Killervibe Week 2017 | Day 2: Most Underrated Moment(s) ⇢ These parallel scenes where they’re clearly each other’s main support system and are there for each other literally, physically there for each other after traumatic events
Summary: Baz is overwhelmed with feelings for Simon at yet another school ball, and when a chance to be with his Prince Charming comes up, he seizes the opportunity.
I wonder if Snow notices me
watching him as he dances about with his precious Agatha. There’d been rumors
about the pair of them breaking up. It was, much to my dismay, enough to get my
hopes up. Perhaps I could finally have a chance with the bloke I’ve been swooning
over since first year. I allowed myself to become overwhelmed with a sense of positivity.
I would find a way to comfort Simon later in the private walls of our room,
until finally he would lean in to kiss me with those soft lips of his.
As always, the scene was too good
to be true. They were back to snogging after Political Science.
He’s wearing a cliché black tux
tonight—which, mind you, I will not complain about. I like the way it clings to
his body, it gives me a rare form of pleasure. I don’t quite know where he got
the thing, because I sure as hell have never seen him in an anything other than
school uniform. My money’s on Wellbelove.
I, personally, have gone with a
black dress shirt and crimson vest. My hair is slicked back, as always. I don’t
bother to socialize; this event isn’t for people like me. It shouldn’t be for
people like Snow, either. I’m surprised he bothered to attend, it’s not like
that sidekick of his is here. Bunce is probably off studying in some forbidden
library. The pair of them think I don’t know about her sneaking into Mummers
house, but I damn well do and damn well have since the very beginning.
There’s something about the way
he’s looking at Agatha that doesn’t quite seem so natural. Even from where I’m standing,
on the other side of the room, I can tell that he’s holding back. His eyes—blue
and ever so mesmerizing—carry an uncertain gleam. And his hands, they hover
before her hip. It’s as if he doesn’t want to touch her, to dance with her in
this place, this setting. This lifetime.
I smirk. Simon Snow, the most
powerful mage ever to exist, the very bloke who’s wish is our command, doesn’t
want to dance with his girlfriend. I suppose I could use this against him in
one way or another, what, by luring Agatha into flirting with me in front of
The Chosen One himself.
That’s what he’d expect me to do,
at least. He has it in that head of his that I’m constantly plotting. Which, I
suppose, wouldn’t be wrong. The difference is that he perceives me to be
plotting against him, whilst the reality is that I’m plotting towards him. The
only plans I’m setting are the ones leading me to him.
On the dance floor, a group of
fifth years have taken to trading partners, and grabbing the hands of those
looming on the outskirts. I sneer at the few who dare glance my way, but no
matter, a young girl—she seems a little tipsy, if you ask me—snatches my wrist
and drags me forward.
This, this catches Snow’s
attention. His head whips wildly to the left, and his eyes narrow at me. You, I imagine him snarling, you’re plotting again, aren’t you?
And I would say something snarky
back in return. I could come up with a clever response in my head, too, but I’m
too distracted by the fact that he was so clearly watching me from way beyond
yonder. I smirk at the thought.
I allow myself to be passed from
person to person, offering up a waltz to each girl whom lands in my arms. A few
of them return my gesture by biting their lips, trying for their most
flirtatious gazes. I amuse them, if only for their sake.
No, it’s for my sake. Because for every girl Simon sees me with, the closer he
gets to being my dance partner. Not even figuratively. He, too, is alternating
across the floor. We’re moving in, drawing each other like magnets. I can feel
him and his raging magic calling me out to me. Baz…Baz…Baz…
One last person, and then he’s
mine. This girl is a brunette. She wears heavy eye makeup and excessively tall
heals. She could never be my type, even if I were straight.
Gazing over her shoulder, I meet
Simon’s eyes. His stare is gentle, as if he’s taking me in, inhaling me like a
whiff of his favorite cologne. It’s then that I come to terms with his beauty.
It’s natural, you see. I could call him out of the ordinary, but it would be a
lie. In all honesty, he is ordinary. Those blue eyes of his, they aren’t the
color of the sky on a hot day, nor the ocean waves as they overlap each other.
And while I suppose I haven’t been close enough to fully study them, I’m near
positive that there aren’t specks of green or grey surrounding the pupils. They
are average. A dull, unoriginal color.
The boringness of his features
doesn’t end there, either. His lips are small, his nose is big, his hair has
managed to keep up with the trend—long on the top, short on the sides; though,
the natural curls are a bit different than everyone else’s. The bronze color is
fucking hot, as well. He’s far too thin, arms too long, legs too short.
I’m still astonished by him. Maybe it’s the freckles that pull me in. Ever since
day one, I’ve wanted to take a fine tipped marker and connect the dots. I like to
think they connect as easily as constellations.
It could be his voice, too. It’s
chipper and sweet, while also low and seductive. He has some speech problem,
acquired when he was young, after not being taught to speak correctly. He grew
up in and out of children’s homes, leaving him little to no one-on-one time
with speech therapists. And while I’m constantly giving him shit about it, the
truth is that I love it. I love when he’s stuttering over his words, the look
on his face as he glances down to his feet and bites his bottom lip. I’ve
always wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him close comfortingly. I
would reassure him that everything will be okay. Calming breaths are key.
Instead, I rile him up.
Most of all, though, I suspect that
it’s his movements, gestures, that get me going. When he wakes up every
morning, he lays thoughtfully in bed before rising. His arms don’t raise over
his head, stretching as he yawns. Rather, they slump in his lap. And at night,
when he’s overwhelmed with drowsiness, his steps are heavy and slow. It’s in
the moments before he falls asleep that he’s in his purest form. I wonder then,
each and every night, if he would return my embrace, if I only took the chance
to hold him.
I’m going to do just that.
girl passes me on to Simon, and his partner pushes Mr. Chosen One into my arms.
Well, towards my arms. I’m not as welcoming had I intended to be, and I sure as
hell don’t make a move to pull him in. I assume it’s the shock that’s making me
like this. I never thought I’d see the day when Simon Oliver Snow was truly
open to the thought of dancing with me.
takes my dead, limp arms and guides them to his waist. “Don’t know how to
I snarl at him. “Not with a bloke;
and much less, an arse like you.”
Simon’s hands tangle around my
neck, and I swear, if he tried hard enough, he could choke me to death right then
and there. This should unsettle me, but oddly enough, I’m…comfortable.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” he
“I’m sorry, did my comeback offend
you?” I return sarcastically. Snow rolls his eyes.
A new song queues up, and the room
turns into a chaotic frenzy around us. While I should be passing Simon on to
the next lucky girl, I don’t. I tug him a little closer without thinking twice;
or at all, for that matter.
“What are you doing?” His whisper
is barely audible against all else. And maybe it’s the shot I took beforehand
fucking me up, but I’m damn positive he doesn’t mean it. The gleam in his eye
gives it away. He wants me. And
Crowley, do I want him right back.
“Part of dancing,” I start,
overlooking Simon’s inquiry as if it were second nature, “Is moving along with
the music. Now, do you know this song?”
It feels weird, standing still in a
crowd full of movement. I wonder how many people are around us. I wonder how
many of those people are staring, because damnit, The Mage’s Heir is holding a Pitch
in his arms. It wouldn’t take much to turn my head and take a glance around.
But I’ve never been this close to him, and quite frankly, I’m enjoying myself
far too much to ruin the moment with something as silly as taking in the
“Of course, who doesn’t know Beauty
and the Beast? There are dozens of spells coming from this single song alone.”
Simon is noticeably offended by my need to ask, but I pay it no mind. Not in
the way I should, at least.
I betray my regrets by deepening
the wound. “Look, just because you’re The Chosen One, doesn’t mean you should
be.” Before he has the chance to make a snark reply, I push my chest against
his and lean in towards his ear. “Simply follow the rhythm of the song. And if
you can’t do that—because lord knows you have a terrible sense of direction—let
me guide you.”
Simon, much to my own surprise,
nods his head willingly.
I give myself an additional moment
to grasp a hold on to the song, the tune, the movement. Along with, the feel of
him. His hands are warm at the back of my neck, smooth and soft as they clutch
onto me. And mine, they’re at his hips. Hesitantly, might I add. I’m afraid
that if I rub off too eager he’ll be scared away. I can’t afford for that to
happen, not after I made it this far.
as old time.” I take that as my queue, and guide Simon across the floor. We
aren’t in the correct stance—we both knew that, clearly, as no one else in the
room was tangled in the knot that we were, leading me to wonder if he really
could return my feelings—but it takes us not a moment to rearrange ourselves.
My arm his around his waist, my right hand interlocked with his. His extra palm
rests on my shoulder.
He’s shorter now that I have him
close to me, a surprising turn of events. I can just barely see past his head. I
take advantage of the slight bit of view, soaking it in. It is an easy escape
from the tension brewing between us. As much as I’d love to make eye contact
with Snow, to look him the eye and smile during this raw, eccentric moment, the
air is far too heavy, and I’m afraid of losing a hold of my breath. A dagger
cuts cleanly through the crowd, giving me the perfect view of Wellbelove taking
off down the grand hall.
“Your princess has left you,” I
announce dully, just as the second line begins to ring out into the caverns of
“Hm?” There’s something about the
way he says it that forces me to have to bite my lip to fight back a turned-on
smirk. Perhaps it’s the obliviousness as he stares up at me, or more rightly
so, my jaw line. I wonder what he thinks of me right now. It sure as hell looks
as if he’s let his guard down.
I’m going to take advantage of his
“Wellbelove. Love of your life. Your
soulmate. The Louis Lane to your Clark Kent. Who the hell else, Snow?”
Simon’s feet halt abruptly, catching
me by surprise. He tears his hands away from me and folds his arms across his
chest. I wonder what his bare chest looks like; I’ve only seen glimpses of his
luscious body when he hasn’t closed the bathroom door all the way. I savor
those rare moments.
“We aren’t together anymore, Agatha
and I.” His blue eyes are narrowed at me, an unforgivable glare, just before
they dart down to the floor.
I’ve never been good at reading
people, if I’m being quite honest. I will tilt my head and allow Simon to
notice my eyes drifting across his face as a cover up, but I will not take
anything in. It’s like reading a book written in a foreign language. So, no, I
could not tell you that his lips were tugged down in pure agony, as, for all I
know, that’s his game face. It’s as I’m struggling to understand him that I
somebody bends unexpectedly.”
I glance up at the stage, focus on
the instruments that have been casted with dozens of spells to make them play
themselves. The song is being played half a count slower than it is in the
movie. I savor the melody for one last moment before turning back to him.
“I’ve never been in a relationship
before,” I confess before I can change my mind.
Simon chuckles. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
I shrug. “Probably because
everyone’s afraid of my, you know, fangs,” I tease, hinting at the rumors he’d
spread about me. I regret it immediately, what, between the fearful look that
sets in his eyes and the way this subject poke at me, drowning me.
It was never as easy as I made it
out to be. I hated being called a vampire. Not because I was afraid of being
exposed, but rather, because they were the very thing my mother hated. She died
protecting Watford from vampires, and it is of the sickest irony that I became one.
Simon Snow, the almighty chosen
one, he never quite understood that. It was so obviously a topic that he just
couldn’t grasp. When it used to really get to me, I’d amuse myself and excuse
his cruel behavior for his stupidity. He certainly was thick. When he first
began to suspect my inhumanity, he would ask me questions about if I were
immortal, or if I could see myself in the mirror. He’s always had the mind of a
But not the body of one.
He’s built like a prince. Not a
god, not an emperor or lord. A prince. Simple but beautiful, young and innocent
and pure. He’s thin, yet strong, and those eyes, god damnit those eyes, they
will never not be beautiful to me.
I do not want a prince charming to
see me as a deadly vampire.
I take my few, gentle steps
forward, and stand silently next to him. We’re looking out at the great lawn
through a wide set of windows.
a little change.”
“Between you and me, I’m in love
with someone. And no one else could ever be a suitable replacement.” With those
words, a thousand weights get lifted off my shoulder.
He doesn’t bother to turn to me
when he asks, “Who is it?”
My heartbeat quickens a thousand
paces a second. I inhale a sharp breath and truly take in this reckless scene.
The singer—some sixth year with a grand voice—carries out a new line with crisp
words I will myself to devour. “Small to
say the least.” Snow’s hand is a mere inch away from mine. His eyes are now
wandering up and down my body. I think he’s noticed that I’m clenching and
unclenching my fist in agitation. He doesn’t say anything, though. I would kill
for him to murmur just a single syllable right now.
just a boy, I think to myself. Don’t let
him wreck you like this.
No. He is not just a boy. He is
Simon Oliver Snow and I am hopelessly in love with him. He is the greatest Mage
in the history of magicks, our very hope of defeating The Insidious Humdrum. He
is the reason I wake up just in time to witness his heavenly form walk out of
the bathroom each morning. He is the last thing my solemn eyes fall on before slumber.
This boy is not just a boy. He is my everything, and I will not stand by whilst
he is debunked of his true value.
I glance over my shoulder. No one
is around to see, not truly. It’s the time of night when everyone is drunk off
the secret booze they’ve snuck in, and their dancing is all hands no rhythm. No
one will have to know; as long as he keeps his share of the secret.
With a mutter masked by my breath, I
spell the red curtains behind us closed. We are alone, not in sound, not in presence,
but in sight.
“Baz, what’re you—,” Simon’s words
fade to silence when I pull him towards me, grabbing him roughly by the collar
“You, Snow,” I whisper in a hysterical
tone. “It’s always been you.”
My fingers cup his face and I hold
him there, an inch away from my face, for what seems like forever. I think I’m
going to kiss him. He’s so close, and I can taste his breath on my lips. It’s
cherry scones and milk and everything that’s sweet in the world.
“Don’t be cheesy, Basilton,” he
mumbles through a grin.
pp3 is the biggest fucking tease i mean they could have easily made aubrey and chloe stick together because they were basically bffs since day one but NOOOO beca and chloe continue to stand next to each other and basically do everything together aND THAT KILLS ME