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Simon
There's a distinct scent of campfire in our room. You know, that smell when the fire is beginning to die out and it's more smoke than anything. Plus, there's actually smoke in our room. I'm not sure if it's from my clothes - what remains of it anyway - or the feeling of being about to go off that still hasn't dissipated.
I've been trying to calm down, but it isn’t working, which is only frustrating me even more. I've been taking deep breaths and trying to focus on something other than the anger that I feel coursing through my veins like something’s alive that’s just waiting to take over.
I hate feeling like this, like I have no control over my feelings or my reactions to them. I can’t even get mad without nearly blowing everything up, the way I did tonight.
Baz is in the bathroom, and I focus on the sound of the water running from the sink. It’s a normal, soothing sound, and it actually works in helping me to get my breathing under control, and after a few minutes, I no longer feel like a ticking bomb, waiting for the moment when the time runs out and I go off, destroying everything in my path.
Baz exits the bathroom, and the sneer he gives me is almost enough to break through the sense of calm that I was just beginning to feel.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
I shrug. “I don’t have anything else to wear.” Everything else I own is disgustingly dirty, and my uniform has practically disintegrated, an unfortunate side effect to going off so close to the flames that Baz was hurling my way.
I don’t even know what we were fighting about. Probably something stupid. We hurling insults and shoving each other and I dont know. I guess I got so worked up that I couldn’t control my magic, and I just went off.
I was relieved that Baz wasn’t actually hurt, but he still yelled at me the whole way up to our room, acting like the whole thing was entirely my fault and he had nothing to with it, which isn’t really fair because he was the one who brought magic into the fight to begin with, summoning a flame with an irritating effortlessness.
And now he’s looking at me like he’s disgusted by me and my actions, and I won’t let him win that easily.
“I will get dressed as you as you apologize.”
He glares at me. “I have nothing to apologize for. You are the one who nearly killed us.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re perfectly fine. The only thing that happened was our clothes got badly singed, and that was from your fire.”
I shake my head because that just isn’t true. I was minding my own business, walking through the Wavering Woods when he confronted me. And yeah, maybe I got a little more defensive than was strictly necessary, but Baz drives me crazy. He gets under my skin so easily, and once that starts to happen, I’m hopeless to control my emotions, which seems to be intricately connected with my volatile magic.
I don’t want to argue with him anymore, so I pick up a book that I discarded on my desk earlier today and pretend to read it.
I can feel the force of Baz’s glare, but he doesn’t say anything else. He stomps over to his desk and opens up his laptop.
It seems he won’t be apologizing anytime soon. And that’s fine with me. I still feel too warm from our fight to be comfortable in clothes, so the cool air on my skin feels nice.
Baz
I have my laptop open in an attempt to work on the essay I need to complete for our Greek class, but I just can't focus on it. I get two, very mediocre, introductory sentences written before I glance off to the side, catching a glimpse of Simon's bare chest out of the corner of my eye.
I immediately snap my eyes back to my computer, but I know I won't be getting this assignment done tonight, not with Simon’s golden skin exposed like that, so close to me.
I pull up a new tab and switch over to one of my favorite sites, hoping for a distraction. I start scrolling, but I don't really take any of it in.
My eyes glaze over yet another gif of the angels falling, something that the Supernatural fandom doesn't seem likely to get over anytime soon. I keep scrolling passing similar gifs, some accompanied with the characters' reactions to the angels falling. I scroll past a long post, probably something informational, which I would usually be interested in but can't focus on right now, so I keep scrolling, words and images passing quickly by as my attention is drawn elsewhere.
My eyes keep drifting away from the screen and over to a mostly naked Simon. "Would you please put some clothes on?" I ask for probably the hundredth time. I'm practically begging at this point.
"I will," he says, and I sigh, some of the tension leaving my body, but then he continues speaking and it comes right back. "Once you admit that this is your fault."
I grind my teeth. Yelling at him hasn't worked thus far, so maybe a kinder approach will work.
"I can see why you might think that it was my fault, but I think we were both equally to blame. I will admit that we both played a part in the events that led to your being...underdressed. But I will not accept the full blame."
He seems to take my words into consideration for a moment, but then he shakes his head. "That's not good enough."
I take a deep breath, still trying not to yell. "You could at least use a blanket to cover up."
"Why does it bother you so much?"
"How would you like it if I was just sitting here in my pants?"
"Go for it! I wouldn't mind." A pause as his cheeks turn a dark shade of pink. "I-I mean. I w-wouldn’t care." He shrugs like that's explanation enough.
I don't think either of us knows how to respond, but I definitely will not be taking my clothes off.
We stare at each other for another long moment, then I turn my attention back to my computer, my eyes glazing over the images as I continue to scroll. All I can see is Simon stretched out on his bed, practically naked, that damned cross between his teeth, which I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing.
I could probably come up with a spell that would clothe him, but he'd probably remove them just to spite me, and watching him strip is the last thing that I can handle right now. It's bad enough, his body is on display. It's driving me mad.
Simon
Baz turns back to his computer, but my cheeks are still burning with the embarrassment of what I said. I almost want to put my clothes on so that I can leave our room and the awkwardness of that moment. But I can't let Baz win.
I turn my attention back to the book that I'm supposed to be reading for a class, flipping to a random page, but I don’t even look at it. I can't stop thinking about what I said. Not because it was embarrassing. (I'm always saying embarrassing things in front of Baz. Nothing ever seems to come out right.) But because it came out so quickly, like it was the truth.
Would I mind if Baz took his clothes off? No. Not really. I mean, he's not ugly. He's muscular from all the running he does in football, and I'm sure he wouldn't be bad to look at.
But I didn't mean it like that. Like I want him to take his clothes off. Obviously, I don't go around wishing that I could see more of Baz's body. I don't care. I know he looks good. But I don't have any secret desire to see his naked body.
But now I'm sure that's what Baz thinks.
I need to come up with a way to let him know that I don't want him to take his clothes off without it coming off as weird.
Baz
Simon seems to be spiraling. He's thinking so loud that it's distracting. His leg is jiggling so hard the bed is vibrating, and his teeth are grinding, making a sound that has me clenching my own teeth. It's distracting, but it’s also nice to know that he isn’t taking any pleasure from this whole situation.
One of us is going to have to stop being stubborn so that we can put an end to this whole thing, but it can’t be. This was not my fault, no matter how much he wants to believe it is. He is the one who went off, destroying his clothes in the process.
Bringing fire into our fight was admittedly a bit of an overstep, but I was just so mad. I’m not even sure that I was at mad at Simon, though. I think I was mostly mad at myself for the way that my heart wouldn’t stop racing just from running into him in the Woods.
I hate how deeply I feel for Simon, and I hate how unrequited those feelings are even more. It isn’t right for me to take my frustrations out on Simon all the time, but I don’t know what else to do. I wish that just once, he would look at me without the usual hatred and suspicion in his eyes.
Simon
Baz is focused back on his computer and seeing that he’s not going to admit to his fault anytime soon, I focus my attention more intently on the book in my hand, which I only now realize is upside down. Turning it the right way round, I decide that it can’t hurt to at least attempt to do some reading.
A half hour passes, and I’ve only managed to get through a handful of pages. It’s always been a struggle for me to read quickly, but I’ve got the added distraction of being barely clothed and freezing because the crisp fall air coming in is not a comfort to me anymore. Not that I would ever admit that to Baz by closing the window. I also can’t pull a blanket over me because that would be almost like getting dressed and letting Baz win. Instead, I turn back to the book, which is when I realize that I’m not even on the chapter for this week’s assignment.
Sighing, I close the book with unintended force and toss it aside. The sound draws Baz’s attention, and his gaze flickers from my face to the discarded book, then back to my face, then lower towards—.
He turns back around abruptly, not saying a word.
Hmm. That’s interesting.
Perhaps there’s more to his desire for me to get dressed than he let on. I may be oblivious at times, which Penny never fails to point out, but I’m not an idiot. I can tell that Baz is uncomfortable. And maybe I’m the one who’s being an arse here by refusing to get dressed.
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure who’s more surprised by the words. It’s what I meant to say, but they came from Baz. “I’m sorry, okay?” He repeats, standing but still not looking at me. Then, “Will you get dressed now?” he asks before storming out of our room, slamming the door behind him and leaving an eerie silence in his wake.
I’m too stunned to move for a moment. That was really strange. I didn’t actually expect Baz to apologize. I thought that we would sit in a tense silence for the rest of the night, and in the morning, when I would be forced to find clothes in order to go to breakfast, I would ask for a new uniform. Baz’s reaction was completely unexpected and leaves me with a whole slew of questions. I can’t just let it go, so I stand and quickly spur into action.
Baz
I couldn’t stand being in our room for a moment longer. I had to get out of there, and this was the only place I could think of to go. The dark, rat-infested Catacombs, which creates the perfect ambiance for me to sit in self-pity and try not to hate myself for the feelings I’ve been struggling to keep ahold of all night.
Simon was driving me crazy, stretched out on his bead with his gorgeous golden skin and freckles out on display. It was taking everything I had in me not to openly stare at him, which proved extremely difficult when all I wanted to do was reach out and touch.
I was so close to giving in to my deepest desires, which is why I had to leave so abruptly. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold onto my self-control. I just need a moment to breathe before I go back, and hopefully, since I apologized, Simon will be fully dressed when I return.
Simon
I honestly don’t have any clothes of my own that are currently wearable, and I will have to wait until morning to request new ones. (It won’t be anything people aren’t used to. I’m always ruining my clothes in one way or another, especially when I’m going on missions for the Mage.) That only leaves me with two options, and I’m certain that Baz would hate for me to chase after him in nothing but my pants even more than he would if I were to borrow some of his clothes.
I only hesitate briefly before making my way across the room to his wardrobe. I pull out the first things I see, which happen to be a pair of grey joggers that are softer than anything I’ve ever felt and one of his old football jerseys, which is a little worn and faded, but almost as soft as the joggers. I change into them quickly and slip into some shoes before racing after Baz.
I always forget just how fast he can move but am quickly reminded when I step out of [name of the building] and he’s nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t take me long to figure out where he went, though, since I’m almost certain that he wouldn’t head back to the woods after the events that transpired there earlier this evening.
That only leaves one place. The Catacombs.
I spent a lot of time during our 5th year following him around down here, but I haven’t been back here since I confronted him, hoping he would admit to being a vampire but finding him drunk and depressed instead. I felt a little bit bad about intruding on that moment and decided to just leave him be whenever he needed time to disappear down here – I could always prove he was a vampire some other way – but after his reaction in our room, I had to follow him down here to see what was up.
Why would he suddenly give in and apologize? Why would me being so scantily dressed make him so uncomfortable? Whatever the reasons, I still owe him an apology of my own. I pushed him too far, and I never wanted to make him uncomfortable. Irritated? Yes. Annoyed? Absolutely. But uncomfortable? That was never my intention.
It doesn’t take me long to find him, slumped against the wall, head down, and looking exhausted. Our fight earlier must have taken a lot more out of him that he was showing before.
I know he had to have heard him walking towards him, but he doesn’t look up or acknowledge my presence in any way besides the tension now apparent in his jaw.
“Baz,” I begin, but I’m not sure how to finish. I don’t think I’ve ever really apologized to Baz despite the number of times I probably should have. It’s new territory for me, and words have never been my strong suit.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He sneers in typical Baz fashion.
Baz
I don’t know why I’m so surprised that he followed me down here. He never has been able to let things go.
I can’t quite bring myself to open my eyes, worried that he’ll still be wearing basically nothing and that the sense of calm I was finally beginning to feel will dissipate immediately. I do it immediately because apparently, I am on some sort of masochistic streak.
Simon
Baz finally opens his eyes, but it seems to take a moment for him to actually notice what I’m wearing. I can see it in his expression the moment he recognizes my clothes as his own because his eyebrows rise almost comically just before he schools his expression back into a sneer.
“Glad to see you finally decided to get dressed,” he murmurs coolly.
I open my mouth to retort but take a deep breath so that my voice is calm when I say, “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
Baz’s sneer shifts slightly into a frown. “Then why did you follow me down here?”
That’s a good question; the answer to which I’m not completely sure of myself when I could have just waited for him to return to the room. For some reason, I felt a sense of urgency in regard to figuring out why he was so upset. I should have expected him to see this as a fight.
“To apologize,” I say because it’s the best answer that I can seem to come up with.
Baz
I’m not sure that I actually believe that Simon came all the way down here just to apologize, but I decide to hear him out because he sounds like he really means it. And because I would let him do practically anything while he’s wearing my old jersey. (How have I never imagined what he would like in it? And how does he manage to look so bloody attractive despite it not really fitting him?)
Simon is quiet for a while, and I start to wonder if he thinks that simply declaring that he needs to apologize is apology enough. Which it isn’t. And frankly, it's pretty irritating that he would think so. Before I can tell him this, though, he starts to speak.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by refusing to put clothes on. It was stupid of me and honestly such a ridiculous stance to take.” Simon is being strangely honest. I don’t think he’s ever admitted to doing something stupid even though a lot of the stuff he does is frankly very stupid. So, why is he doing this? Why does he care that he was making me uncomfortable when he was so obviously trying to irritate me? What’s the difference and why does it matter to him?
“Thank you.” I’m not sure what else to say. He doesn’t want to argue, so I won’t. And I’m not sure why I’m doing that either. Maybe it’s the look on his face: open and honest. Or maybe it’s because I’m not sure what was worse: him not being dressed or him being dressed in my clothes. Either way, it’s probably best to say whatever I need to get him to leave me alone so that I don’t do something stupid myself.
Simon
I’m not sure what to do or say now that I have apologized. I should probably just leave, but something is keeping me here. Something that is obviously being unsaid. Something that has likely gone unsaid for a long time. Something that I know I’ll regret saying if I can even possibly find the words. Something I’ve not wanted to admit to myself for so long that I’m only just realizing it now.
“Baz,” I say, again unsure how to complete that sentence but making an attempt anyway, “I hate fighting with you.
Baz
I find it shocking how much those words seem to hurt me, like each one is a small puncture wound to my barely beating heart. I know it sounds ridiculous – because it absolutely is – but if Simon and I aren’t fighting, what does that leave us as? Just two guys who share a room? That would be even worse than all the fighting. To me anyway, because at least when we’re fighting, he sees me; he interacts with me.
If we’re just acquaintances, will he even notice me? Or will I fall to the background of the hero story he seems to be playing out at the Mage’s insistence?
I want to tell him no, or even just to ask him why he has had the sudden change of heart, but since he just said he didn’t want to fight anymore, it is probably best that I don’t immediately start an argument.
“Okay,” I say even though it’s an added punch to my already wounded heart. “So what does that make us?” I ask because I can’t help it and because I have to know. “Acquaintances? Friends?” I nearly laugh at how implausible the second one sounds. Simon and I could never be friends. We can’t even have an argument without nearly blowing up the school.
“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “Or…”
Simon
“Or…” I drift off for a moment, wondering if I’m actually going to do this. Am I really going to risk all of this for the slightest possibility that the way that Baz looked at me earlier actually meant something? What if I’m wrong? What if I change my mind? What if I’m wrong about this feeling in my chest?
I won’t delude myself. I know that there is a slim chance that Baz would ever want to be anything other than enemies with me, but even if there is the most miniscule chance, don’t I owe it to myself – and maybe even to him – to at least try?
If he’s felt this way – the way I’ve felt but am only just now beginning to understand – for any amount of time, wouldn’t it be better to risk it all for something good than to coast through the next two years hating each other or even just ignoring each other’s existence.
It’s a huge leap, and I know I’m setting myself up for something painful, but it’s too late to go back now. I have to push through this. Get it over with and hope for the best.
“Or maybe—,” deep breath “—we could be more than friends.”
The words are out, and there is no taking them back now. I don’t think I would even if I could. It feels good to say them, to put that out there, even though it’s terrifying to wait for his response while he stares at me in a stunned silence.
And then he continues to just silently stare at me, his expression completely unreadable, and I start to wonder if maybe there is a way I can take it all back. Perhaps I could claim some sort of brain injury from our early fight. Or I could say it was all a joke to try to irritate him further. Although that seems senselessly cruel.
And anyway, I don't want to take it back. I put myself out there, and yes, it's terrifying, but I never would have thought I could do something like that. Admit to liking a boy — especially who I have pretended to hate for so long it seems like it might be impossible to get back from that. But I want to try, if he'll let me.
Right now, I just need him to say something. Anything. So that I'm not standing here like a fool.
Finally, his expression shifts, but it's still unreadable, even as he says, "Are you joking?"
I can't tell if he means it in an Are you an idiot? sort of way or a Do you really want that? way.
Hoping it's the latter, I say, "No, I really mean that. I want to be more than friends with you. If you want," I add with slightly less confidence, and I swear if he keeps staring at me without a word, I might go off again. Which would be rather unfortunate because I'd hate to ruin these impossibly soft clothes.
Baz
I honestly cannot tell whether Simon is joking. He said he wasn't, bit am I really supposed to just take him at his word?
I mean, I guess I could, but it's difficult to leap and hope that he will catch me. I want him to and he's looking at me like he will but….
I have to stop being so negative. If there is any chance that this will go anywhere, then I have to take a chance on Simon. On us.
Simon
Baz takes a step towards me, and I freeze, not totally sure that he isn't about to throttle me.
He takes another step, and my hand goes instinctively to where the Sword of Mages sits invisible at my hip.
One more step, and there's barely a foot of space between us.
One last step, and his hands are on my face, pulling me closer and stealing my breath away.
Baz
Simon doesn't make a move to stop me as I move closer to him, slowly as if approaching a deer I hope not to startle before I can catch it. Except, I want to do a very different thing with my mouth once I get my hands on Simon than I would do with the deer.
He doesn't flinch when I bring my hands up to his face, and that's when I start to fully believe that this is real. That he was being genuine about what he wanted.
I take a moment to stare into his ordinary blue eyes for a moment, making sure that there's no uncertainty in them before closing the distance between us.
Simon
The kiss starts out soft and gentle as our lips hesitantly press together, then once we get the feel for each other, we both start to lean into it and deepen the kiss.
Eventually, one of my hands finds its way into his hair, tangling there, while the other settles on his hips, gently pinning him to the wall. One of his hands slides down to the back of my neck, holding me there against him like he never wants to let go, while the other travels slowly down to the edge of my shirt — or rather, his shirt — before dipping under where the chill of his touch sends shivers throughout my entire body.
I never thought that being with Baz like this would feel so good.
Baz
I'm not entirely sure how long Simon and I spend down in the Catacombs, exploring each other's mouths and pushing and pulling at each other ever so slightly, almost like we're so used to fighting that we still do it even when we're kissing. All I know is that when we finally emerge into the late night, Simon's hand is in mine, and I can't seem to stop smiling.
Our earlier fight has been all but forgotten, and I'm trying to figure out a way that I can get him to wear my clothes more often. He's gorgeous in them, and I can't seem to keep my hands off of him when his arse looks like that in my joggers. Something about it just gets to me.
It's safe to say that we do more kissing than sleeping that night, but the sleep deprivation is worth it because when Simon asks if this makes us boyfriends somewhere around 3 in the morning, I don't hesitate to say yes.
I'm not completely sure how we went from nearly burning down the woods to dating, but I will say that this has truly been the happiest day of my life so far.