Work Text:
The first time Baz met Simon was with a lapful of hot liquid. No, scratch that. The first time Baz met Simon was in Astrology class several years ago, when they had to partner up for tarot readings. Simon had had such a chaotic reaction to pulling The Lovers card that Baz had fudged the horoscope just a bit, saying that this was only a sign that Simon was at a crossroads, and not actually in love.
So this was not the first time they had talked. Frankly, it wasn’t even the second or third or fourth. Of course, one could easily avoid anybody at the renowned Watford School of Magicks, but Simon Snow was the one individual that Baz simply could not escape. Every class, every extracurricular, every study spot--hell, even the same apartment complex–-he couldn’t seem to shake him. Or, at the very least, couldn’t seem to not notice him.
Thus, at present, it would seem that this was indeed a Simon-and-Baz first, with a mop of red hair bobbing between Baz’s knees, the repetitive swish swish of red wings dragging across the hardwood floor, and Baz himself doing his best to hold still and just take it.
“I am so, so sorry!” Simon squeaked, mopping up what was left of his salted caramel latte, hands pressing onto no fewer than a dozen paper towels into Baz’s very soaked, still very black, denim jeans.
“It’s fine, you’re fine,” Baz croaked. He made another attempt to stand up, only to be thwarted by two firm hands plopping him back down, still paper-towel-dabbing frantically. If he had any real blood running through his cold veins, he’d be blushing like the Virgin Mary.
“No! No. I owe you pants. Please, I insist. Or maybe I can…” Simon patted his pockets aimlessly, which gave him the appearance of not knowing where, or perhaps even what , pockets were, until he finally dragged his wand out of his waistband with a flourish.
“Aha!” Simon brandished his wand proudly.
Baz cringed. He’s seen what the guy could do with his wand. He caught Simon’s wand hand on its way down, fingers tingling where they made contact. “It’s okay, you don’t have to,” he murmured. “Pants can dry. We don’t need magic for that.”
“Right,” said Simon. Those gorgeous wings danced behind him as he shifted from foot to foot. “I would still like to apologize. H-how does coffee sound? I mean like, do you…drink, um, coffee?”
Baz stared at the floor. If he looked Simon in the eye then he wouldn’t be able to say something cool like, “Of course I drink coffee, what kind of dark, angsty vampire do you think I am?” So instead, he focused on the delicate freckles on the bridge of Simon’s nose and blurted, “How about dinner?”
Simon, to all his credit, grinned even wider before Baz could even begin to backtrack. “Great! I gotta run, but here is my number. You pick the place and the time, and I’ll be there. Cheers!”
The cafe door jingled merrily as Simon swooped out, pointy tail and all.
Baz slowly turned over the card in his palm. On one side, a barely-legible phone number. On the other, two men embraced. The Lovers.