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that-one-regina · 6 years

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Music cleanses the soul

I’m feeling spontaneous or whatever, so I decided to post a Snowbaz/Carry On one shot(I think it’s a one shot, but I’ve never written one so idk) that I wrote a few weeks ago, pretty much all of it being written during hw halls and between classes at school, I was kinda obsessed.

Hope whoever reads it enjoys!

It was inspired by the thought of Baz playing the violin for Simon

On ao3 here!

Baz’s point of view

I don’t know how long I play before I realize that my muscles have relaxed even more, my breathing is slow and composed, and my mind is completely filled with Snow. It almost seems like I can actually feel him, his bright flames of magick rolling over me. I abruptly stop playing the love ballad I’d unknowingly chosen and march over to the door. I stand next to it for a second, violin still in hand, and fix my hair. Then I yank the door open, staring into Snow’s gapping face, just as I expected.

“Baz! What, what are you doing here?” Snow stammers, his full checks turning bright pink. I try not to smile at the sight.

“This is my room too, Snow. Where else would I be? I’m not going to sleep on the football pitch.”

“Oh,” he replies, mouth still hanging open, “I just thought you’d be at home. It’s Christmas break.”

“And?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and walking away from him, sitting cross legged on my bed, pretending to fix something on my violin. Snow closes the door and stands in front of me, right next to my music stand.

His face is composed now, shifted back to his suspicious, squinty eyed expression. The only one I see other than a glare when he knows I’m watching him.

“I just assumed you had a family plan of torturing innocent children and kittens,” Snow says, crossing his arms. I roll my eyes.

“Oh, we wouldn’t dare harm kittens, Snow. That’s more of a Halloween thing.”

He just glares at me, unamused. I sigh, deciding to be the one to ask.

“Snow, why are you here?”

“Well, Baz, this is my room, too, right?” I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.

“Seriously, Snow.”

He looks at his feet, then up at my face again. I can’t read his expression. He must be really trying to hide what he’s thinking, I can usually tell the second I look into his eyes. But right now they’re blank.

“You first, Baz.”

I want to argue again, but think better of it. Snow’s acting way too stubborn right now for me to get anywhere.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, but if you repeat this to another living soul, I will deny it, and this time when I feed you to a fucking chimera, I won’t fail.” I say, surprising myself. I don’t know when I decided to tell him the truth. Snow seems surprised, too. He backs over to his bed so that he’s sitting on the edge, across from me. His eyes are wide, curious. Good. I hated seeing them look empty and cold. It reminds me too much of a mirror.

“It’s not a long story, okay? It’s just stupid and it would be bad if a lot of people knew. My family wants to keep quiet about it.”

I close my eyes and clench my fists, preparing myself. I hate thinking about this. It always puts me in a bitter mood.

“My father kicked me out. Told me that after I’m done at Watford I’m done with him, too. He said I could come home for the holidays still, but to hell with that. If he’s done with me, I’m done with him.” I relax my hands, resting them on my knees, but keep my eyes closed. I can’t believe I just told Snow. I think I just wanted to get it out. Dev and Niall already know, but they ignore it. That’s what we do. If there’s a problem like this we all silently agree to ignore it. But I don’t want to ignore this. I want to get mad, to allow myself to feel something. And I know Snow won’t let this go. Snow will hold it over my head, torture me with it, force me to get angry about it.

“But, why-”

I snap my eyes open, half-heartedly glaring at Snow.

“Why they kicked me out doesn’t matter, Snow.” I shake my head, getting hotter and hotter, starting to burn, “No, you know what, it does, it does matter, and it really fucking sucks, too, but there’s nothing we can do about it, so I’m not explaining.” And I defuse, just like that.

I put my face in my hands, trying to fully calm down. I didn't mean to explode. Outbursts like that from either person are most of the reason Snow and I fight all the time. Sometimes the fire mingles with the smoke and I can’t tell whether I’m choking or burning, or maybe flying and filling my lungs with the air and water that I need to live. Snow’s too fucking confusing to me. So I explode. Or push him down the stairs. Whichever comes first.

“What about you, Snow? Why aren’t you spending the holiday baking heart shaped cookies and singing merry little carols with Wellbelove?”

I look up when he hesitates, about to yell at him for refusing to talk, but stop when I see his face. He looks pained. At first I think it must be because of why he’s at Watford, but he’s staring into my eyes and I recognize the look immediately. If I was anyone else I’d think it was pity, but I know Snow too much for that. It’s more like empathy. He stands, still staring at me.

“Baz, you-”

“Snow, stop, just-”

“Baz.”

I freeze, the intensity in his voice causing me to forget to keep him from talking anymore. I can’t focus on anything other than keeping myself from jumping him right then and there. To kiss him, punch him, I don’t know.

“Simon, please. I don’t want to talk about it. Please.” I guess I didn’t tell him to get mad about it. I just wanted him to know.

Snow stares at me a few seconds more, then walks over and sits next to me on my bed. I have the urge to yell at him but he’s sitting so close that my mind’s too foggy to pretend to be mad about it. I suspect him to push for more details because he’s Snow and he’s thick and so fucking stubborn, but for once he drops it. He’s probably just going to ask again later, but for now he ignores it.

“Agatha and I broke up. That’s why I’m not with her. She still invited me to stay, at least for Christmas dinner, but I thought it’d be too weird. So, I’m spending Christmas at Watford.”

“What about Bunce? Why don’t you stay with her?”

“I’m not allowed. Her mum doesn’t want me around too long. Something with her and the Mage. There’s something you two have in common. Hating me because of the Mage.”

I tense, thinking that was a dig, but Snow’s smirking. A joke. It was a joke.

“So we’re joking now, Snow,” I ask, displaying a smirk to match his, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah we are,” he giggles, attempting to copy me with the eyebrow raise and completely failing. His mouth gets all distorted, like he’s about to drink out of a straw, and both his eyebrows are wiggling up and down as he tries.

“Snow, just stop,” I say, laughing, “ You look like a constipated squirrel.” He snorts, covering his mouth, laughing right along with me. Our laughter starts to die down and we end up staring at each other again. He’s so beautiful. His face gets an awed kind of expression. Then he glances down, staring at the instrument in my lap.

“I forgot that you play the violin. You always practiced anywhere but in our room. Why?”

“Why what?” I ask, looking at his face, hoping he doesn’t catch me, but also wishing I could see his eyes. I can always tell what Snow is thinking through his eyes. He tries to hide it, but all his feelings are so transparent.

“Why do you play? Why never in our room?” He asks, looking up at me and leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees.

I take a deep breath, stalling as try to figure out what he’s thinking. His eyes aren’t giving anything away. He’s really good at hiding today.

“It’s the same answer for both, I guess. I…,” I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him or not. I’ve already let him in more than I ever imagined I would have. But it’s Snow. Snow, who’s so animated and alive that you can practically read his mind by staring into his brilliant, blue eyes. Snow, who right now looks blank and gone, who’s apparently gotten all too well at hiding what he feels. Snow, who may give away just a little bit of emotion if I only open up to him a little more. I stare down at my shoes.

“I’ve always loved to play. My mother gave me this violin for my birthday as a child. She said a boy should learn to play an instrument, that it was more important than almost anything else. She claimed that the violin taught grace because you had to learn to hold it and not fall over. It taught you how to be gentle, always being precise in how you play and treat it, never letting it be harmed or broken.”

I swallow, unable to stop now. I look up at Snow to find him staring at me. I don’t let myself think about what I see there, and instead continue.

“The most important lesson she said it’d teach me was how to love.” I see Snow tense out of the corner of my eye; I almost feel it. “Having it with me at all times, hating the practices but loving the performances, that’d make me love it. She was right about that one. I do love this violin. I love how stubborn it is, strings always pushing back as I press against them again and again. How it’s always there in the room, whether I want to destroy it or play it, it’s always there.” Snow’s started breathing again, but faster. I get the urge to touch his chest, to feel just how fast his insane, stubborn little heart is beating.

“That’s not why I play though. I play because the music consumes me. I’m not just playing the strings, playing with the fire; I am the fire. I can burn and smoke and fall apart, but then burst from the ashes like a phoenix, unharmed, more alive and awake than ever.”

I’m still staring at Snow, but now I let myself register what’s on his face, in his eyes. His eyes are burning like the fire from my music, but I still can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“It’s always fire with you, Baz,” Snow starts, trying to hide a small smile. “You should show me some of it.”

“What?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Play something. Right now. There’s only you and I at the school for the holiday, so we might as well get along.”

I continue to shake my head. This is a position I never thought I’d be in. Snow wanting to hear my music.

“Please, Baz. Just one song.” Snow pouts, sticking out his lower lip and looking up at me through his lashes.

“Fine.” I agree, setting everything up.

“Where are your papers? What song are you playing?” Snow asks. I ignore him and just start to play the same ballad from earlier. Everything else starts to melt away, until it’s just the music, Snow, and I, all trapped in a tiny corner in my mind.

I’m almost finished with the song when I feel two broad hands on my shoulders, lightly shaking them.

“Baz, are you okay? Baz,” Snow shouts frantically. I stop playing, finally fully registering the world around me. I set my violin on my bed next to me, the opposite side Snow is on, because he’s sitting on his knees, right next to me, still staring at my face, wide eyed. That’s when I realize that I’d started crying. No wonder Snow freaked out. I’m surprised he hasn’t ran straight out the door yet.

Once I realize I’m crying it’s impossible to stop. I got too lost, too trapped in the music. I start crying more intensely now, silent tears turning into violent sobs. It’s been so long since I’ve cried. I never let myself because I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to stop.

Snow’s hands slide down my arms, wrapping around my waist, his mouth right next to my ear, whispering.

“It’s okay,” he says, “It’s okay. You’re fine, Baz. You’re fine.”

He pulls us down, guiding me to lay down on my side as he lays down beside me. He cradles me, big spoons, whatever the hell you want to call it, stroking my hair as I try to calm down, try to stop crying. It only works enough to let me get quieter, the silent tears returning.

“I’m right here, Baz. I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay with you until you’re happy, even if it takes forever. Just let it out, you’re okay. I’ll be with you until you’re better, and then I’ll stay right by your side for a long, long time after.”

I have so many questions, but Simon’s face is in my hair and he smells like scones and the schools cheap soap, and this whole day has taken so much out of me.

I close my eyes, which have stopped crying, and listen to Simon’s breathing, matching my own to his. I lay there, unreasonably happy, drifting off to sleep in Simon Snow’s arms.

#baz pitch #simon snow #carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #oneshot #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz fanfiction #bazzy the expert violinist #music cleanses the soul

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arituzz · 7 years

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Party Games 5

-SNOWBAZ-

How to fall for your enemy—A Dummies Guide

[1. Set the game] [2. Play like you mean it] [3. Keep playing and don’t ask] [4. Poker Face] [5. Play dirty] [6. Show him what you’ve got] [7. (Don’t) Fall in the trap] [8. Cards on the table] [9. Play the game of love]

Summary: Baz and Simon play more than just a party game. But, what happens when the player gets played? What if they aren’t playing at all? Well… then they burn.

Chapter word count: ~3.2k

Rating: M

Tags: Watford, eighth year AU, alcohol, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, NSFW, smut, mutual pining, fluff, alternating POV first person

Also on AO3

Thank you @eroticgropefest for being my amazing beta!

@ellea-nikki, @indigo-gold-17 here you go ♡ ♡

5. Play dirty: Try slapping when kisses don’t work

SIMON

“Four times?” Penny is giving me a Simon-are-you-off-your-trolley stare that not even her thick glasses can buffer. “You’ve slept with him four times,” she accuses, rather than asks. Pure Penny style.

“Not with him,” I tell her. “Beside him, rather.”

She adjusts her glasses with her middle finger and decides she’s done with lunch. “Different preposition,” she says. “Same difference.” She’s now giving me her patented Judgemental Stare. This is bad.

“Merlin, Penny,” I protest, taking her plate and stuffing the last piece of roast beef in my mouth. “There’s a huge difference, and you know it,” I mumble.

“Fine,” she gives in, softening her features. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah.” I fix my eyes on the now empty plate. If only we were allowed to repeat lunch, then I could avoid this conversation. Plus, more food. Double win. “Baz is evil and has a plan to finish me off, but I’m one step ahead this time,” I say, my eyes still on the plate.

“I’ll regret asking this later but,” Penny pauses for a moment, as if reconsidering it. “What is this evil plan, exactly?”

“Oh, uhm,” I say to the plate. “Baz is… Trying to…” I take a breath and say, “He wants to seduce me and attack me when my guard is down.”

Penny lets out a laugh. A loud one.

In my defense I’ll say it sounded better in my head. Why do some things lose all sense when you say them aloud?

I look up at her again.

“Nicks and Slick, you’re serious,” she realizes. “Attack you how? With his mouth?” She tries and fails to suppress another laugh, then continues, “So what are you doing to fight this terrifying plan of his?”

“I’m making him fall for me instead.”

“I think you have no idea what you’re doing,” she says, so matter-of-factly that it leaves no place for arguing. Penny usually has that effect on people.

Breaking news -- I may have no idea what I’m doing.

We start heading out of the dining hall in silence and I think she’s going to leave without any further discussion when she stops and turns around, looking at me. Studying me. Penelope’s studying face can be very frightening. Hands down one of the most terrifying things I’ve seen. And I’ve killed a dragon. “Are you sure you don’t…” she starts. “Like him?”

Wait. What?

“I don’t like Baz,” I hurry to say. “He’s the enemy.”

“You’ve slept with the enemy, Simon,” she says. “Four times.”

“I’ve slept beside the enemy. Since first year,” I clarify. “And you kissed Agatha during the game, too, that doesn’t mean you like her, does it?”

“Yeah but we don’t go around snogging between classes.”

“You saw that?”

“You’re not being as sneaky as you think.”

“Anyway, it’s not like he likes me either… He hates me,” I say, realising for the first time that I’m not exactly happy about that. “And I don’t like him,” I add.

“Okay,” Penny says.

I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t like him,” I repeat.

“Sure, Simon.” I can see she’s trying hard not to laugh.

“I don’t,” I insist.

Penny raises one of her accusing eyebrows and says, “Nobody said you did.”

“You asked. I just want to make it clear.”

“Yeah, Simon. You made it clear.” Penny stares me down, smiling like she knows better. (She always does.) (Know better.)

“Let’s play Slap or Kiss tomorrow and you’ll see,” I suggest. “I’m going to slap him so hard.”

“What about the evil plan and your,” she pauses. I see the corners of her lips fighting a smirk. “Clever comeback?”

“This will confuse him.”

“Simon.”

“What?”

“It’s ridiculous,” she says. “This will backfire. Spectacularly. Like most of your plans do.”

Okay, she has a point.

“I don’t. Like him,” I insist for the last time.

“Okay,” Penny finally concedes. She breaks her know-it-all façade and grabs my arm. “Just-- Be careful.”

I can’t bring myself to face Baz until it’s nighttime and I have no other option but to go to our room.

I open the door, hoping he’s still out there somewhere, or already asleep, or transformed into a really small and ugly insect. Preferably the kind that doesn’t sting. Although if Baz was an insect, he’d be a mosquito. Or a louse. You know, a bloodsucker.

But no. Of course not.

He’s on his bed, still as human as the last time I saw him. (Not much.) He’s looking at me as if I’m his husband and I arrive two hours late for dinner. He looks… hurt. And angry. Is it because I’ve been avoiding him?

“Baz,” I say. “Are you okay?”

Baz schools his features and steers his attention back to his book. “Since when do you care?”

“I don’t,” I lie. “I was just being polite.”

“Save it,” he says, dismissively.

Whatever. He can be hurt and angry on his own. He’s not my husband. Not my insect. Not my anything.

(Well, he’s my roommate.) (And lover.)

(No. He’s just my roommate.)

(Isn’t he?)

“This thing that’s going on between us…” I start, taking a step towards him. “We should stop.”

“What thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He lifts his eyes from his book and looks back up at me. Not a trace of emotion left. “Sure,” he says.

I stand there, right before Baz’s bed. Looking at him.

“What else do you want, Snow?”

I step a little closer and start leaning in, but I stop midway from Baz’s lips. Baz has closed his eyes. “Nothing,” I say, standing back up. “Ah, yes,” I remember. “Do you want to join us tomorrow for a late evening game?” I ask him. “Dev and Niall, too.”

He opens his eyes again, a mixture of surprise and suspicion in his eyes. And… disappointment? “We aren’t friends, Snow,” he says.

“We’re playing Slap or Kiss.”

He seems to consider it for a moment. “Fine, Snow. We’ll come,” he finally agrees. “Can I read now?”

“Truce, then?”

I extend my hand for him to shake. (Maybe I just want to touch him.)

He keeps staring at me, and I keep waiting, craving for his touch. Like the first time we met.

“Truce,” he says after approximately one hundred years, and takes my hand.

I linger a moment longer than necessary.

How can someone feel so cold but so warm at the same time?

BAZ

It doesn’t do me any good to come to these weekend game encounters with Snow and his stupid pack. It doesn’t do me any good to stare at his stupid face with all his stupid moles and his stupid blue eyes. It definitely doesn’t do me any good, either, to imagine my fingers running through his stupid tousled curls.

Crowley, I want to kiss him. And slap him. I want to slap him, then kiss him.

“Okay, so the game goes like this,” Bunce starts. “Someone spins the bottle.”

“It’s not spelled this time,” Snow chimes in.

Bunce continues, “Whoever it lands on, has to leave the room. While they’re gone, we all vote whether the person who spun the bottle should slap or kiss that other person. Whichever option gets the most votes is what you have to do.”

“Now that’s what I call fun,” Dev comments, grinning.

Niall materialises a bottle of whisky from under his cape and pours each one of us a glass. I have to ask him where he gets those from.

I take my glass and put it aside. I’ve learned my lesson, thank you very much. Booze -- not the kind of friend I want to invite to my parties. (More like the kind I want to drown my sorrows in.)

“Niall, you’re the best, mate,” the belt buckle guy---Gareth, I think---says, patting Niall’s back. When did these two become friends?

“So… who goes first?” Niall asks, taking a sip of his glass.

Wellbelove shrugs and says, “I’ll go.” She reaches out and spins the bottle.

It lands on Dev. He makes an annoyed face and goes out of the room.

“I vote you slap him,” Snow says. He holds his drink in his hands and takes a gulp.

Only to see Niall’s reaction, I say, “I vote they kiss.”

Immediately after, Niall says, “Slap,” without hesitating. The rest vote and slap wins out.

Wellbelove lets Dev back in and they settle in the middle of the crowd.

Dev exchanges a quick look with Niall. Seriously, what is going on with them? Are they mad at each other?

“Sorry, Dev, you’re not my type,” Wellbelove says, and slaps him. I don’t think anybody is her type.

It’s the pixie’s turn. She spins the bottle and it lands on Bunce. The vote is unanimous -- we all want them to kiss. Even Keris. The pixie doesn’t seem to mind.

When Bunce returns, the pixie grabs her face and forces her lips onto Bunce’s. And Bunce forces back. It’s almost like they’re fighting, instead of kissing. A hate-kiss.

Bunce’s irritation is almost palpable after that.

Then Keris spins the bottle and Snow has to leave the room. He takes a sip of his glass and gets up.

“Slap,” I say, smirking, before he even gets out. He spares me a quick, disgruntled glance and turns for the door.

Snow comes back in, only to be slapped by Keris. I grace him with a satisfied grin, and the game goes on.

SIMON

Penny kisses Agatha again.

I don’t have time to think about whether I’m okay with that before it’s my turn.

I spin the bottle and I wish it lands on Baz. Because I want to slap him. (Because I want to kiss him.)

But the bottle stops right before Gareth. Shit. I down my whisky and pour myself some more.

“Slap,” I hear Baz saying as soon as the door closes behind Gareth. Tosser. He wants me to hurt my friends. Is this some kind of psychological game of his to drive me insane?

Well, fuck him, because the rest vote for kiss. I’m going to kiss him so hard.

I look at Baz while I kiss Gareth. I take his face with my hands and move it slightly to the side, this way I can have a better sight of Baz.

Baz’s eyes are blazing into mine.

And then I wink at him. So subtly he might not even notice.

BAZ

Snow is not a subtle winker. Not a subtle anything.

After the display, the game continues. Rhys kisses Keris; Gareth slaps Rhys.

I spare some glances at Snow and catch him drinking from his glass every time.

Then Niall spins the bottle and it lands on Snow.

I raise my head to look at him as I say, “Slap.”

“Basil!” Bunce protests.

“What?” I say. “I’m always going to vote for Snow to be slapped.”

I smirk.

Simon leaves the room.

SIMON

After Niall slaps me, Baz spins the bottle and it stops before me again. There is no way that’s a coincidence.

Baz keeps smirking.

I finish my second glass and leave the room.

Baz is plotting against me again, I know it. He’s custom-built to scheme. Another day -- another plot.

Baz comes for me and my stomach flips in anticipation. I follow him to the middle of the circle.

What’s he going to do? Kiss me? Slap me?

Kiss me.

Baz places his fingers on my cheek. I missed his cold-warm touch. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.

He’s going to kiss me.

BAZ

I feel Simon leaning to my touch and I open my eyes again. His eyes are closed, lips parted.

And then I do it.

I slap him. Hard.

Simon opens his puppy eyes and, for a moment, I think he’s going to start crying. First-year me would be so proud.

My hand is still on his reddish cheek. And the world has gone silent. Only Simon’s breath exists and my hand on his cheek.

Almost inconsciously, I lean in and kiss him. Fuck the rules.

SIMON

“That’s enough you two lovebirds,” I hear someone saying. “You always ruin all the games.”

“Yeah, let’s keep playing,” another person adds.

I don’t care. I live here now. The rest of the world be damned.

But then Baz’s warm-cold fingers and warm-cold mouth stop touching me and I’m forced back with the rest of the world.

I take my place beside Penny.

People keep getting slapped and kissed, and I keep refilling my glass.

Three glasses of whisky don’t affect me much. Or was it four glasses? Anyway, I feel perfectly cool.

Baz hasn’t touched his drink at all today. Good. He can’t handle alcohol like I do.

But why is it so hot in here? Has someone spelled the room?

BAZ

Snow should stop drinking.

His cheeks are impossibly red and his motor coordination is even worse than in normal circumstances.

He’s arguing with Bunce---or rather, he’s arguing with himself---about the room’s temperature and accusing her of casting ‘Some like it hot’.

Everyone knows you can’t cast that on a room. Even he should know that.

Soon enough, Snow gets tired of the absurd discussion and attacks his glass. Again.

I can’t bring myself to look away.

He looks back at me in a way that makes my brain short circuit.

SIMON

I subtly bite my lower lip.

BAZ

Help.

SIMON

I see Baz standing up and for a moment I think---I wish---he’s coming for me, but then I realise the bottle is pointing at him.

No. Someone has spun the bottle, and it has landed on Baz.

Baz steps out of the room and people start voting. “Slap,” more than one person say.

“Hey! No,” I say, without intending to speak. “Don’t slap him!” Words just come out of my mouth on their own will.

I don’t know if it’s because of me protesting but the rest all vote kiss.

Somebody is going to kiss Baz.

“Wait, no. No, no, no, no. Don’t kiss him!” I think I say. “Just slap him. I vote slap. But softly, okay? Don’t hurt him.”

Niall gets up and goes for the door. “Relax, Snow. It’s just a game. I’m not going to steal your boyfriend,” he says. So, it’s him. He has landed on Baz. And he is going to kiss Baz.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I say.

Niall looks down at me, and then at Dev, but all he says is, “Whatever.”

My fists clench. “Don’t fucking kiss him, Niall,” I say through gritted teeth.

But nobody cares. Niall reaches for the doorknob and lets Baz in.

I drink down the remaining whisky in my glass.

BAZ

I walk behind Niall until we’re in the middle of the group.

Niall looks somewhere behind me, probably at Gareth or Dev. He’s spelled his eyes muddy blue today, but the spell is unstable and the effect is starting to wear off.

Speaking of blue eyes and unstable things. Snow looks like he might go nova at any second. He’s a fucking ticking time bomb that talks. And drinks. And looks back.

“Oh, fuck it,” I hear Niall say, right before he crashes his lips against mine.

There’s a haze of red around Simon. Fuck. He is going to go off.

Simon.

I shove Niall away. “Simon.”

“Simon,” Bunce echoes, unsuccessfully trying to calm him down. He’s so out of it.

Before I realise it, I’m right in front of him. “Simon,” I repeat. I get down on my knees and I touch his cheek with the back of my hand.

“Baz.” Simon smiles. “You’re so cold.”

And then I kiss him. Softly. Slowly. Like before.

And Simon calms down.

I take hold of Simon’s shoulders and lift him up. “Let’s go, Snow,” I say.

“Where are you taking him?” Wellbelove asks, like I’m about to sacrifice him in a satanic ritual.

“To our room,” I say, dryly.

But she isn’t having any of it. “Did you poison him?” she accuses.

“No, we didn’t poison him, Wellbelove. He did that himself,” I say. “He’s just drunk.”

Bunce turns to her and tells her, “It’s okay, Agatha.”

Wellbelove looks at her quizzically and asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says.

I nod at Bunce’s direction. She nods back.

And I take it as my cue to leave.

It’s a hard trip all the way up to Mummers House, with Snow tugging at the hem of my uniform blazer, demanding my attention like a five-year-old.

“Baz, kiss me,” he says as I drop him on his bed.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am in love with you, stupid, and you are just playing, and it hurts,” I say, but only silence comes out of my mouth.

“Why not?” he asks again.

All I manage to say is, “You’re drunk, Snow.”

He furrows his brow and I think he’s going to deny it, but instead he says, “Call me Simon. You’ve done it before.”

“No. I haven’t,” I lie. “Shut up and sleep.”

“Okay.” he says, reluctantly. He manages to ungracefully change into his pyjamas, which is more than I gave him credit for. And then he adds, “Good night kiss?”

It doesn’t do me any good to even think about it. It does me even less good to actually do it. In fact, I think I’m digging my own grave with this.

But I do it anyway.

I kiss him and I let his hands run through my hair and I let him catch the moan that comes out from my throat. Because I’m weak.

Simon’s hands travel down and I almost let them play with the hem of my pyjama bottoms. But no, I’m not that weak.

It's hard---so damn hard--- but I stop Simon’s hands from going any further.

I should run to the catacombs. That would be the wisest option.

But Simon… I can’t leave him on his own. Not like this.

He’s sprawled on his back and I think he might have passed out. I poke at his shoulder and he groans at me.

Beautiful.

I pull his blanket over his body and tell him, “Sleep, Snow.”

He only harrumphs.

I stand there before him and I can’t bring myself to look away. I think I could stay like this all night. All week. The rest of my life. Because, yes, it hurts to look at him. But it’s unbearably painful when I don’t.

“Baz.”

“Yes?”

“Stay,” he whispers. “Please.”

No. None of this does me any good. In this life, there are different kinds of people: There are winners. There are losers. And then… Then there’s me.

I lay on the bed beside him. “Good night, love,” I say, kissing his temple.

But he’s already asleep.

[Next Chapter]

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfic #carry on fanfic #simon snow #baz pitch #party games #y'all im sorry for being such a slow writer #hopefully the length makes up for it?#thank you for reading <3333

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