alessandro jokes, “with your cheekbones and hairline.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes at him, “I’ve never heard that one before.” I make sure to sound as deadpanned as possible.
“What?” Alessandro shrugs, but he’s smiling. “How are things with you and your friend?”
He never refers to Simon as my ex - which is what he is, Basil! I appreciate Alessandro for that. He doesn’t use the label, but he also doesn’t call him by name. Just says ‘friend’ as if that’s what Simon and I are. I suppose that’s what we are now? It’s tentative and I hate it. I don’t want to want it.
“Fine, I suppose.”
I don’t tell him how Simon has begun to post on social media again. For the most part it’s just photos of food or books or random dogs he meets on the streets. Occasionally there will be a selfie, or a photo of Penny and Shepard. Sometimes there are photos of his work, the drinks that he drafts, the various people (whom I’m assuming are his friends because he’s always been well-liked and popular).
“Still texting you?” Alessandro asks while fiddling the ring on his pointer finger. It’s his magical instrument. He messes with it more than he ought to, I’m always worried that it’ll fall off one day and he’ll lose it.
I nod. “Yes, almost daily. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Stop texting back,” he says. As if it’s that simple, as if I can just easily not respond to whatever it is that Simons sends me. As if I don’t bask in his attention, even though it’s only through letters on a screen. “You’re an enabler.”
“Excuse me?” I ask him and give him a sharp look while putting a witches hat on my head. “I am not!”
“You’re a pushover,” Alessandro says. He’s chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “Have you tried not texting him?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I don’t want him to stop talking to me.” I admit this in a small voice, softer than it has a right to come out. Insecurity laced throughout it and it makes me hate myself all the more.
There are other patrons in the shop, but I forget about them. Instead I focus on the apparel before, as if costumes are the most interesting thing I’ll ever see. I take my phone out and take an artful photo of the rows of costumes, using a black and white filter before posting it. I’ve been updating my social media more often too, because I know he watches my feed. My father and the rest of my family does too, but I don’t care about that.
“Basil,” Alessandro says, “you two broke up before the school year, yeah?”
“Late July, yes,” I say.
“It’s been three months,” Alessandro says, “time to move on.”
He’s not wrong. I know that he’s not. I’m just not ready to do that yet.
23, October
DO NOT RESPOND [13:01]: Look at this dog!
DO NOT RESPOND [13:01]: It’s grumpy face reminds me of you.
DO NOT RESPOND [13:02]: <jpg.>
Baz [13:05]: I’d drain that dog of all it’s blood just to spite you.
DO NOT RESPOND [13:06]: Wow. That’s cruel.
Baz [13:08]: I’ve never claimed to be nice.
DO NOT RESPOND [13:09]: True.
Read 13:21
24, October
Bunce [21:09]: Shepard and I are dating now.
Baz [21:10]: Really?
Baz [21:11]: I had higher expectations for you, Bunce.
Bunce [21:12]: Shut up. I really like him.
Baz [21:12]: He makes you happy?
Bunce [21:13]: Surprisingly, yes. He’s so odd, he’s fascinating. I can’t figure him out.
Baz [21:14]: Is he a boyfriend or a puzzle?
Bunce [21:18]: He can’t be both?
Baz [21:19]: Is that healthy?
Bunce [21:20]: Because you’re the poster boy of health?
Bunce [21:11]: For the record, I meant for that to come across as playful.
Baz [21:12]: No, you’re right. I’m fucked up.
Bunce [21:13]: No pity parties tonight, Basil. I can only handle one depressed boy at a time, thanks.
Read 21:15
25, October
DO NOT RESPOND [09:48]: How’s this costume?
DO NOT RESPOND [10:01]: <jpg.>
Read 10:01
I almost drop my phone. It’s Friday and my class just dismissed early for the day and I’ve an hour to kill until my next lecture. The photo is of Simon, dressed as Dr. Who (of course), but I can’t help but wonder when was the last time he sent me a selfie was. (And didn’t he say he was going to be a devil?)
When was the last time he took a photo for me? This may not even be specifically for me, this was probably sent to Penny and Shepard and Agatha as well. I squash the warm affection that flooded through me at the sight of Simon. There’s no reason to feel that way, Basil. You’re such a bloody idiot. Still, he looks good. Healthier than he had prior to our trip to America. Better than he’s looked in months. He’s made changes in his life that are reflecting for the better. He looks like he’s been working out. Dropping out of university and dropping me have done him wonders.
It’s a mirror selfie in a dressing room. His eyes are down at his phone, not looking at the camera, and half of his mouth is covered. His body is on full display.
He’s beautiful. It hurts to look at him, but I’m greedy and stare at the photo until it’s burned behind my eyelids.
Baz [10:11]: Have you always been this big of a nerd?
Crowley, this is flirting. I’m flirting with him. I’ve been trying so hard to not do that, but it comes out before I even have a chance to second guess it.
DO NOT RESPOND [10:11]: Being a nerd is sexy, thank you.
DO NOT RESPOND [10:12]: But seriously, how does it look?
DO NOT RESPOND [10:13]: <jpg.>
Read 10:13
The photo this time if of a side angle so I can see the curve of his ass in the form fitting trousers. My mouth wants to fill with my fangs, but I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. It’s no good to get aroused at school, or at all for that matter. I debate not responding, of just leaving him on read for the remainder of the day. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve removed myself from the middle of a text conversation with him.
I worry my lower lip and stare at my phone screen until it goes black and then press the home button again.
Baz [10:18]: Ask Wellbelove, she knows more about this than I do. I know nothing about the show.
Baz [10:20]: Also, stop fishing for compliments from me. You’re not going to get them.
I’m an asshole and I don’t know how not to be one. I don’t know how to stop myself from being purposely unkind to him. That’s not true. I can be soft, I have been soft, but that didn’t work out well for me. He doesn’t respond to me and I’m glad of it, in a sadistic way. I hope that hurt him, I wanted to hurt him.
My next class isn’t for another half an hour, but I make my way to the lecture hall anyway. May as well wait outside of the classroom. I can get ahead in my reading - as if I’m not already - and maybe work on other assignments while I wait. Half an hour is plenty of time.
When class is over there’s a text waiting for me.
DO NOT RESPOND [11:00]: We’re allowed to wear costumes for work this week. I figure being The Doctor would earn me good tips.
Read 11:04
He’s already working? It shouldn’t be surprising, his program was only 40 hours. He didn’t tell me that he had a job already, that he’s bartending somewhere. It nettles at me, how little I truly know about his life now, how little he knows about mine. We chat quite a bit, but nothing is important. I’m not sure who’s at fault for that - probably both of us. To be fair he dumped me, so me not wanting to open up to him is rational. Still.
I suddenly feel insignificant. Small and unimportant. Very few people have the power to make me feel this way, and my ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be on the list of people who can.
The day of Halloween sees the Magic Club setting up the hall. I’ve my wand out and practicing simple Italian floating spells to wind the fake cobwebs on the ceiling. There are faux floating candles made of the cardboard part of a toilet paper roll and hot glue and paint. There are small battery operated tea candles inside, we use fishing wire on them and magic to get them hung from the beams above.
“It’s too bad we can’t have the ceiling looking like the night sky,” Sophie says as she uses her wand to rearrange tables.
It doesn’t take long for a group of mages to set up for a party. The food is set up and warming spells are kept on them, although I doubt many people will eat. I feel like the alcohol would be more popular.
Dev sent me a selfie of his costume - a vampire (I think he was going for Dracula but I complimented on his Nosferatu imitation). Niall was David Bowie, with his single muddied blue eye and his red hair slicked back. The sight of them makes me feel hollow. I miss them. I’ll see them during the holidays.
Everyone’s feed on Instagram has Halloween costumes and mentions of parties. Agatha Wellbelove posted a photo of her ugly dog dressed as a butterfly earlier. I refused to comment on it, but I did like it, because the dog is so ugly that it’s cute.
I’m in fitted black trousers that are cropped at the ankle. I’ve black loafers and a black button-down shirt. My black cloak stops at mid-thigh and my hair is down to my shoulders with my black hat on top of my head. I’ve even allowed Sophie to put black eyeliner on me, it’s a sharp cat-eye that leaves all of the girls in our group muttering at the unfairness of it all. I know that I look good, even with the makeup.
“Time to drink before the party starts,” a man named Miguel says while passing around black plastic cups.
Pre-gaming before the party is not new to me. I’ve never partaken, but one drink couldn’t hurt me.
There’s a handsome bloke next to me named Marco, whom I’ve only met tonight. He’s someone’s cousin. A mage. My height, but broader across the chest, with bronze hair kept short and dark brown eyes. His skin is a healthy caramel brown and he’s been eyeing me all evening as we’ve been setting up. I know that he’s been wanting to talk to me, but I haven’t even spared him a second glance. Or I’ve tried not to, it’s difficult when he smells like bacon butties. He makes me hungry.
I take a sniff of my beverage and nearly gag at how pungent the fruity smell of it is.
Beside me, Marco does gag, “Christ.” He swears like a Normal.
“What is it?” Alessandro asks before taking a tentative sip. He inhales a sharp breath of air afterward, “this is very strong!”
“It’s called Vampire Venom,” Miguel grins. “It’s a magical moonshine. There’s no real venom in it, but I heard there is fairy blood in it.”
“So we’re going to be high,” Sophie frowns.
Most of the group has already drank from their cups.
“Is this safe?” I ask.
“Well, it won’t make you blind,” Marco says to me in English. He has a heavy accent but his voice reminds me of velvet, or dark chocolate. Smooth. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” I hate how easy he smiles.
I’ve never been one to cave into peer pressure. My uncle has Vampire Venom and I remember an episode where Dev got into it. He only had a shot and fell asleep promptly afterward. He woke up hungover the next morning, but there was no harm that occurred to him other than the fact that he ate an entire cake prior to sleep.
I’m not a drinker, I haven’t drank anything since my going away party - but perhaps tonight I can pretend to be someone else. I down my cup in one gulp.
NOVEMBER
BAZ
I wake up disoriented, but in my flat, still fully dressed in my costume sans hat. My phone is buzzing, but I ignore it as fatigue washes over me. I think I’m still drunk. How did I get back to the flat last night? Things are a blur. There’s an empty blood container on my bedside table which makes me sneer. The room is too bright for my skin, but other than bone tired, I feel fine.
I roll out of bed and groan as the world spins for a moment before it catches up. I didn’t even know that vampires could get hangovers. I strip my clothes off and pull out soft joggers and an old t-shirt that I think once belonged to Simon. No, it definitely belonged to him, it has the eleventh Doctor on it. I grab a pair of comfortable pants and fuzzy socks and stumble into my bathroom.
My eyeliner is smudged and I have lipstick on my collarbone and there are bags under my eyes. But I don’t look too bad, and a shower is necessary. I don’t even know what time it is, not that it matters since I’ve already decided to skip classes.
I scrub my skin and hair and try to wash off the fatigue. I need food and I need to shop for more blood since I drank triple my usual amount last night - or this morning? When the fuck did I get home?
By the time I’m dried off and redressed I look better. Maybe I should order takeaway and just hold myself up for the day.
My phone is on the bed, fully charged, which is unusual. I pick it up and freeze. There are missed calls from Simon. Four missed calls. My body feels cold, why is he calling me? He never calls me, not even when we were dating. Instead of calling him back I decide to check my social media accounts. There are videos of me all over Instagram, dancing and making an ass out of myself. Harmless, but obnoxious. I’m singing to Britney Spears and grinding with Marco.
There’s a video on my feed of me looking at the camera and pointing at random blokes. “Look at his costume! And look at his costume! Why are they so fit?” I’m asking in slightly slurred English. The other people in the video are speaking Italian, talking about eating or drinking or how hot I am. I pay them no mind as I look at the camera again. “Why am I so thirsty?”
There’s another video of me singing to Alessandro, who’s laughing so hard that his face is red and he’s doubled over. Sophie is beside him, holding him up.
There’s a video of us walking out of the party - our own fucking party - someone has given me a bottle of wine. There’s a photo of me drinking directly from the bottle while giving the camera the V, and then a short video of what looks to be me performing felacio on said bottle. Crowley, Merlin, fucking Morgana. Fuck. My family watches my feed!
There’s another video of the Marco, he’s grinning at the camera and asking me if I want to go home with him in his thickly accented English (which I enjoy the sound of too much), to which I snort and say “fuck no!” And someone off camera says - in Italian, thankfully - “can’t you see he’s mending a broken heart!”
I don’t dare watch other people’s stories. Mine was bad enough. I wish I could delete it but it’s nearly three in the afternoon, everyone’s seen it by now.
I groan and check my texts. There’s a group chat from people in the Magic Club, asking if everyone made it home safely. I respond that I did, and then people begin to respond to how crazy last night was and how fun it was.
There are texts from Simon on my phone, which shouldn’t be too surprising. His own feed is of him dressed as the tenth Doctor and looking ridiculous with all of our friends and some people I don’t know. He obviously didn’t get sozzled, he remained sober all night.
DO NOT RESPOND [12:33]: Please contact me as soon as you wake up.
Read 15:22
The thing is, I think I did something. I check through my texts and my Instagram messages but don’t see anything sent to him. Then I check my call-log and hope against hope that I wasn’t that stupid. Fuck. I called him, and apparently spoke to him at around two this morning.
Oh Crowley. Oh no.
What did we speak about? What did I say ? Is there a spell for memory loss? No, a spell of drunken blackouts? Probably not. I don’t know of any, but why would I? I don’t drink often enough to bother knowing it.
My stomach clenches and I instead go online and order more takeaway than I should probably eat. Chinese food will arrive within the next forty minutes. I’ll respond after I eat, or so I tell myself. Only I know that Simon saw that I read his text, he’ll attempt to reach me again because he’s the braver one out of the two of us.
My phone buzzes in my hand and a spike of irrational fear hits me, only to be squashed.
Marco [15:32]: I had fun last night, we should hang out more often.
It doesn’t help that Marco was the one who asked me to go home with him in the video, with his deep voice. I vaguely recall him speaking dirty in my ear as we danced together. Why did I save his number in my phone?
Baz [15:33]: Maybe.
Leave it ambiguous and hopefully he’ll let it lie. I’m not averse to getting off, although the idea of being with anyone other than Simon is terrifying. It’s not until I’ve received my food that I realize that perhaps I’m coming across as a tease. I don’t know if I like that or not. I don’t feel wholly comfortable with myself at the moment, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way.
I’m in the middle of eating beef lo mein when my phone rings. It’s Simon, and it’s a facetime call, and I don’t want to see him. Why does he want to see me? Is this an accident? Should I reject it? I swallow my food and with shaking fingers accept the call.
Seeing Simon’s face over the phone is - my mind freezes. He’s beautiful, and in his bedroom still, wearing a black t-shirt. He’s had a haircut recently, but I knew that from the photos of yesterday.
He smiles at me, “hey, I didn’t think you’d answer .”
His voice is deeper than I remember it being. My wifi connection is a bit shit, but it doesn’t freeze on me. There’s a spell to run internet smoother, I should use it soon.
“I almost didn’t,” I say. My own face is in the corner so I can see that I look as tired as I feel. “Why are you facetiming me?” My brows are furrowed in confusion.
“I don’t, I just - ” Simon stammers and I hate him for it. “ I just wanted to see if you were okay, you look like you had quite the night .”
My face burns and I’m glad that I’m incapable of blushing. But there’s also anger and confusion whirling around inside of me. Why did I answer the phone? Why do I always do this to myself? It’s been nearly four months and I still can’t deny him anything. Why? Why can’t I just stop with him?
“Yes,” I sneer, “as you can see I’m well. Is there anything else that you want?”
“Uh, um ,” Simon worries his lower lip in a way that makes me want to bite him. “Are you coming home for the holidays? ”
“That’s six weeks from now,” I say. “And even if I were, I’d be going to Oxford to see my family.”
“What I mean is,” Simon is running a hand through his curls. The video feed doesn’t do his freckles justice. “I’m throwing a New Years Eve party, and if you’re in England I was, um, wondering if you would think about coming? ”
“You’re asking me this in October,” I point out.
“It’s November,” Simon says.
I roll my eyes but he smiles at me warmly.
“I'll think about it,” I say. I won't think about it. I'll probably just go. And stand in a corner all night while watching Simon work the room like a creeper. “Is there anything else?”
At this his face flushes prettily. I want to lick him, I want to trace his jaw with my mouth, I want to suck on his Adam's apple.
“Spit it out, Snow,” I say. It's only thanks to years of pretending to be unaffected by him that I manage to sound utterly bored.
“I just,” Simon looks away from me for a moment and swallows. It's as showy as it's always been, but I revel in watching it. “I miss you too .”
“What?” I ask, but it comes out soft. Barely a whisper. Too ?
Simon darts his gaze back to me and I'm stuck in the boring blue of his eyes. “Last night you called me. I know you were drunk, it was obvious, but they say that drunk men are often honest. And out of everything you said, I think that's the truth. ”
“What did I say?” I can feel all the blood drain from my face. My fingers are trembling. What did I say ? Fuck. Why did no one take my phone from me?
“Nothing bad, ” Simon says but he's lying. I know that he's lying by his tone. “Nothing that I didn't know. ”
Fuck.
“Fuck,” I groan.
“It's okay, Baz. You're only human, ” Simon says. His gaze is soft. “But, I miss you too. I - Fuck. I'm shit with words, and I'm sorry - ”
“I have to go,” I say, my throat already closing up. I try to swallow the lump that is forming. “I can't do this.”
“Baz - ” Simon's expression is pained.
I end the call and drop my phone next to me, bringing my knees up toward my chest. I tuck my forehead against them and try to breathe. What the fuck did I say? Why did I call him?
My hands are still shaking when I text Fiona.
Baz [18:01]: Is there a spell that brings back memories of drunk blackouts?
Fiona [18:05]: No.
Fiona [18:05]: You alright, Boyo?
Read 18:05
Fuck fuck fuck.
I pull my hair back and tie it up. I can remember vague impressions. “I miss you” was obviously said. What else? What else? Based off of the videos I was drunk and horny. I'm still mortified that everyone saw that, but not anywhere near as badly embarrassed by the fact that I drunk dialed my ex-boyfriend.
I deep throated a fucking wine bottle. Crowley what if I told Simon how good the sex would have been with me? That won't be as bad as telling him that I still loved him.
“Fuck,” I groan again. Fuck a nine-toed troll sideways.
My phone buzzes and I already know that it's Simon. Because it's always Simon. I'm dreading checking it.
Alessandro [18:10]: You doing okay today? Sophie says you got handsy with me when we took you home lol. I'm flattered!
Baz [18:11]: Fuck. I'm sorry.
Alessandro [18:12]: Lol, it's okay. Are you feeling fine? Sick?
Baz [18:13]: Yes. But I'll be okay. How are you?
Alessandro [18:14]: Good! I feel great! Magic, it's useful, who knew?
Read 18:17
I sigh heavily. There's no use in trying to remember last night. Whatever happened, happened. Is it almost late enough to justify going to sleep?
I turn the heaters on in the flat, until it's almost unbearable.
My phone buzzes again.
DO NOT RESPOND [18: 21]: You have my shirt.
Read 18:21.
Why am I such a mess?
November goes on. Nothing too exciting. More club activities, more visits to restaurants and pubs. More socializing. Moreso then I did in London. It's easier to be someone else in a foreign country, easier to be more me than back home. There's no expectations here. No one breathing down my throat. No one watching my every move. I'm not the last heir to the house Pitch here, I'm just Baz.
Coursework is heavy but I appreciate it. Unlike my other classmates, I'm fortunate enough that I don't need to work. I'm kept on an allowance and my trust fund is being used for the flat. I'm allowed to focus strictly on my studies.
Math is a universal language, and I do well. I don't expect myself to not do well. I'm one of the top of my class, despite being foreign. I get asked out on dates regularly, by both men and women, and it's confusing. Marco is the worst.
Marco doesn't attend school, he works at his family's bookshop but he stops by the Magic Club often. He's handsome, and funny in a sardonic way. And he's interested in me, but I'm not interested in him. I'm sure that if my heart didn't already belong to Simon I would be. I could picture it easily. And sometimes I fancy pretending that there could be something between us. It'll be an easy life, I'd have to lie about what I am, eventually he'd think I was cheating on him, we'd break up.
No one in their right mind could accept that I'm a vampire. Not if they value their lives. Not if they don't want to be Turned. I'm not exactly trustworthy, based off the fact that I'm a dark creature alone.
I try not to think of Simon in all of this. A deformed ex-mage with a shit ton of baggage. We still match, I'll never doubt that, we'll always match.
I've been avoiding him. He still sends me at least three messages a day. He sees that I see them. He knows I'm purposely ignoring him. I'm such a shitty person, he had the right idea by ending whatever was left of our tattered relationship.
“I brought you that coffee you like,” Marco says to me one afternoon. We're meeting everyone else to see another museum. I love these field trips.
“Thank you,” I say, touched. It's freezing outside, I'm always cold but winter makes it worse. It makes me feel extra cold-blooded and less human than I already am.
He smiles at me and a part of me wishes that I could feel something meaningful toward him. “No problem.”
There have been a few times where I’ve wanted to kiss him. Just to see what it’s like. Just to see if I’d enjoy it, to be able to say that I’ve tasted someone other than Simon. That someone else has touched me. And Marco always promises a good time.
As it is, he's been using me to practice English, but I don't mind. He's improving daily, and I enjoy helping him.
“So, why won't you go out with me?” Marco asks me. Which is a bit out of the blue, but I suppose I should have expected it. He doesn't sound pushy, and he's not the sort to force himself on me in any way. But he is curious, as if there's no way I couldn't be interested in him. (He’s handsome, but he’s not that handsome.)
“Why are you asking this?” I say instead of answering.
Marco snorts into his drink before leveling me a stare with his too warm brown eyes, “because I know you are, what's the word? Uh...liking how I look?”
“You think I'm attracted to you?”
“I don't think it, I know it!” Marco nods and gestures to himself, “look at me.”
I don't look at him. I already know what I'll see.
“You're ridiculous,” I say in Italian, and it's perfect. My lingual skills are polished to the point where you won't think my first language was something else. I pride myself on that. “And full of yourself.”
“Don't lie to my face, Basil,” Marco says.
“I'm in love with someone else,” I say. And I don't know why I say it. It's something entirely too personal. But, again, I'm somewhere different. I can be more open without fearing as harsh of judgment. And it feels good to admit it. To say it aloud, letting the words hang in the air like the breath from my lungs is currently doing.
“Ah!” Marco nods, “makes sense.” As if that would be the only reason why I refuse to date him.
I point out the rest of our group approaching us and he allows the subject to drop. Thankfully.
17, November
Baz [16:27]: How have you been?
Snow [16:28]: Finally done ignoring me?
Baz [16:28]: Does it matter?
Snow [16:30]: What’s that mean?
Baz [16:31]: Why do you keep texting me? You broke up with me, did you forget that?
Snow [16:32]: We can't be friends?
Baz [16:35]: We've never been friends.
Snow [16:35]: We can't try?
Baz [16:37]: I don't think it's wise.
Snow [16:38]: typing typing typing…
Baz [16:39]: You know I'm right.
Snow [16:41]: You’re my best friend!
Baz [16.45]. I hadn't realized my name was Penelope Bunce.
Snow [16:46]: You know what I mean!
Baz [16:46]: I don't.
DECEMBER
BAZ
5, December
Bunce [09:45]: Finals are coming.
Baz [09:46]: How much GOT have you been viewing?
Bunce [09:46]: I’ve read the books, thanks much. I’m sure you’ve been studying already in preparation.
Baz [09:48]: Naturally.
Bunce [09:49]: I cannot wait until the holidays. Are you coming to our party?
Baz [09:52]: Perhaps.
Bunce [09:53]: A simple yes or no would suffice, Basil.
Read 09:58
Don’t eat, don’t sleep, it’s finals week. This is a mantra that’s reverberating throughout campus during the last weeks of December. I’m left locked up in my flat in joggers and an old sweatshirt with my hair up for several days on end. Surviving solely off of tea, blood, and cheese toasties.
I ignore all phone calls or texts with the exception of my family’s, they’re the only ones I’ll allow myself to take a break for. I play classical music and study, and revise, and study, and revise, and feel as if I’m drowning under waves of Italian words.
I have six finals in two days and I want to hang myself when it’s all said and done. My grades are probably going to suffer, they’re going to reflect how poorly I did, they’re going to show that I can barely speak Italian and my words are going to be shoddy and I’ll have to fail out of school and find a job doing dirty work for the Coven like Fiona.
The rational part of me understands how ridiculous I am, I’m a Pitch, I’m the best at whatever it is I do. My grades will be all top marks, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety from eating at me until the last test is done. We won’t be receiving our grades until sometime during the holidays.
19, December
Marco [13:43]: Are you going to the party tomorrow?
The party the Magic Club is throwing for the end of term. A celebration before everyone makes their way home.
Baz [13:45]: No, I’ll be on an aeroplane to England.
Marco [13:46]: I’ll pine for you!
Baz [13:47]: You do that.
The anxiety of finals took away from the fact that I had agreed to attend Simon Snow’s New Years Eve party, and then promptly haven’t spoken to him for the entire month. Not for his lack of trying, but I’m just tired. I love him, and keeping in constant contact with him keeps my emotions confused and hopeful. I can’t keep allowing myself to be hurt this way.
I go to the airport with the clothes on my back and my passport, wallet, and ticket. There’s no need to pack anything when I have better clothes and products at home.
My seat is in first-class and I lean heavily into it. It’s hardly a two hour flight back to London, and there’s no one in the seat beside me. I keep my earbuds in and listen to my strings playlist on Spotify. No one bothers me, only the flight attendant coming around and asking if I was interested in a beverage. I take an Earl Grey and find it adequate considering it was made on a plane.
I shipped my family’s gifts to them at the end of November, so there’s nothing for me to stress about other than potentially seeing Simon again. I don’t know if I’ll go to his party, would he be surprised if I didn’t? Would he be disappointed?
Why does it matter to me?
20, December
Baz [15:09]: What time does your party start?
Simon [15:09]: Does this mean you’re coming?
Baz [15:10]: No.
Simon [15:10]: 10pm.
Read 15:11
Fiona is waiting for me in baggage claim, which is where the exits are. She’s got a large grin on her face as she hugs me and tussles my hair.
“Looking good, Boyo!” She says while leading me out of the airport and towards the car park.
It’s freezing cold outside and I'm glad that I placed warming spells on the inside of my heavy coat. I still secure my beanie further down onto my head and move my scarf high up my chin and huddle my hands into my pockets. Fuck, it’s so cold. I should go somewhere tropical for winter holiday in the future. The only downside to that would be the bloody sun.
We get to Fiona’s car and I pause, “do I still have to sit in the backseat?”
Fiona barks a loud laugh, “no, I’m feeling generous today, climb into the front.”
I suppress a smile and do as I'm told, waiting impatiently for the car to turn on and for the heater to kick in. Once it does it’s so much more pleasant. I still wish it were warmer.
“So,” Fiona starts while getting us out of the airport and onto the highway to Oxford. “Where’d you learn to deep throat the way you did on that wine bottle?”
I close my eyes tightly and am glad that I can’t blush. I thought she had forgotten about seeing that, but she was just biding her time until she could do it in person. Because she’s truly the devil incarnate.
“I knew you were going to school for an education,” I can hear Fiona’s salacious grin, “but I hadn’t realized that was a course offered in Italy. Or was that just good ol’ Watford learning?”
“Oh my God,” I groan, my gloved hands covering my face.
“Swearing like a Normal too? Aleister Crowley,” Fiona’s laughing again and I’m wishing that the ground could just swallow me whole.
Luckily Fiona is done tormenting me once we’ve reached the house. I practically throw myself out of the car and up the drive, taking my keys out and letting myself in before Fiona even unbuckles her seatbelt. Her laughter follows me.
Vera is the first person I run into.
“Master Basilton!” She chirps, her face breaking into a large grin. “Look at you!”
The warmth I feel toward Vera is incredible. I engulf her in a tight hug and allow myself to inhale her scent. She was my caretaker for such a large part of my life, especially after my mother died, I can’t imagine life without her.
“It’s good to see you, Vera,” I say and accept the peck she plants on my cheek as we pull apart.
“Goodness, but you seem to become more handsome every time I see you,” Vera smiles. “I’ll fetch your father, the children are in the library with your mother.”
The children are ecstatic to see me and I’m swarmed. Daphne gives me a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. And I feel loved, I feel like I’m finally somewhere where people understand me a little better. My father even hugs me, which is unusual, but I accept it.
“It’s good to see you, Basil,” father claps me on the shoulder, “how was your flight?”
“Good,” I answer as I follow him out of the library, much to the children’s protests. There would be time for them later, they’ll want to play, and Mordelia is learning more advance songs on the piano and wants to do a duet performance with me. It’s good, it’s warm, but I don’t feel a hundred percent at home, because I know there’s something missing.
“Will we be expecting Mr. Snow this year?” My father asks me once we’re in his study. He’s pouring us both a glass of whiskey, although I refuse to do more than take a few sips.
“No,” I answer, a little surprised he’s even asking. It’s true that I haven’t told anyone in my family about mine and Simon’s break up, but my father has always skirted around my queerdom. “I don’t believe so, although I will be at a party with him for the New Year.” Even though I shouldn’t go, I want to. I want to see him in person. I’m a bloody masochist.
Father nods, “tell me how your studies are going, how were finals?”
I lean back in my leather chair and finally understand that this was my father’s way of spending time with me. I always felt that this was his way of keeping tabs on me, but no, he could find sneakier ways to do that. I smile at him and begin to tell him more about the Magic Club and how the mage network is in Rome.
Christmas Eve is a quiet affair, it always is. My family plays board games together and we eat dinner dressed in our best. The children and I play more games until it’s time for them to go to bed and my parents, aunt, and I drink together until we’re sure the little ones are asleep to bring the gifts out.
Christmas is more for children than for adults, but I feel joy at my siblings excitement, and it’s nice. It’s lovely. Until Fiona hands her gift to me later, away from the eyes of the rest of my family, with a wicked grin on her face - the gay kama sutra.
26, December
Dev [13:02]: Oi, wanker, what’re you up to?
Baz [13:03]: Reading.
Dev [13:03]: Lame, come out with Niall and I.
Baz [13:04]: Where to?
Dev [13:04]: Pub in London, I’ll drive.
Baz [13:07]: Fine. When?
Dev [13:09]: I’m outside, soooo now.
Baz [13:10]: What the fuck, Dev? I’m not even dressed!
Dev [13:12]: The less posh you are, the better, trust me. I’m not looking to get robbed because of you. Vera’s letting me in right now, I’m coming upstairs.
Read 13:12
27, December
Snow [22:10]: You went to Howl’s yesterday? On my day off?
Baz [22:11]: What are you talking about? The pub?
Snow [22:12]: Yeah, I work there!
Snow [22:13]: Who was your tender? Was it Annie?
Snow [22:14]: She’s got blond hair and green eyes? She’s really pretty? Was she your bartender?
Read 22:15
My heart plummets, I’ve always known that Snow fancied women, he dated Wellbelove for three years. Maybe him texting me really was just him attempting friendship. He’s not a liar, he’s always been shit at it. He always says what he means, and if Simon thinks of me as his best friend (or at least one of them) then that’s exactly what he thinks our relationship is.
Maybe it was him placating his own guilt over hurting me and I’ve just been reading into it too much because I was hoping that we’d end up back together. Because I don’t want to be his friend, I never wanted to be his friend.
Snow [22:17]: Please stop leaving me on read.
Read 22:18
I sigh and put my phone onto the charger before bundling myself up to hunt. There won’t be much in the woods surrounding my home, maybe I’ll be lucky and find a rabbit or a deer. I haven’t hunted in months, and maybe it’s a vampire thing but I’ve missed it. I enjoy stalking prey and thralling them before drinking from them. It’s sick and predatorial and I shouldn’t have fun doing it - but I do. I think it’s part of the reason I enjoy playing football so much.
It’s nearly midnight by the time I get back into the house. I’m freezing despite the heating spells I cast on myself and I want to sink into a hot tub and soak to thaw myself out. I turn on the fire when I get into my bedroom and then fill the tub up with the hottest water that it has to offer, it steams the mirrors and leaves the air with a thick fog.
On a whim I grab my phone before stripping nude. May as well check on what Snow may have sent me. I hate myself for this, for thinking of him first. I should be thinking about myself, and what I want to do while at home, and who I want to see, and how I want to spend my New Years Eve.
I tie my hair up onto a knot at the top of my head and then sink into the tub, mindful of my phone. My texting in the bath used to drive Simon mad. Sure enough there are messages from him. Several at that.
Snow [22:19]: Why do you keep doing this?
Snow [22:22]: I know we’re not dating, but I’m trying to be your friend, Baz.
Snow [22:23]: I wish things were easier for us.
Snow [22:28]: I’m sorry.
Read 00:30
I sigh heavily. How do I even respond to this? Should I even respond to this? What’s the point?
I stare down at my bathwater. It’s black due to the charcoal bath bomb that I used, which turned the bubbles purple. The tub is large enough for me to soak comfortably, but I do what girls do and take my knees out of the water slightly (why do they do that?), my left knee has bubbles on it. I snap a photo and send it to him.
Baz [00:32]: <jpg.>
Snow [00:37]: I hate you.
Baz [00:40]: Good.
I then place my phone on the bathroom floor and plunge myself underwater, to hell with wetting my hair. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll drown.
29, December
Bunce [16:09]: WHAT THE FUCK, BASIL?
Baz [16:10]: What?
Bunce [16:13]: Simon has just informed me that you two have been talking this entire time? The entire time since you’ve broken up???
Baz [16:14]: I thought you knew, since the two of you have that no-secrets rule. Did he not say anything before?
Bunce [16:15]: No! I only found out because I saw him drafting a text for you.
Baz [16:17]: Okay.
Bunce [16:18]: I know that it’s none of my business.
Baz [16:20]: At least you’ve realized that.
Bunce [16:20]: But is this helping either of you move on?
Read 16:21
“You’re wearing that ?” Dev asks as he looks me over. He’s in pressed black slacks and a grey button up. “It’s New Years Eve, you’ve worn suits for as long as I’ve known you.”
My black trousers are expensive and perfectly tailored to my body and cropped at my ankles. I’ve black oxfords on. I’m also wearing a dark green button-up shirt with a simple black blazer over it. My hair is parted at the side, but left down in soft waves, and I have it tucked behind my ears. Nothing about me looks cheap, but it does say casual. More casual than my usual three-piece-suit during the holidays. I’m not even wearing a tie. I can’t bring myself to try too hard, and I know that I look fine the way I’m dressed now.
“It’s just surprising,” Dev says.
Niall is watching the entire exchange silently. He’s in a simple dark blue suit with a cream shirt, and brown shoes. In fact he looks similar to me, only not as posh. “It’s a party at Bunce and Snow’s, it’s not going to be overly fussed.”
Niall and I exchange as we watch Dev fiddle with his hair. It’s not as if he’s got much of it, he keeps it short and neat - unlike my own which is kissing my collarbones and beginning to spill over my shoulders.
“Who are you trying to impress tonight?” I ask as I casually inspect my cuticles. There’s nothing wrong with them, my hands are perfectly manicured.
“Annie,” Niall says, just as casually. “Why do you think he took us to that pub?”
I keep my face passive as I nod, “interesting.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Dev snaps, “it’s nearly time, let’s go.”
My English friends and my Italian friends follow different guidelines when it comes to being on time for events. I’ve learned while living in Rome that showing up exactly on time guarantees that no one else will be there yet. We still arrive nearly half an hour late, despite Dev’s best efforts to get us there exactly at ten.
SIMON
“Penny!” I hiss as Shepard answers the door and Dev and Niall walk in, followed by Baz. Baz! Fuck, he looks good. He looks better than good, he’s fucking breathtaking.
Penny glances up at me, she was opening another bottle of wine in the kitchen and chattering with one of her classmates. “What?”
“Baz is here,” I whisper, my eyes flitting back to the foyer where Shepard is greeting the trio. The party is already in swing and the music is a little loud (Penny put silencing spells on the walls and floors so as not to disturb our neighbors.) People are well on their way to getting drunk, and the food is halfway gone. It’s a good party so far, but it’s better now. At least, I hope it’s better now.
She’s looking at the same direction as me and hands me the bottle of wine that she’s still uncorking before stepping out of the kitchen and yelling over the din of noise. “Basilton Grimm-Pitch!”
Her voice causes other people to stop and pay attention to her. Penny doesn’t mind, instead she beams at Baz with her hands on her hips as she approaches him.
“Penelope Bunce!” Baz grins sharply as she throws herself at him joyously.
I wish I could do that, I wish I could hug him. But I if I touch Baz, I may not stop. He looks good, he looks more than good. Italy has been good for him, being away from me has been good for him.
Baz looks over Penny’s head and catches me staring at him just as I pop the cork off of the wine. I want to smile at him, but I can’t. I can feel my face flushing, from the top of my forehead down toward my chest. My ears on bloody fire. Green has always been Baz’s color. I’m wearing a black button-up and black slacks (basically my work uniform), and I've red canvas shoes on my feet.
I don’t know how long we stare at each other. Probably longer than what’s deemed appropriate. His hair is falling along his jaw softly and I just - I can’t keep looking at him. He’ll know how much I want him. How much I’ve always wanted him. How much I’ve fucking missed him. Baz being in the same room as me hurts me in the worst and best way.
He glances away first when Penny begins to introduce him to people around the room.
“Who’s the hottie?” Annie, my coworker, asks as she leans on the kitchen counter to watch Baz make his rounds.
“My ex-boyfriend,” I say to her in a sharper tone than I intended to use.
She raises both eyebrows at me, “damn, really?”
It’s because he’s so handsome and I’m so ordinary.
“Yeah,” I say before pouring myself a cup of wine and drinking half of it in one swallow.
BAZ
It’s nearly midnight and I’m hiding in Simon’s bedroom - not intentionally, but Bunce’s room has all the coats and I don’t want anyone to find me. I’m staring out of the window at the snowfall. I’m here because the last thing I want to see is someone grab Simon and kiss him as the clock strikes twelve.
His room is clean, and it smells like him. I’m at his desk, ignoring the photo of us at my Leavers Ball that’s taped to the wall. Beside it is one of him, Agatha, and Penny. I try not to give it much thought.
The room door opens and Simon topples in, he leans against it and sighs and then freezes when he realizes I’m sitting there in the dark.
“What are you doing in here?” He asks, though his heart rate has increased. We’ve done a spectacular job at avoiding each other for over an hour. Staying at opposite sides of the room at all times.
There are people laughing on the other side of the door. Simon locks it.
“I needed a moment,” I answer.
“Me too,” Simon says, “it’s overwhelming out there.”
Aren’t you a bartender? I want to ask. But I suppose there’s a difference between working an event and hosting.
I watch as he takes a seat at the end of his bed. I turn his chair so that we’re facing each other, our knees are almost touching. I can feel his body warmth from here, and his scent is stronger than what was lingering in the room without him. I want to cocoon myself in it, in him, I never want to leave the room.
“What time is it?” I ask him, I don’t feel like taking my phone out to check.
“Near midnight,” Simon says. “How have you been? You look good.” He then presses his lips together tightly. He’s feeling awkward.
“I’ve been well, how are you?” I ask, because I can do polite conversation.
Simon shrugs, “better now.”
Does he mean now as in literally at this moment? Being here in his room together? Or does he mean in general? He’s doing well, at least it seems that way. Penny said to me a few weeks ago that he’s back in therapy. I’m happy for him, as happy as I could be at least.
“I’m glad that you’re here,” Simon says, his voice low. If not for my hearing abilities the background noise of the party may have drowned him out. “It’s been good to see you.”
“Even though we haven’t spoken a word to each other the whole night?” I ask, because I can’t help but pick at him, like he’s an old scab that I want to make bleed.
Simon shrugs again, “that doesn’t matter, because you’re here. I can - I get to see you. In person.”
Fuck.
Him being so close to me is intoxicating. Why did I agree to come to this daft party? His warm palm is resting on my knee as he leans forward, more into my space. I can vaguely register the fact that everyone outside of this room is counting down from ten.
“Baz,” Simon says, he smells faintly of cheap wine. His hand is on my knee. “I know - I just - it’s -” He’s stuttering helplessly. I can hear his blood rushing, his words are caught in his throat, he’s never been articulate to begin with.
My own nerves are on end. He’s so close. I can practically taste him on the back of my tongue. Heavy and lovely and making my skull ache. It’s almost like gravity, how we always seem to revolve around one another, how we always seem to crash into each other.
Now he has both of his hands on both of my knees. The heat is seeping into my thighs and causing goosebumps to spread throughout my body. He’s so close, I feel as if I may be burned. I will get burned. He’s going to light me on fire.
“Simon,” I nearly whine. And then I’m grabbing his face between both of my palms, and I’m kissing him. His mouth is pliant under mine, and he tastes of wine, of buttery popcorn and toffee and all good things. All sweet things. All things Simon. My world is narrowed into this moment, his hot tongue against mine, his wide palms spreading on my waist, his fingers curling underneath my suit jacket.
I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. And outside of our sanctuary people are shouting and singing and wishing each other a Happy New Year.
JANUARY
SIMON
I groan into Baz’s mouth, and he’s moaning into mine and we’re close, but we could be closer. We should be closer. Kissing Baz feels like everything right in the world. Being with him this way, touching him. I want to never stop. It’s good, it’s so good, it’s always so good.
I love you, I try to tell him as we move against each other. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. Please be mine again. Please take me back.
His fingers are in my hair, tugging at my curls and I moan as our tongues intertwine and touch. His mouth is cool, but it works against my own excess heat.
When Baz pulls away from me he kisses my cheeks, my eyelids, my jawline, he forces my head back and kisses down my throat. He presses a sharp kiss near my Adam’s apple and my breath stutters as he sucks on the skin there hard enough that I know it’s going to leave a mark. He’s licking at the column of my throat and I should be worried, I should wonder if he’s fed today, but instead I can’t stop the strangled noise that escapes me. He’s worrying the skin between his teeth and my hands are running up and down his thighs.
Aleister Crowley. I can’t even remember the last time we kissed. Maybe over six months ago? The last time I had my hands on him was over the summer. Why would I let him go? Why haven’t I asked - begged - for him to take me back? It’s because I know that I don’t deserve someone as good as Baz.
We kiss again, and again, and again. We kiss until we hear guests begin to leave. We kiss as we hear our friends looking for us. He’s in my lap and my hands are roaming his back and his bum and his strong thighs again.
When Baz finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine and I just breathe him in. His cologne is heady and intoxicating. I burrow my face in the crook of his neck and just hold him to me. Hold him as tightly as I can, get him as close as possible. He’s clutching onto me as well, one strong hand on my back and the other on the nape of my neck, long fingers underneath the collar of my shirt.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I begin to hiccup. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Baz is petting my hair. I don’t think he understands what I’m apologizing for. I don’t think he knows what I mean at all. I barely can say it.
“It’s alright, this won’t happen again,” Baz assures quietly.
I shake my head, “no! No. That’s not why - Baz, no.” I can’t pull myself away from hiding my face. I don’t want him to see me right now, not like this. I love you . “I’m - I’m sorry for being so shitty to you. You deserve so much better.”
“Simon,” Baz sighs. He’s gently pushing me away from him and cupping my face with his hands. He’s wiping my tears away with his thumbs. I’ve always loved his hands, his fire holders hands calloused from flames and from the violin. His mouth is kiss swollen, but all it does is enhance his face.
“I just -” I’m trying to blink quickly enough to prevent the tears from falling, but they do either way. Because I’m a mess, I’m such a fucking mess. And I’m nowhere near getting better, and I’ll never be good enough for him. My voice is a broken whisper, “I - I just -”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Baz coos, still cleaning my face of tears.
“But I do,” my voice is a strangled whisper as I talk around the lump in my throat. My breathing is shaky and I’m terrified. He’ll reject me, he probably hates me. He probably thinks that I’m fucking around on him. “I do have to say this, please let me say this.”
He nods and I sniffle pathetically. Because that’s what I am, pathetic.
“Pen - Penny is my sister, but you’re my best friend,” I rasp, “you’re my best friend.”
“Would it be easier if I get off of you?” Baz asks cautiously.
I only hold onto him tighter and shake my head as I summon my words. The flat is beginning to sound empty, there are fewer voices, and I have to wonder about what time it is. How long have we been in there? In our own little piece of the universe?
“I’m sorry, for all - for everything - that I put you through. You - you didn’t deserve that,” I close my eyes tightly and am grateful when he starts to sooth my hair off of my forehead. He always knows what to do for me. “I’m so proud of you, Baz. You got into that program, and I - I - I couldn’t be happy for you, because - because I felt like I was losing you. But, it was my own fault.”
“Simon.”
“I’m not done,” I say, my jaw juts out on its own accord as I peer up at him. My legs are beginning to go numb, but I’ll be damned if I let him go. My hands tighten their grip on his hips. “You’re - you’re just - you’re so wonderful. And I’m - I’m shit at everything. I’m such shit at everything. You were always - you’ve always - been too good for me. I’m so - too - fucked up.”
He’s watching me, his jaw flexing as he holds his words back. And I’m grateful that he’s giving me this chance to speak. Giving me this chance to just be with him, intimate like this, at least one last time. I’ll never have anyone else as wonderful as him. There is no one else like Baz.
“And I know I ended things, because - because - because I’m no good for you. Not the way I am now, and I may never be good again. I may always be like this,” I’m sniffling again and I can feel a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I can feel the heat of them in my nose and threatening to fall again. “But, you should know that - that I love you. That I’ll always love you. That - that -”
I don’t get to finish what I’m saying, because he’s kissing me again.
BAZ
You should know that I love you.
Fuck. Everything else he said is catching up as well. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, he doesn’t think he deserves me, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get better, he’ll always love me.
I pull away from him with a gasp, and blink my watery eyes hard. “You love me?”
“Yeah,” Simon whispers, as if it’s a great secret. Perhaps it is, it’s probably something that he’s held close to his chest for months. Maybe years. Maybe he’s been in love with me almost as long as I’ve been in love with him and we’re both such shit at communication and too scared of our own emotions to properly put it out there. “I’ve known that I’ve loved you for a while now.”
“A while?” I repeat, my voice high and breaking at the end. I feel hysterical.
I can hear Penny and Dev talking to each other from the other side of the flat, both lamenting on how they think Simon and I are shagging and have finally made up. As if our break up was only a row - a bad row. I can hear Niall and Shepard making small talk as Niall begins to mutter cleaning spells. I suppose the party is over now.
“We so bad at this,” I say, but I’m still running my fingers through Simon’s curls. They’re fucked, so there’s no need to try to make them look presentable anymore. “I love you too, you know.”
Simon looks as if he wants to cry again. “I didn’t.”
“That’s because you’re oblivious,” I sigh, but I don’t stop touching him.
Simon nods, “that’s fair.”
Where does this leave us? Are we still broken up? Are we going to get back together? I don’t know if us being together is wise, and I don’t know how to tell that to Simon. But being apart has hurt me in ways I didn’t think that it could.
“My therapist says that I have intimacy issues,” Simon says after a moment, “and - and - and low self-esteem.”
“You don’t say,” I’m running my fingers over his eyebrows just to watch his eyelids flutter shut.
“Don’t be a dick,” he sighs.
I hum and stop, resting my hands on his shoulders, “I’m a vampire.”
Simon snorts, “I had no idea.”
I stand up then, because his legs are no doubt asleep by now. I run my fingers through my hair and then tuck it behind my ears. My mind is racing and I’m trying to slow it down. “We still both have so much growing up to do.”
Simon nods and licks his lips. He stand son wobbly legs and stretches his body in a way that’s enticing for me. “Can we try to be friends?”
“No,” I answer.
“Because we’re more than that?” Simon asks, “I suppose you’re right. We’ve never been friends. We’d be tits at that as well.”
“Truce?” I ask him cautiously.
“No,” Simon is tugging at his hair and letting out a hard sigh. “No. I can’t. I love you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I - I don’t know what to do about it. Do you - would you - no, never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Simon,” I sigh and there’s a knocking on the bedroom door.
“You two better come out soon! Baz, we’re leaving!” Dev says, “unless you’re staying the night!”
“Give me a minute!” I say back in a tone that tells him not to fuck with me. I turn back to Simon, who’s pacing the small floor space of his bedroom. I’m sure if he still had his magic he’d be overflowing with it and the place would be filled with green smoke. I want to reach out and touch him, but I fear that my spontaneously kissing him may have been pushing boundaries. Despite him kissing me back.
Simon Snow loves me. Me. He says that he’s never felt this way about anyone before. Me.
“You’re leaving for school again soon, right?” Simon asks.
“Yes, I won’t be back home until the end of June,” I say.
“I’m not going to ask you to, like, not see other people or - or - uh,” he’s stammering again, and it’s stupidly endearing.
I hate that my heart warms at the sound of it. At the sight of it. It’s dark in his bedroom, but the streetlights are all that I need in order to see him near perfectly. He’s worrying his lip and tugging on his hair and I want to reach out and grab him and pull him into my arms. But I don’t. After months of trying to get over him, I can’t allow myself to take advantage of whatever situation this is between us, just in case he decides he’s taking it all back again.
Simon clears his throat, “but I won’t be. Seeing other people, that is. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty or to prevent you or -”
“I get it, Snow,” I sigh. “I’m not seeing anyone, I haven’t met anything who catches my eye. Not in Rome, anyway.”
Simon swallows, “but you could.”
“So could you,” I point out. This conversation is going nowhere. Nothing’s changed, nothing is going to be different between us. We love each other, but we’re awful at this. This thing between us it too much for either of us. Too intense. “I should go, before Dev leaves me.”
“Oh,” Simon says. He wants to say more, he has a tell when words are stuck in his throat. Instead he nods and leads the way out of the bedroom, but stops before he opens the door. “Would it be alright to keep texting and calling you?”
“I -” I pause and think for a moment, “yes.”
He nods again and asks, “is it - is it alright if I kiss you?”
My heart leaps in my throat and this time I nod. “Yes.”
And then he does.