“Penny and Baz keep adding notes to the board. They’re fighting over the dry-erase marker. I feel like I should stay sitting with Agatha, and answer her questions, but she doesn’t say any more. And she still won’t drink any tea.”
has anyone ever wondered why Simon got so offended over Baz trying to feed him to the chimera, or when he pushed him down the stairs, but like he only mentions that Baz tried to steal his voice -’the worst thing you can do to a magician’- once or twice.
and i was just thinking why? Simon knew that he and Baz were enemies, that’s what enemies did: they fight, they try to kill each other. why should he care about a few pitiful attempts at murder? why should he care that Baz pushed him down the stairs or fed him to a chimera?
then i really thought about it and honestly my English teacher better be proud of me after this interpretation, i mean it is far fetched af but…
i think that Simon expected Baz to fight with him using his magic, they’re magicians after all, maybe it seemed fair, or he thought that that was just the way things were, but then Baz started being physical -get your heads out of the gutter i didn’t mean it like that.
Baz started to abuse Simon without using magic, he shoved him down the stairs. it started to become personal, it stopped being about two arch enemies fighting and started being just cruel. i don’t think Simon expected that when he came to Watford; he wasn’t prepared for it, how could he join the game when he didn’t even know what Baz was playing?
and maybe it was just too real. magic was Simon’s secret life, it was the thing he always came back to -it was his everything- so maybe that’s why he didn’t mind so much when Baz used spells to hurt him, because it was magic, but when he started just abusing him it could have reminded him of his other life.
his other life, with lonely care homes and hatred and not even letting himself thinking of his secret life because it would hurt too much. and maybe, just maybe, Simon had been abused in those places too, maybe he’d been shoved down stairs before, maybe he had been pushed and shoved and hit and abused. and maybe he went to Watford with the hope of getting away from that, maybe he had just dealt with Baz’s teasing and hatred and jealousy and all of that because it was better than his other life, wasn’t it?
His black hair is hanging loose today, swaying gently against his face as he leans forward to take another bite of his sandwich. Those grey piercing eyes are as mesmerizing as ever, and his skin has a tan glow that seems to be shining especially beautifully.
I sneak glances at him every now and then, sometimes meeting his eyes, and my heart skips a beat.
He catches me staring again. Crowley, he’s beautiful; handsome, masculine and yet elegant, all at the same time. As our eyes meet, I smile back at him. His smile is the most heartwarming thing I’ve ever seen, and I can feel the heat rising to my checks. My eyes quickly dart back towards my cherry scone, hoping for the blush to fade. One day I’ll get up the courage to ask him if I can sit with him. I’ll talk to him, and maybe if I’m feeling especially brave, I’ll ask him out, or ask for his number. I don’t know yet. I have to work up the courage first. One day, but not today.
He’s still there every day at lunch. Today his black hair is pulled into a bun, and his stylish black turtleneck rests perfectly against his neck.
Today is the day, I told myself this morning, hoping that he might not be there. Hoping that he’d gotten sick of my staring, or that he’d have to work during his break, so that I’d have an excuse to wait another day or two.
It didn’t really surprise me when I saw him sitting there, in his regular spot by the fountain. As I meet his eyes across the park I realize I’ve stopped in my tracks, and I can feel my heart race. Today is the day, I tell myself once more. His smile melts my heart, and it gives me courage to make my feet move forward again.
As I walk, I stare intensely at my cup of coffee and the brown paper bag with a cherry scone in it. It’ll be fine. He won’t tell you to leave; he’ll be nice and talk to you. Okay, one foot in front of the other. Keep it going. I encourage myself to walk to my usual spot at the bench next to him. As I move forward, I can feel a pair of eyes at me, and when I look up, I meet his gaze. I smile as he shuffles to the side, making room next to him on the bench.
“Hi, can I sit?” I ask shyly. He smiles and nods.
“Why else would I move over for? Other than to make room for you I mean?” he chuckles, and I can feel my heart racing as the heat spreads throughout my body. This is my new favorite sound. It must be. I’m sure of it.
I sit down next to him; not so close that I’d seem like a creep, but close enough to easily see the color and pattern in his perfect grey eyes. They remind me of wet pavement, but they’re much, much more appealing to stare into. I support my coffee cup between my thighs and rest the paper bag with my scone in on top of it. Then I extend my arm out towards him.
“Simon,” I say, introducing myself.
“Baz,” he smiles, gently grabbing my hand and shaking it. It almost feels like silk, his skin, it’s smooth but his hand is freezing cold, even now this late in spring.
“I was wondering when you’d finally come talk to me, you know,” he says. “I’ve seen you staring.” He lets go of my hand before grabbing his cup and sipping his tea. Blackcurrant, I think, as the scent flows towards my face.
I feel the heat rising to my cheeks once again, and I look down, staring intensely at my hands.
“Well, here I am,” I whisper, almost regretting not having this conversation with myself in my head before actually approaching him. That’s silly, I know, because I could have never known what he’d say. But still, I feel like I should have a better answer. I nervously pull my hand through my bronze curls and I can see him. Baz. He’s smiling at me. I can see it from the corner of my eye, so I turn to look at him. Why did my words always come short whenever I tried to talk to other people than Penny? Penny is always easy to talk to.
“You- you know, I’ve been thinking, um, about asking y-you this, for… for quite a while now, actually. Um… Would- would you like to go out to dinner? Um, with me?” I stutter, pushing the words out, choking on them twice. I look at him for a split second, and then I ruffle my curls again, purposely putting my hand in the way so that I can’t look at him. I don’t was to know what rejection looks like. I really don’t. At least not from him.
“Yes, I’d like that. Did you have a specific time in mind?” His voice is cheery, and I look at him from the corner of my eye as I slowly lower my hand.
“Really?” I ask, surprised before I can even stop myself. “I mean, I don’t. I thought I’d have to ask you first.” I’m stumbling over my own words, but I can’t help the smile spreading bigger across my face as I see him smiling too.
“I’d ask you to give me your number,” he says, and I feel my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach. He’s just kindly rejecting me, I think. “But since my phone died this morning at work and I didn’t bring my charger, I’ll have to give you my number instead.”
My heart is racing. I was sure he’d been trying to reject me in the kindest of ways, but his phone is dead. That’s all. I grin, feeling relieved as he pushes his perfectly smooth, tan hand in front of my face, asking for my phone.
I dig through my pockets, wondering where I put that damn phone. Finally, as I feel a vibrating against my chest, I remember putting it on the inside pocket of my jacket. I never put it there, so why I did so now I have no idea. I look at the caller ID: ‘Penny’ it says, with a rather unpretty picture of me and her grimacing, both dressed up for halloween. I blush and hang up on her.
Suddenly, closer than before, I can feel Baz tense beside me.
“Your girlfriend?” he asks, slowly moving a few inches further away from me.
“Nope. That’s just Penny, my best friend,” I say, smiling reassuringly at him. She calls once more. And I hang up again before opening my contacts and offering the phone to Baz.
He grabs it, studying me; uncertain, as if he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing. I nod and smile once more, and soon he’s saved himself as a contact in my phone. Handing me back my phone, our hands grace each other, and I feel my cheeks burning, and the butterflies going crazy in my stomach. I really do hate that I blush this easily.
As both of us realize that our breaks are over. we both stand up, almost mechanically. In the motion, as if on autopilot, I grab my scone and my coffee. And since we didn’t get a chance to discuss dinner any further, I tell him: “I’ll text you so you’ll have my number, okay? And we’ll find a time and date then?”
He nods, turning away with a smile on his lips. I grin, and since I’m feeling extra brave as we’re about to leave in our different directions, I turn halfway around and add over my shoulder: “And by the way, just to be clear, it’s a date.”
my laptop charger died on me as I went to work on my carry on art book pic and I prob won’t be able to get it replaced until this weekend at the earliest (bc like fuck am I paying $80 when this only lasted a year)
so until then have this small preview of baz and penny fighting over a whiteboard eraser
For @4wksoffluff . (Also: sorry I haven’t really been keeping up with the 4 weeks of fluff.) Thanks to @yeahitsmaegan for looking over this and other fics for me!
Summary: Simon is angry at Baz, and things get emotional. An angst-to-fluff snowbaz fic with slight hurt/comfort.
Snow’s face is so close to mine and his eyes are narrowed to slits. His nose is nearly touching mine, but it’s not out of affection, rather aggression. He speaks more like he’s spitting, every word like a flame.
“Go to hell, Baz!” he snarls, his eyes no longer soft and watery, a new sharpness taking over them instead.
“Oh, Fuck off, Snow,” I sneer back at him. “You’re the one who started all this. It’s ridiculous, really. I hardly did anything.” I step away from him and gesture at his desk, a disbelieving look on my face. All I did was spell his stuff stuck to his desk. All it will do is complicate his schoolwork until he figures out how to undo it (which won’t be long if he asks Bunce, anyway.). It’s hardly a bother - it’s not like I tried to kill him.
“It doesn’t matter!” He’s moved away and is shouting across the room in a high-pitched voice. It’s whiny, like a small child’s. “You do this kind of thing all the time and I’m sick of it! You’re never nice to me. And I know I’m not the best to you either but at least I don’t spell your stuff to the desk! I even said good morning to you this morning, Baz! Why can’t you be nice to me just once?” He has tears in his eyes now, they’re back to their softer tone. They’re vulnerable. And I want to cry along with him. I want to hug him and tell him I’m sorry and take away his pain. I want to hold him until we both feel better. Because I don’t feel good about this either. It’s not like I enjoy making his life a misery. I love him, but this is what I have to do. It’s what’s expected of me. He’s looking at me with his watery, pleading eyes, and all I want to do is reach out to him, but I stop myself. I can’t. He’d never forgive and then I’d never forgive myself for being so weak. But I do allow myself to say: “I’m sorry, Simon.” And then I can’t stop myself this time. I walk over him, spur of the moment, and he’s just staring at me, tears falling down his cheeks. It’s finally too much for him, and it’s finally too much for me as well. If I just do it this one time, maybe I’ll be fulfilled enough to never do it again. I take him by his back and hug him. I can hear his sniffling as I pull him into my chest, resting my chin atop his head. I say it again.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” I murmur softly. He’s not shoving me off him, and I think I’m crying about an entirely different thing because of it. I touch my nose to his hair, closing my eyes and inhaling his cinnamon/smoke scent. Simon Snow, you beautiful nightmare. He pushes away from me gently after a while, looking up into my eyes.
“Thank you, Baz,” he says, then gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. All the blood I have in me rushes to my cheeks. Simon. Snow. Just. Kissed. Me. On. The. Cheek. I try not to let my feelings show too much across my face, but then I think ‘Crowley, I’m already bloody crying,’ so I let myself smile and close my eyes as I feel the blush intensify. When I open my eyes, Snow is blushing too. He’s adorable- standing there in the half dark with his golden curls and pink apple cheeks. I kiss him on the cheek.
“I promise never to spell your books to your desk again, Snow,” I tell him. He hugs me again, resting his head on his shoulder.
“I guess this is a truce, then,” he murmurs.
“Sure Snow,” I say, “a truce.” Because I’m wrapped up in the moment and that’s what I want, a truce. I want it so much. I want to hug Snow without thinking about how my family will probably ask me to poison his scones one day. I agree. Truce. It’s nice. And then he looks up and kisses me with all the confidence I’ve never had to do the same to him. Like it’s no big deal and incredibly important at the same time. I lean into it, placing my hand gently around the back of his neck. The soft-lipped, golden-haired, mole constellated boy I’ve always dreamed of is kissing me, and I want it to be infinite. I want ‘truce’ to be infinitely true.
“Truce,” I mutter, chuckling when we break apart. “Truce.” I kiss him again. I’m in love with him, and he kissed me and called a truce.