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MONDAY
I'm not quite awake yet. I know it's morning because I can feel the sunlight slip through our curtains. I want nothing more than to go back to sleep. For once, I feel warm. Toasty. I open my eyes with a start when I realise why.
Crowley. I fell asleep in Snow's bed last night. Again. I sigh and rub my face. It wasn't supposed to be like that. We were supposed to have a bit of fun, that's it. No more. It was just a way for me to be able to focus more on my classes. Get rid of the brainrot named Simon fucking Snow. Raging hormones, be gone and all that. I don't know what Simon gets out of it but I find it's best not to ask too many questions sometimes.
I'm not sure what I was expecting when I asked him if he would be interested in kissing me at the beginning of the school year. I was studying and I could just feel his eyes on me, constantly, driving me crazy. It was either that or start another fight but I was tired that day. I hadn't been able to hunt for very long the night before and I was thirsty. Weak. I didn't feel I had a fight in me. So I turned around and just… went for it. I thought that at best, he'd agree and at worst, he'd start the fight himself. Punch me in the face. It was a win-win situation, really.
But to my surprise, he agreed.
"Why?" I asked him, suspicious of his motives.
"It was your idea, Baz. You can't ask why when people agree to your ideas."
"Can't I?"
"Are you trying to make me change my mind?"
"I'm not." I looked around the room. I hadn't actually expected him to accept. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't exactly have a lot of experience. "Do you want to do this… now?"
"No time like the present," he shrugged.
Our first kiss was awkward, to say the least. And quickly cut short. Simon got flustered, I think. His magic started leaking through his skin, burning my lips. And my fangs popped. Cockblocked by our own unnatural abilities. Great.
I ran to the bathroom and hid until I felt more in control. Until my fangs popped back in. When I got out, Snow was gone. I couldn't blame him.
He isn't gone now though. His arm is sprawled over my chest. It's numb and heavy. I grab his wrist and lift his arm high enough for me to get up before dropping it on the mattress.
I head to the bathroom, trying not to think about the steaming make out session we had last night. Or about the sex we had before that. Or about his morning wood pressed against my hip just minutes before. I fail, of course, and wank in the shower.
I get dressed and take a minute to give my face the antagonistic expression Snow knows best, just in case he's awake. We have an agreement and it wouldn't do to show him that I have started to question it.
I take one last look in the mirror, putting a lock of hair back in place and get out, ready for another week of pretending I hate Simon Snow.
TUESDAY
Most people find Tuesdays boring but for me, it's the best day of the week. (I aim to be contradictory.) The easiest, at least.
I have a whole day of pretending I don't spend my every waking moment wanting to snog Snow stupid behind me but the memories of his lips on my skin are still fresh enough in my mind that I don't feel like I'm in withdrawal yet.
My shield is still up on Tuesdays. It's easier to sneer at him and to make cutting remarks about his lack of skills, about his clumsiness with magic. It's easier to pretend that it doesn't hurt when he answers in kind.
I see him talking to Bunce next to the door of our Greek classroom. I can't resist hustling him on my way out.
"Merlin, Baz!" Snow snarls.
"You should know better than to stand in my way." I counter. Attack before being attacked. That's what my aunt Fiona always says. Don't let your opponent see your weaknesses. And that's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying very hard not to let Snow see that he is my weakness.
I don't need to turn around to know that his magic is trying to get away from him. I can feel it. I'm pretty sure everyone in the vicinity can feel it. Bunce is doing her best to calm him down, tells him that he mustn't let it get to him, that I'm not worth going off over. (She's right, of course.)
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" I hear Snow mutter right before I exit the building.
Ah. A question for the ages.
When I get back to our room after dinner (rats in the Catacombs), Snow is asleep. Or pretending to be asleep. He does that sometimes when he's really pissed off. This way, he doesn't have to deal with me.
He doesn't know that I can hear his heartbeat though. And right now, his heart is beating fast. I don't pay attention. It always does that when I come into a room. It never meant anything before and it doesn't now, except that Snow is still awake.
I get changed in the bathroom and go to bed. I lie on my side and wait for Simon to fall asleep. And when he finally does, heartbeat slowing to a quiet thumping, I let myself watch him for a while.
I promise myself to do a better job at hating him tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY
I haven't seen Snow yet today. He left early this morning. He made sure I knew it. I really hated him then. (Vampire skin is all well and good but I still need my beauty sleep.)
He wasn't in class either. I overheard someone tell Miss Possibelf that the Mage had sent him on "an errand".
Everybody knows what kind of errand the Mage reserves for Simon Snow. The Mage's heir. Keeper of the blade.
I dismissed it. I refused to let it get to me. I attended my classes. I paid attention. I did not worry that Simon might be in danger. The fact that I might never see him again didn't even cross my mind.
Lunch is almost over when Snow finally makes an appearance. He barges into the dining hall, bruised and bloodied. He didn't even take the time to clean himself, the oaf. But he's there. He's safe and sound and he's alive. I breathe a little easier when he sits down next to Bunce and accepts the lunch she's offering him.
He really is very dirty. His hands are black. Sooty. He must have set something on fire. He must have gone off. He smells like ashes and smoke.
His face is darkened, too, with stripes of clean skin under each eye. It's hard to see him like this.
"Baz," Dev calls, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Stop staring at the Chosen One. Your crush is showing."
I pin his hand to the table. "I'm not staring," I blatantly lie. "I'm just waiting to see if he's really going to eat with these dirty hands."
He does. Ugh. No wonder he's never sick. I thought his magic was protecting him but it might actually be his disgusting eating habits. His immune system must be strong as fuck.
I never allow myself to look at him for very long, but today, everyone else is looking at him, so I indulge myself for a few more minutes, and that's when I notice that he's looking at me, too.
I know that Snow is always observing me. I know. He's not very discreet. But this time, it's different. This time he doesn't look at me like I'm a mystery to be solved, or like I'm the monster he's convinced I am.
He looks at me the way he does when he's about to kiss me.
I avert my eyes before I get any stupid ideas. Like getting up and cleaning his face with my spit before kissing him in front of the whole school.
I'm not usually stupid. I think before I act. Usually.
But Simon Snow makes me stupid, so who knows what I would do if I lost myself in those blue eyes for a second too long? Who knows what I would be capable of if Snow started to give me hope?
I'd rather not find out.
"Gentlemen," I say, getting up from my chair, "I'll see you in class."
"Got a hot date, Baz?" Niall asks, grinning.
Dev snickers. Idiots, the both of them.
I decide not to dignify his poor attempt at humour with an answer and leave.
I walk by Bunce and Snow's table on my way out and can't help sneering at him (because what would be the alternative? Gazing lovingly at his angelic face? Over my undead body.) (I haven't enough pride left to pretend I could ignore him altogether.) and I could swear Snow winks at me in answer.
No, I must have imagined it, I decide as I take the stairs leading to the Catacombs. The Simon I know would never do that.
THURSDAY
Snow had nightmares last night. He used to have a lot when the Mage started treating him like his own private soldier boy. Now he only has them when he comes back from a mission. Which is about once a week.
People will tell you that I hate the Mage because of the way he treats my family and it's partly true, I suppose. I never really liked him or his big ideas. But the truth is, I only started properly hating him in fifth year when I figured out my feelings for Simon. From there on, seeing how he suffered just to please this Robin Hood wannabe became intolerable. If he had to suffer, it would be because of me and no one else. (Although, if I had a say in it, he would never suffer a day in his life.)
I tried casting spells on him when the nightmares were getting to be too much at first, but they all failed. His own magic oozes from every pore when it happens, cloaking him, protecting him from the monsters that ail his mind.
I think I was in his nightmare last night. He kept calling my name, a hand extended towards me. I could feel his magic reaching out for me. Which is not something I would've believed possible. But Simon Snow is a freak of nature. He's grotesque.
He's a wonder.
He's doing this thing he does when he's about to wake up now. He frowns, just a little, and tosses in bed with the quietest of whimpers. I don't know why he does that but it's adorable. It makes me want to light his bed on fire. It makes me want to light myself on fire.
“Baz,” he gasps before waking up with a start.
I cock an eyebrow. “Missed me, Snow?”
“What?” he asks, sitting up in bed, mind clearly still foggy with sleep.
“You said my name when you woke up.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffs.
“You did,” I say, smiling smugly, just to piss him off. I could let it go. I could choose to leave him alone, but these little bouts of ours are the only times Snow seems to pay attention to me and my mind is craving it the way my body craves blood.
He looks unnerved. I decide to provoke him a little more, just because I can. It’s fun to see him flustered.
“Were you having a wet dream about me, Snow?” I smirk.
“I—”
He looks away from me, clutching his blanket. He’s blushing. Crowley, he was having a wet dream.
I start laughing. I can’t help it. It's a genuine laugh but it comes out as a sneer. (Force of habit, I suppose. I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever be able to express my feelings without them being painted in sarcasm.)
"Fuck off, Baz,” Simon snaps as he gets up hastily and rushes to the ensuite.
I hear the shower run and try to decide if I want to wank while imagining him wet and naked or if I should use this opportunity to get dressed in peace.
In the end, I choose the latter. Wanking in bed is always messy, and chancy at best. I don't know how long he's going to be in there and the last thing I want is having him walk in on me.
I'm tying my tie when he finally comes out, releasing a cloud of steam into the room. He nearly knocks me over when he passes me by.
"Oh come on, Snow. It's not that embarrassing," I say to his back.
"Shut up, Baz."
"You think it hasn't happened to me? We sleep together for the love of magic. It's bound to happen."
"You didn't have to be an arsehole about it though," he growls.
"I wasn't— I laughed because I was pleased, all right? I wasn't mocking you."
He doesn't answer. He scoffs and goes downstairs for breakfast.
I sigh. It was the first time either of us acknowledged that we're… involved. Fucking. Whatever it is we are. We don't talk about it. We're hard on each other during the week and soft during the weekend, but we never ever talk about it.
I don't know how it makes me feel, the fact that it's finally out in the open. I would've thought it would have been harder to talk about it. But it felt natural. And I don't know how that makes me feel. I can't shake this feeling that we belong together. That it's the way things should be.
But it's not. It's a game for him. It used to be one for me, too. Not anymore.
We should probably stop before one of us (me) gets hurt. I still don't know what's in it for Snow. He probably keeps doing it because we made a deal and he'd never go back on his word. Ever the honourable knight in shining armour.
I wonder if Bunce knows. She probably does. I bet he tells her everything. I should ask her what to do. She'd know. She certainly seems to have an opinion on everything.
I straighten my tie and examine myself in the mirror before leaving for breakfast.
Maybe I'll ask her some day.
Only two days and two nights before I can kiss him again.
FRIDAY
One day. One night.
It's all I can think about today. Only one day and one night before I can have him.
It's what I think about when I watch him get up and stretch, back muscles tensing, cursing myself for being weak. Hating my life.
It's what I think about before, during and after my morning wank in the shower.
It's what I think about while I hunt rats for lunch.
I think about it whenever I see him, of course, and I look for him all day long. I can't help it. He's so fucking beautiful.
He's beautiful when he laughs with Bunce, and when he frowns in concentration in class, the tip of his tongue escaping from his lips.
He's beautiful sitting on the Great Lawn, his hair glowing in the soft sunlight of early spring days.
And he'll soon be mine again.
Half a day and one night.
It feels like a million years. I'm never going to survive this.
I think about it instead of studying and I think about it while I practice my violin.
I stay in the Catacombs for as long as possible after my evening hunt, talking to my mother. The less time I spend with him, the better it is.
This is how he's going to get me. He's going to drive me fucking crazy with lust. People will find out how I met my end. My father will be humiliated. My name will be ridiculed. And all because of Simon bloody Snow. The Mage will be proud.
He's already asleep when I come back to our room. That's a relief at least. I put on my pyjamas and climb in bed. I grab the pack of salt and vinegar crisps I keep under my bed and open it.
"Tomorrow," I think to myself as my hand dives into the bag. I stuff a handful of crisps in my mouth.
Tomorrow. It can't come soon enough.
SATURDAY
Snow wakes me up with a kiss on my cheek and climbs in bed with me.
I feel like I’m coming home after a week away. I want more than these weekends. I want to wake up in his arms every day. But I don't know how to tell him. I don’t know how to not ruin this.
He's always the one who initiates things. I never dare to. I always think he might have changed his mind during the week. And what if he's not in the mood? What if he doesn't find me attractive anymore?
But today is not that day apparently, because Simon is currently snuggled against me, holding my waist and sighing contentedly.
I don't understand how he can put it all behind him so easily as soon as the week starts.
That's enough. I've had enough of all of this. I need answers.
"What's this, Snow? What are we doing?"
"Dunno," he answers. "We're cuddling?"
"I know we're cuddling, you prick. I meant why are we cuddling?"
"Because it's Saturday."
I groan in frustration. How can he be so brilliant in a fight and so fucking dense the rest of the time?
"Why do you do this, Snow? I know what's in it for me but what's in it for you?"
"I like it," he says, shrugging slightly. Like it's that simple. "I like being in your arms. I'm comfortable and I like that you're so cold. I'm always too warm but you're the right temperature for me. You're—" he stops and for a second I think he's not going to finish his sentence, but he does. "You're perfect for me."
I close my eyes. It hurts so much to hear him say that. I dreamed of it so many times but I never imagined it would hurt so much.
"Don't do this to me, Simon," I murmur.
"I'm sorry," he says, sitting up. He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. "I know this isn't what we agreed. I understand you want to keep it casual but I want more. I like this better. I like being in your arms and holding your hand. I like kissing you until your fangs pop even if it's awkward pretending neither of us noticed. I like combing your hair with my fingers and I like when we talk in the morning even if your breath smells awful. I like it. All of it. And I want it all. Everyday."
I don't say anything. I think I'm in shock.
"Baz. Please say something."
I still don't say anything. For a very long time. But when Simon murmurs "fine" and gets out of my bed, I stutter, "but you hate me."
"I do?"
"Yes, you obviously do!"
"I wasn't aware," he says, smiling.
"You don't?"
"No, I don't! I mean, I did at first but I stopped soon after we started all this," he says, making a wide gesture encompassing both the bed and me.
"Crowley, Snow," I sigh. "Why did you even agree to any of it if you hated me?"
"Honestly? I thought you were plotting. I wanted to see how far you'd go to take me down. But as soon as you kissed me - properly kissed me, I mean…"
I wait for the end of the sentence but it doesn't come. "What?" I ask. I can't believe he's making me ask.
"I never wanted you to stop," he says, looking me straight in the eye. He isn't afraid. He's brave. He's so brave. I envy him that. I love him for that.
And he likes me? He likes this!
I can feel my lips twitching upward and I'm powerless to stop them. I need to hear him say it again.
"You like me, then?"
"Merlin, Baz! Yes! I gave you so many signs! Aren't you supposed to be smart? How could you not notice?"
"Perhaps I wasn't paying enough attention," I answer, cocking an eyebrow. "Come back to bed, Snow, and show me again how much you like me."
SUNDAY
Simon Snow likes me very much indeed.
MONDAY
I fell asleep in Snow's bed last night again. But this time, it wasn't an accident. This time, he wanted me to.
I suppose he always has.
He's holding me tight. His body is pressed up against mine and when I try to move, he tightens his embrace.
"It's Monday, Snow," I whisper.
"I don't care. Don't leave, Baz. Not yet. We agreed."
"We have classes, you twit. We have to get up."
Simon groans like he had actually forgotten. "At least take a shower with me," he tries to negotiate.
As if I could ever refuse him anything now. He had me at "you're perfect for me."
He had me long before that.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," he says, loud enough that I can hear him over the sound of running water. He's standing behind me, fingers in my hair, gently massaging the shampoo into my scalp. "Will you let me put on the hair conditioner afterwards?"
"Sure," I chuckle, "if you don't blind me first."
I grab the showerhead and rinse the shampoo that fell into my eyes.
"Sorry," he titters. "Here, I'm done." He takes the showerhead from me and rinses out the product. He's gentle. I didn't know Simon Snow could be so gentle. His hand runs the length of my wet hair along with the lukewarm water.
"You've got such beautiful hair, Baz. Promise to never cut it," he says, putting the showerhead back in its place above our heads.
"It's not going to stay beautiful for very long if I never cut it, Snow."
"I don't care," he murmurs against my skin, dropping kisses on my shoulders. "Your skin is so soft. How do you do it? Mine feels like sandpaper."
"I moisturise. And it does not." I barely recognise my voice. It's soft and shaky in a way it's never been before.
Snow's hands travel along my torso, slowly turning me on. This strange mixture of sensuality and domesticity is really working for me.
"I want my skin to be soft for you," he purrs.
"I like your skin the way it is," I answer, turning around to face him. "I like you the way you are." He smiles and I give him a kiss. A feverish, lingering kiss that leaves him moaning against my lips.
He drops to his knees in front of me. It's a bit awkward in the bathtub but he makes it work, somehow.
"I adore you, Baz," he says, pushing wet strands of hair out of his face, "let me prove it to you, please."
I do, and he does prove it. His tongue saying unholy prayers, coaxing blasphemies out of me right as I baptise his mouth.
Crowley. This is so much better than my usual Monday morning wanks.
When we get out of the shower, I watch him wrap a towel around his waist. Faded scars gleem on his still wet chest. I wish there was a spell to erase them and the traumatic memories that go with them.
"Like what you see?" he asks, unusually flirty.
"No, actually."
"Oh. Well." He starts to turn away from me.
"I was looking at your scars."
"What? These old things?" he says, flipping his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.
"I hate them. I hate that you have so many. I hate the reason why you have them. I hate that you ever had to suffer at all. When I think of everything you've been through…" I sigh. "It makes me want to set the world on fire."
"It's always fire with you," he smiles. "I don't mind the scars. They're a part of me. And by the way, you're responsible for a few of them. This one," he says, pointing to a small scar on his ribs, "I got when I went off to save us both from the chimera and a splinter of rock hit me. This one—" he points to another one on his shin, "I got when you pushed me down the stairs." He shrugs. "I wouldn't want to get rid of them any more than I would want to get rid of those memories. Even if they're not my favourite memories of you, they're part of our past and it's important to me because it led us here. No need to set the world on fire."
I hum, unconvinced, before he goes on "but if it can make you feel better, you set my pants on fire. Daily."
I laugh. It does make me feel better.
Snow and I get dressed. He's faster than me, as always. I'm still tying my tie when he's done and ready to go.
"Do you want to have breakfast with me and Penny today?" he asks, waiting by the door, looking at his feet. He seems shy. I've never seen him like this before and it's very endearing.
"You know, I think I would like that," I smile.
Simon smiles back at me. "Will you let me hold your hand?"
"Don't push it, Snow."
"Will you let me kiss you before we head out?" he tries again, undeterred.
"I think that can be arranged," I answer, grinning at him. He's grinning, too. We must look like fools. Ask me if I care.
Simon gives me a quick peck on the lips before pulling away, saying that the scones are going to get cold.
His kisses used to be ardent and deeply erotic. Always. He used to kiss me like tomorrow wasn't promised.
But this one was short and sweet. He kissed me like we have all the time in the world now. Like we have time for more, later.
I close the door behind me and follow Snow down the stairs and to the dining hall. I'll follow him anywhere. I'll follow him to the edge of the world if he wants me to and I think he knows it.
He walks very close to me in the hallway. His hand keeps hitting mine and I'm not stupid enough to believe it's accidental.
"Just take my hand, Snow," I tell him.
He grins. "I knew you'd give in eventually."
Everybody stares at us but Simon doesn't seem to care. He waves at people we walk by like he's the fucking Queen.
I find I don't really care either. Simon's hold on my hand is just as strong and solid as his hold on my heart and nothing else seems to matter anymore. I finally have him where I always wanted him and I'm never letting go.