Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Baz had been working on his thesis pretty much nonstop for the past few weeks, barely stopping to sleep and only leaving his shitty studio apartment to get some takeout or to hunt rats and the occasional stray dog in the alley behind the building.
This was the only thing standing between him and his Master’s degree in English literature, though it wouldn’t have made a difference if it weren’t.
Ever since he graduated from Watford, more than five years ago, he’d thrown himself into any distracting activity vigorously. Well, to be honest, he’d been that way since the Christmas before he graduated, right after the last time he saw his former roommate and archnemesis, Simon Snow.
The last he’d seen of Simon had been when he was pushing all of his magic into the Humdrum, draining himself. After that, Baz had tried to (perhaps not so subtly) inquire what had happened to him. From what he’d gathered, the ports didn’t recognize the Chosen One as a mage anymore. He’d apparently moved to the US shortly after, opting to go to college there instead. Penelope Bunce – who’d given him all this information, albeit with raised eyebrows – had said that was the last she’d heard from him, which had never settled well with Baz, considering she was Simon’s best friend.
After making sure his thesis was saved and backed up, Baz stood, his spine cracking as he stretched. He was just about done, but he still had a few days until he had to hand in the paper. A glance at his watch told him it would probably be better to continue tomorrow, reading through the conclusion to make sure his three A.M. ramblings still made sense in the light of day.
He’d forgone dinner that night in favor of working on the story he’d been trying to write for the last four years. Though the hunger was catching up with him right now, he knew how depressingly empty the tiny fridge in the corner of his kitchen was. There was a twenty-four hour pizzeria across the street, but the bottoms of their pizzas were soggy and they always had a weird, fishlike taste.
Looking out of his window in contemplation, Baz decided he wasn’t that hungry just yet. Tomorrow he’d go to the grocery store, maybe treat himself to a nice breakfast from the little brunch café on the corner of the block that prepared takeaway orders.
Baz let himself fall onto the bed gracelessly, unbuttoning his shirt and wriggling out of his pants. After barely lifting himself up to his elbows to throw the clothes in the general of the hamper, Baz pulled the covers over himself, closing his eyes and trying to convince himself he wasn’t still dreaming of blue eyes and copper curls, even after all these years.
He almost succeeded.
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The worst thing about grocery stores is that they’re so incredibly loud. Being a vampire meant that Baz’s senses were slightly heightened, which was generally pretty useful. However, at 8.30 a.m. on a Friday morning in a grocery store filled with irritable parents trying to run a quick arrand while ignoring their whining, sleep deprived children, it was an actual hell.
Rounding the corner to get away from a woman who was glaring at him for grabbing the last package of mint aerobars, Baz came face to face with one of said children, sitting on the ground. Although, to be fair, this one wasn’t whining about whatever overpriced, tooth rotting cereal every kid seemed to be obsessed with right now. The kid looked up at Baz with big, round eyes, tears falling down his face as he hiccupped on a silent sob. Baz looked around, but no one as much as glanced in their direction.
While heaving a put upon sigh, Baz kneeled down in front of the child, trying to make himself smaller and less intimidating as he smiled at the child.
“Hey there little puff, what’s wrong?”
The boy just kept blinking at him, tears seizing their downfall as he tilted his head, almost like he was assessing Baz, seeing if he was worthy of the boy’s words.
At what age did children start talking anyways? The kid looked like he couldn’t be older than four. Four-year-olds could definitely talk, right? Baz had already been at Watford when Mordelia started talking, same with the twins, and in any case that was long enough ago that he couldn’t remember hearing them for the first time over holidays.
After staring at Baz with a scrutinizing gaze that didn’t befit a toddler, the boy wiped the tears from his face and got to his feet.
“Help me find my daddy?” the boy asked, tilting his head again and widening his already huge blue eyes. Baz was pretty sure he was doing it on purpose to make sure he’d get help, but Baz fell for it anyways. The kid really was adorable.
Even though Baz knew he was probably being manipulated by a toddler, he couldn’t stop himself from nodding along, obligingly lifting the boy up when he lifted up his arms in a demanding manner.
“I’m Elliot,” the kid said once he was situated in Baz’s arms, looking around from his new vantagepoint to try and spot his father.
Baz moved his head back, lifting one hand to smooth the boy’s wild, dark curls away from his mouth so he could offer his name in return, when he heard a deep, gravelly voice frantically calling for Elliot from the other side of the store, getting rougher and higher the longer the calls went unanswered.
When the voice came close enough for Elliot’s ears to pick up, the boy lit up, tugging on Baz’s arm to get him moving, pointing towards the end of the aisle, where the owner of the voice came sprinting into view.
The man locked eyes with Elliot, relief washing over his face as he rushed over. Baz let him pluck the kid from his arms, resisting the urge to pinch his arm as he stared at blue eyes and bronze curls, the familiar face of the boy he’d been dreaming about since he was twelve years old, even more frequently since said boy had disappeared five years ago.
In front of him, hugging the lost toddler to his chest, was Simon Snow.
Simon Snow, who really wasn’t a boy anymore.
Simon Snow, who was currently squeezing Elliot tightly, completely oblivious to who was standing barely three feet away.
With all of Simon’s attention focused on the kid, Baz took the opportunity to really look at him.
The past years had not treated Simon well. The man who once was the Chosen One, now had dark circles under his eyes. Skin almost as pale as Baz’s was pulled tight over the bones in his face, and the muscles he’d once build through long days of practicing with that insipid sword, were all but gone. The man that was left looked awfully fragile.
He was still the most beautiful thing Baz had ever seen.