Chapter Text
SIMON
I’m just so damn tired. Well, literally, yes, I haven’t slept. At all. But more than that, I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on, of having to defend myself from all sides all the time. I’m tired of being on guard all the time. It’s exhausting. I spent all of last night awake. I think I did. It was all sort of hazy. But when the light shone on the edge of my desk that morning, I had just about finished writing. A letter, sort of, except not for anybody. More just a place to let out my thoughts. I’m not even sure it’s all legible. Probably not. And I don’t think I ever want to read it again; I just needed to get these thoughts out of my fucking system.
Well, now they’re gone.
At least, I hope so— it might just be that I’m too tired to think about them. But I’d like to think that it’s because they’re gone for good. I don’t even remember all of them.
Fighting with Baz. I think I wrote about that. This constant war between us, the snide remarks and the insults and the paranoia. I’m bloody done with it. It’s driving me too insane. I’m too tired to deal with it anymore. Penny was right. And so when I was lying in bed, not really thinking about anything at all, I just sort of told him that. Out of nowhere. And he said “truce”. I guess that means we’re not at war anymore. I’ve never not been fighting Baz. I don’t know what a truce with him would even look like. But still, the thought of some sort of peace—I was able to fall asleep after that. It was like a weight off my shoulders.
In the morning, he was gone. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like at first. I was too lazy to shower, and yesterday's clothes still lay in a convenient lump next to my bed. My trousers are wrinkled beyond recognition, but I’m past the point of caring about that. It’s the weekend, anyhow. No classes, and hopefully no Ms. Possibelf to get on my arse about the state of my wardrobe. I hadn’t even bothered to put my shirt on before leaving the dorm—benefits of being the only roomers in a tower. So, I was rightfully taken aback to hear someone clear their throat in the hall behind my back. I spun on my heels, my shirt flying from my hands across the stairwell, instinctively reaching to draw my sword.
“Woah, there, Ripper.” Baz threw his hands into the air. “It’s only me. And we’re on a truce now, remember?” He said it all sly and subtle, surely laced with sarcasm that was going over my head. It doesn’t sound how I imagined he would talk to me now. What was I thinking? That some late night mumbles would change everything about his character? It was wistful thinking. He was probably still going to be an arrogant prick. It was his entire personality.
“What are you doing out here?” Baz was sitting, leaned against the wall as if it was totally normal for him to be lounging on the hard cobblestone floor. He looked so natural there, but that didn’t change the fact that there was no good reason for him to be there at all. And there I was, shirtless, wearing yesterday's stained trousers—probably awkward seeming beyond recognition. I should probably put a shirt on, I thought to myself.
“Well, good morning to you too, Snow.”
“Were you going to ambush me?” My stomach flops at the thought. Was I really that naive? To believe that he would totally stop doing crap like that?
“Crowley, I thought we had a truce.” For a second he looks unsure of what to say. “If I wanted to ambush you, I’d do a hell of a better job than just sitting here on the floor. I’m a Pitch. And I agreed to a truce. Pitches don’t break promises.” He stood up, dusting off his perfectly un-wrinkled pants. “If you truly must know, I was waiting for you.”
“For me?”
“No, for Simon Rain.”
My face contorted in confusion. “What?”
“Jesus, Snow, calm down. I’m not hiding someone under the bed. Yes, I’m here to talk to you.”
“What about?” I felt my shoulders loosen a bit, but I was still on edge.
“Am I going to have to spell this out for you? This isn’t primary school.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, you said you wanted a truce. We need to work out whatever the fuck that means. I’m not leaving this murky, only to wake up with you dangling that obnoxious sword an inch from my face and saying that that doesn’t violate the terms of the truce. We need terms.”
“Terms?”
“Crowley, Snow, you can be incessant.” He began down the stairs, his dark leather heels tapping against the old stone steps and echoing throughout the tower. “Follow me. You can eat. Then you’ll at least be semi conscious for our discussion.” Grabbing my shirt from the floor hastily, I yanked it on and followed him without question.
As we approached the doors to the dining hall, I rushed past Baz at the smell of food and sat down at one of the empty tables, waiting for him to take a seat across from me. Instead, he stopped behind me and stood with his arms crossed.
“Well? Are you going to sit?”
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to eat breakfast with you. Here. In the public dining hall.”
“We’re on a truce now, aren’t we?” I grabbed a sour cherry scone and stuffed it into my mouth.
“Fine. But if Bunce or any other of your little girlfriends takes one step too close to this table, I’m out of here.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. And she doesn’t want to be around you any more than you do her,” I huffed. Of course he was still acting like this. He lowered himself onto the bench and folded his hands on the table, staring at me with those piercing grey eyes. They didn’t convey any emotion. Really, I had no clue what he was thinking.
“No fighting, duh. That’s easy.” He looked smug. That was obvious enough, ‘no fighting’. What did he want here?
“Stop being an arse to me, how about that? But I don’t think you could do that. I can tell you’re laughing at me, right now. Is this whole thing a joke? Are you just doing this to, to—” I was flustered now. “To get back at me or something?”
“Merlin, Snow, you know I’m not always trying to get back at you? I’m not always plotting, or fucking sneaking around! I’m here to have a bloody talk with you.” For once, he looked unnerved. Restlessly, he was tapping the table with a finger. I wondered if he even noticed.
Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. He stopped tapping and jerked his head up, staring at me. For a second we sat like that—Baz looked almost scared. Then he pulled his wrist away and stood up quickly, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Fine. No fighting, no bullying. That works for me. Deal.” Before I could even reply, he turned around and strode away, the dining hall doors slamming shut behind him. It almost felt like he’d never been there at all.