AN: Was supposed to write tonight but went shopping, talked politics and books. Oopsie whoopsie.
AN: Wrote that 4 days ago. Only just finishing it now at midnight after binging Umbrella Academy all day. Legendary.
Baz
When Snow and I arrive back at the house I make sure put the keys back in the lock box the exact direction they were facing when I took them in the first place. Father's Jaguar and Daphne's surprisingly humble VW aren't back in the spots yet so I know we're safe. Snow trails behind me through to the kitchen and follows suite when I perch myself on one of the stools at the kitchen island. A long and low rumble reverberates off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. Snow's stomach.
"Are you truly hungry again?"
Guilt washes over his tawny face. "I wasn't going to say anything, but..."
I sigh and mosey over towards the fridge and pull out a plate of little finger sandwiches that Mordelia must not have eaten today. They're ham and cheese, Snow's favourite. I slide the plate across the table and he pulls the cling wrap off ravenously. His un-manicured hands grabbing greedily at the children's snacks.
"Well, well, well," I hear a familiar voice say from the kitchen's archway. "If it isn't the Chosen One himself."
Snow's eyes widen, the sandwich almost dropping from his mouth. Standing in the kitchen archway is none other than my Aunt Fiona. Her dark hair is a mess, the white-blond streak petruding chaotically from what could be justifiably described as a "messy bun". She wears a burgundy leather jacket and acid-wash flare jeans. The picture perfect rebel.
"Fiona," I nod, keeping our interaction civil before it inevitably turns sour.
"Basilton," her response equally as courteous. "Nice to see you again. I hope school's going well."
"Simon, this is my Aunt Fiona."
"Oh, we've met." Snow says.
Hostility fills the kitchen from the black and white checkered tiles all the way to the LEDs. Snow is not a fan of my Aunt Fiona. I mean, not many people are but Snow has good reason not to be. He once came storming into our room, grubby finger pointed at me, claiming that Fiona had spelled his feet into the ground. Also that she had been snooping around the Mage's office under the false pretences that she was looking for something of my Mother's. Unbeknownst to Snow, Fiona was also the one who gave me the pocket recorder to take his voice. Unfortunately, or perhaps not so unfortunately, the plan backfired and the recorder took silly old Philippa Stainton's voice instead. It was a blessing in disguise really, Philippa was absolutely obsessed with Snow that year, and I couldn't stand it and therefore rejoiced in hearing her squeaky little voice ripped from her throat.
Snow is practically glaring at her now. Swivelled fully away from his food. Fiona's eyes scan Simon from head to toe, as if she's sizing him up, trying to find his weaknesses.
"Simon needed somewhere to stay." I say, seeing in Fiona's eyes the hunger for an answer.
A wicked glint appears in her menacing brown eyes and the right corner of her lip tugs up into a smirk.
"Interesting."It's as if she's heard all she's needed to know. She picks up her tacky silver handbag that sits against the archway and pulls it over her shoulder.
"Well, I best be off. I only popped in to pick up some of my CDs. Come by and see me sometime." I escort her back down the hallway to the front door. Her car must be parked the car around the back. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she turns to walks out the door. Just as the door closes, I see her wink at me with an alarming amount of destruction in her eyes.
She thinks I'm planning something. I mean she's not entirely wrong, but I'm definitely not going to push him down the staircase or drown him in the bathtub. Instead I plan carry him up the staircase princess style and kiss him in the bathtub. Okay, now I'm just being ridiculous. Having Snow voluntarily show up at my house and accompany me on a cosy village outing is the closest I will ever come to being with Simon Snow.
***
Despite the Wild West standoff that almost occurred in the kitchen only moments ago, the plate of sandwiches is empty.
"No offence Baz, but your aunt's a bitch."
"I don't think that's one of those things you can say 'no offence' to."
***
The football repeats are on T.V. so I decide to con Snow into watching it with me in the living room. It's Manchester United versus Liverpool. We sit on opposite ends of the brown leather couch and face the tv. Snow has taken his shoes off and is sitting cross-legged, all tucked up in the corner with a pillow held against his chest. He's such a nester. Always wanting to be cocooned in something. He even nests in his sleep, duvet pulled all the way up over his face while simultaneously wrapped tightly around his legs.
"I haven't watched a Liverpool match in so long."
"You're a Liverpool fan," I scoff.
"I lived there for 11 years. I didn't know any better!" He laughs. "What about you?"
"Manchester United, all the way."
"You might as well be a Normal. You guys don't even have Ronaldo anymore."
"We, don't need him. We've got blokes like Ferdinand"
"Good player, but nowhere near as fit as Joe Allen and you know it."
"Allen looks like every other chavvy guy in Britain."
"Bugger off, he's Welsh."
"Wales is in Britain you buffoon."
"Oh," realisation creeps over his face. "Yeah."
We spend the rest of the game in relative silence. Save for the occasional "ooh" or "ahh" or "blimey." Van Persie scores the first goal for Manchester in the first half, then Vidic scores another in the second. Snow is fidgeting wildly, and shouts in delight when Liverpool's Sturridge scores shortly after. I've already seen the match, I know Manchester win. Still, I act surprised when they do, but not so much that it hurts Snow's feelings. He looks sullenly at his socked feet as the television crews flock around the field to interview the players.
"I really thought they'd win."
Theres a soft rap at the door. A low creak echos through the living room. Daphne stands in the entrance, her dark hair perfectly waved.
"Basilton, dear-"
Her eyes dart from me to where Snow sits sadly on the couch, looking at his feet. Her lips are parted slightly and she holds onto the doorknob like a crutch.
"Mother, this is my friend, Simon Snow. He'll be staying here for the break if that's alright with you."
Daphne's draw drops further, then, as the polite upper-class gentlewoman she is, she puts her lips back together in a tight smile.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snow." She takes his hand and shakes it firmly.
"And you, Mrs. Grimm. I hope I'm not imposing on your family. If so I can leave."
Please don't leave.
"No. It's no imposition at all, Mr. Snow. I'm sure this means you'll be joining us for dinner?"
"That would be lovely." He smiles warmly, cheeks full and un-dimpled. It's nice seeing that smile so close up. Usually it's all the way across the dining hall, and it's for somebody else.
***
Father looks exceptionally bewildered at dinner. I swear his eyebrows turn even whiter from the pure stress of seeing his enemy's heir at our dining table. He stares at Simon unnervingly, barely looking at the food he puts in his mouth. Snow, on the other hand, can't look anywhere but his plate. He's shovelling down the turkey breast like it's his last meal on earth. Daphne looks at him apprehensively, but keeps offering him serves of roasted potatoes. Mordelia is practically cackling at the sight of him.
After dinner, father pulls me aside.
"What's your plan, Basilton?"
"You'll see, Father."
There is no plan. All I want is a week's worth of lazy days like this with Simon Snow. But, for Snow to stay, my Father has to think something's up. I'll pretend I'm getting close to him for information or some bullshit like that. But all I really want to do is take care of Snow. Fatten him up and give him somewhere to rest his head. If this is all I ever get then I can die happy.
Snow shows up at my door at midnight. I changed my pyjamas to save myself the embarrassment.
"My room's haunted," Snow says, his eyes are wild and he's out of breath.
"The whole house is haunted."
"Maybe I should go."
Why does he keep trying to leave?
"No!" I grab his wrist, I don't know why. I drop it just as quickly as I picked it up. "You can sleep on my couch."
He let's out a long sigh then nods, walking into my room.
***
Sleeping in a room with Snow is the safest feeling in the world. It's like when you're little and your parents are up watching TV. The sound and the knowing that they're awake to protect you takes away the anxieties that monsters or robbers will sneak into your bedroom and whisk you away in the night. It's the same with Snow. The sound of his breathing, the knowing he's there, makes me feel like the monsters can't get me. Both the real and emotional monsters. Even if he is afraid of the wraiths. Even if I'm a monster myself.