And the BIGGEST shout-out to my support and beta, @baz-n-simon (:
Baz is a sharp bloke, and I don’t mean because of his fangs. He’s smart and studious, values his education, and takes classes at Uni every weekday. He comes over most days, but only after he studies, and he only stays the night when he doesn’t have class the next morning. Which is why I think it’s strange that this morning, a Tuesday, I wake up to find him sleeping peacefully next to me.
“Baz,” I say, rather loudly. I nudge him in the arm, and his skin feels like icicles.
He doesn’t move. If I were anyone else, I would think that he’s dead. Which, I guess, he is. Dead, I mean. Or undead. Or both.
“Baz,” I say again, quieter. “Wake up.” I push him on his shoulder this time. More icicles.
“Hn…” He stirs and groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Wha’s it, Simon?”
Baz’s voice in the morning is always deep and raspy, and he calls me Simon instead of Snow. It was like this even when we were at Watford. And I realize that it’s always been something that I liked.
“Don’t you have class, Baz?” I ask, softer than before.
He peeks one eye open, but immediately scrunches it closed it when the sunlight hits him, and he pulls the blanket over his head.
He rolls over to face me and pulls the blanket down just below his eyes.
“I said, I’m skipping.” And then he pulls the blanket right back up again.
I smile. Baz is also very grumpy in the morning, but less like a bridge troll and more like a five-year old child pouting.
“What about your classes?” I try to pull the blanket away from his face, but he holds onto it. “Don’t you have a test today? Won’t you fail?”
He snorts and pulls part of the blanket away from his face, only leaving one eye covered. “I never fail.”
I laugh. “You look like a pirate.”
He smiles briefly, then frowns, and pulls the blanket back over his face again. “I just want to go back to sleep, Snow.”
I roll my eyes and swing my legs off the bed. When I start to get up, I’m startled briefly by Baz’s icy grip around my wrist.
“Where are you going?” His eyes are peeking out from the blanket again.
“You said you wanted to sleep?”
He lets go of my wrist and pats the spot on the bed where I was laying. “Stay.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
He pats the bed again. “Let’s stay in bed for a few more hours.”
I grin. “The Baz Pitch? Wanting to cuddle?”
Baz furrows his eyebrows and hides his face again. “Nevermind,” he says grumpily, pushing his icy hand at my arm. “Go away.”
I laugh and grab his hand. It’s soft, even with his cold skin.
“I’m going to find a snack,” I say. “And then I’ll come back to bed.”
Baz just groans and rolls over.
When I come back from the kitchen, Baz is already asleep again. The curtains are closed, and his head is peeking out from the blanket. And he’s hogging the entire thing.
I crawl across the bed next to him. I try tugging part of the blanket away, but Baz has a death grip.
“Baz.” I touch his arm gently. “Will you let go of the blanket?”
He shifts slightly and mumbles. “…when I get my cuddles, Snow.”