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Chapter Text

Baz

Admittedly I am not in the best of spirits.

I've been staying with my aunt Fiona while in uni. Or more so, I've been staying in her apartment and she's been off who knows where hunting vampires. That's what she does now, ever since the Mage fell. Or since Simon Snow and Penelope Bunce killed him, I suppose. Mere technicalities really.

Fiona's not a bad roommate, most of the time. It's just that the entirety of that 'most of the time' happens to coincide with when she's not there. When she is she leaves her clothes strewn everywhere and forgets to turn off the lights before she leaves and eats all of my food and never buys anything but bloody biscuits.

I'm not late for class, not even nearly, but I am cutting it closer than I'd like. I'm famished though, so I duck into a corner store on my walk to uni (because Fiona nicked my car) to grab something resembling breakfast.

I'm not sure if it's a drastic improvement to my mood or something that makes it far worse, but it's definitely something.

He's definitely something.

All bronze curls and boring blue eyes and fucking moles, stumbling into the store while I'm waiting in line to pay.

I've not seen him in two years.

I'd finally managed to stop thinking about him. Here he is though. Looking like a fucking wreck and back to ruin my life.

I never had to kill him. The world offered me that small mercy at least. After he killed the Mage there was just no one pushing the families to fight. No one pushing us to fight. He never finished eighth year. After winter break he and Bunce just never came back.

I hate to admit it but I missed him dearly. All those years of just wishing he'd leave me alone and give me peace so I could get over him. Then he did leave. I hated him all the more for it.

He scans the aisle on slightly unsteady feet, looking drowsy and pained and unless I'm mistaken, a little sickly.

He sneezes loudly and wipes it on his sleeve. I think I visibly flinch at that.

It's been a while though, I'm out of practice when it comes to dealing with my feelings for Simon Snow. We don't have to fight anymore either.

So, I step out of line and make my way over to him. I'll be late for class but it doesn't matter, I'm ahead anyway, I always am.

I offer him a handkerchief and a sneer, maybe I'm not as out of practice as it seems. "Maybe try not to contaminate all of London by sneezing on everyone's food."

He looks up at me, eyes wide like he's seen a ghost. I feel much the same right about now.

"Baz?" There's shock in his voice and more than a little apprehension, I can't blame him for that.

"Snow."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times like he's not sure what to say. I'm about to retract my kind offer before he takes my handkerchief and sneezes into it.

He really does look like shit. His eyes are watering and I think he's sweating. His hair is mussed and it's longer than I remember, it falls in his eyes a little more. I like it but I don't give myself time to dwell on Simon Snow's hair.

"Why aren't you in bed?" It's half a question half a chastisement and entirely too soft.

He shrugs, he's still doing that apparently and I hate how it kindles something in my chest. "I need soup."

"Can't Bunce get your soup?"

"She's in," he stops to sneeze again, shaking his head a little, "America. She's not back for three days."

"Can't someone else get your soup?"

"Who else?"

"Anyone else."

"There's no one else, Baz."

It was easy to forget that after Watford, Simon didn't really have anyone. He always got on so well with everyone. He wasn't raised in the magickal community though, he doesn't have a family, he didn't even leave Watford with a girlfriend. I heard Wellbelove went off California and left her wand behind.

So, Simon Snow doesn't have anyone to look after him.

I sigh and look at 'the Chosen One', powerless, alone, very sick and something in me breaks. "Go wait outside, Snow, I'll get your soup."

He looks up at me, a little shocked but mostly drowsy. "Baz?" is all he says.

"I'm getting my own things anyway," I say holding up the sandwich in my hand. "Go outside before you make everyone sick."

He looks at me for a moment, the same way he always has, with an unhealthy dose of suspicion. He relents though and nods, tottering off outside without a word.

I do get him soup. I also pick up a lemon and a jar of honey and a packet of tissues because I wouldn't put it past Snow to have not stocked up on the essentials. I don't have a great deal of experience looking after sick people, Vera always did that at home, but Fiona got sick a few months ago and decided to make me her personal nurse, ordering me to pick up a list of things that far exceeded today's shopping list. But Simon Snow does not need 'a bottle of vodka and a pack of fags', right now.

When I finally emerge, Snow is leaning against the wall beside the store, looking more like death that I usually do and I actually am dead.

"Let's get you home," is all I say, gripping the shopping bag tightly, half expecting him to tell me to piss off.

"Thanks," he manages, his voice a little croakier than usual and he turns off and starts walking.

I fall into step beside him and what a slow step it is. I half worry he's going to topple over at any moment, he seems a little unsteady on his feet. I'm half hoping he does just so I have an excuse to catch him.

We don't talk much, Snow's barely capable of talking at the best of times, let alone now.

So he just leads me over to his flat, it's not far away. And I carry his things up the stairs in silence because I'm entirely sure that if I open my mouth I'll end up saying something horrible.

He fumbles with the lock and key for a minute, giving a small sigh that sounds more tired than I'd like.

"Do you want to come in?" he asks.

I think he's just being polite, even to me, but I accept anyway. "Sure, I'll give you your soup and keep the bag."

I don't need the bag. I only bought a sandwich, I wouldn't have gotten one at all if it weren't for Snow. But maybe I do want to come in.

He nods and heads off down the hallway, mumbling something about getting back into his pyjamas.

I don't do much, just take his things out and set them on the kitchen counter. I'm not sure if he wants his soup now or not, so I don't heat it up. I should at least say goodbye, I shouldn't just leave. It would probably only make him more suspicious.

I wait a while for him to return.

He doesn't.

Eventually, I follow him down the hallway, to make sure he's not gotten hurt I tell myself. I'm about to call out to him when I hear a very unpleasant retching sound coming from a door to my left.

The door's wide open, he must've been in a rush.

He looks up at me for a moment, before promptly going back to puking his guts out.

I sigh and retreat to the kitchen, checking the cupboards for a few moments before I manage to find a glass. I fill it and bring it to him, along with the tissues I'd brought earlier.

I set the water and the tissues down beside him on the floor, then, after a moment of hesitation, myself as well.

I spell the toilet bowl clean, Snow's eyes flicker to me for a moment, then to my wand. Should I not be doing magic around him after he lost his?

I don't dwell on it.

He heaves again and I rake my hands through his hair, pulling it back off his forehead and out of his eyes.

He doesn't object. He doesn't really need his hair held back either, but I do it anyway.

"Rinse your mouth," I tell him, holding up the glass of water.

His fingers are shaking a little when he takes it from me. He washes his mouth out and spits the excess into the toilet bowl.

I think he's about to throw up again and waste that effort but nothing comes out when he lurches forward, he just sits there dry heaving for a few moments.

I stay with him because he hasn't told me to go yet.

Maybe I should just go anyway. We've not seen each other in two years and we were mortal enemies and I'm in his apartment.

There's no one else here though. No one to look after him. So I stay. I'll stay until he tells me to go.

Eventually, it stops. He's still shaking.

I give him the water again and wait until he finishes it. I take the glass and shove the packet of tissues into his hand. "Go get into bed, I'll heat up your soup."

"I don't want to eat," he groans.

I roll my eyes. "That's a first." I stand anyway. Regardless of what he says he needs to eat something, there's nothing left in his stomach. "Go get into bed, Snow."

Begrudgingly, he gets up. I take note of which door he disappears into before I go to make him some food.

Crowley, what am I doing?

I don't give myself enough time to think about it. When this all goes south we can just never see each other again. I'll take another two years to get over him but I'll manage it eventually. He can pretend this never happened.

So, I heat up his soup in the microwave and make him toast slathered in butter. He always ate far too much butter, I should know, I spent more time looking at him than my own food during meal times at Watford.

He's laying down when I get into his room. At first, I think he's asleep, then I worry maybe he's dead. But he opens his eyes when I set the plate with his toast on it down on the end table.

"Eat," I command him, pushing the bowl of soup towards him.

He shakes his head and makes a face. "No."

"Snow, eat your fucking soup or I will break your jaw open and pour it down your throat."

He only grows more resistant, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at me. "No."

He never has reacted well to me pushing him, so I change tact and try to coax him instead. "We both know you're not great at listening to reason, Snow, but if you don't eat something you're only going to feel worse. You can't get better if your body doesn't have anything to make you better with."

I hold the soup out to him again.

He fixes me with his glare for a few moments more before he sits up and takes the bowl. "Is this another plot?" he asks, taking a tentative spoonful.

I raise an eyebrow at him and perch on the side of his bed. "No."

"Why not?"

It's a stupid question. So, I don't answer him. "Why would I be?"

"You hate me."

My eyes flicker over him for a few moments, watching him down soup more rapidly than he's done anything else today, which isn't surprising given how he's always basically inhaled his food. "But I don't need to kill you anymore."

A frown passes over his face. "You never needed to kill me."

"Yes, I did," I tell him before nodding my head towards the plate on his nightstand. "Eat some bread."

He does take heed of my latter statement, though it might just be because of the copious amounts of butter weighing down his toast. "Why are you helping me? If this isn't a plot."

"Does there need to be a reason?"

"There's always a reason with you."

I feel my lip quirk up a little at that. "What? I am the epitome of benevolence and goodwill, Snow."

"You're dodging the question."

He's calling me out apparently. He's right to, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"And yet you're dumb enough to keep asking."

"Because it concerns me," he tells me and my eyebrow climbs ever higher, "makes me wonder if you're ill too."

I roll my eyes at him. "Are you done with your soup?"

He nods and goes to get up. I stop him, placing a hand on his chest. He's still warm, not as warm as he used to be, but still far warmer than I am. "Get back into bed," I tell him, scooping up the bowl and the plate and depositing them into the sink. I might be helping him but I'm sure as snakes not washing up.

I brew a lemon and honey, half because I think he needs it if the croak in his voice is anything to go by and half because I need time to regroup. Eventually, the kettle boils though and I make his drink. He's reclining again when I come back in, but still very much awake.

I set the drink down on his bedside table, having resolved to leave and save myself from this torment, even if I don't really want to.

"Is there anything else you need?" I ask him, more softly than I should.

He shrugs again. Always with the shrugging. "Do you have classes today?"

"No." It's a lie. I have two lectures and a tutorial, but he doesn't know that.

"Will you stay?"

I don't even give myself time to think about it. Because I want to stay. Even when he's got the bloody plague there's nowhere I'd rather be than at his side. "Yes."

"Thanks."

I contemplate sitting on his bed for a moment, but that would be too much.

So I settle down on the floor beside his bed, my back resting against the bed frame and my knees pulled up to rest my arms on.

"You do have classes though, in general, you are in uni right?"

I tilt my head back onto his mattress and am greeted with a somewhat upside down Simon, smiling at me. "I am."

"What are you studying?"

"Economics."

"Are you going to give me anything more than the shortest answer possible?"

"No."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. I pick my head back up and turn my gaze away from him.

He presses on despite my rudeness. "Why were you in that store today?"

"I was getting breakfast."

"Why?"

"Why does anyone get breakfast?" I ask, dodging his questions yet again. He's trying though. I want to talk to him. I want to stay. So, when he doesn't ask me anything, I do elaborate. "My aunt Fiona eats all the bloody food I buy."

"You live with her?"

"Of course."

"I just thought you'd want to live alone after so many years with me."

I tilt my head back again and look at him. Blanket pulled up to his chin, mussed hair a stark bronze against the while of his pillow, even in the dim room.

So, I talk to him. Properly this time. For far longer than I should. Finding out about his life at uni. Telling him about my younger siblings. Arguing over who’s the worst roommate Bunce, Fiona or one of us. It's definitely Fiona, by a fucking landslide, but I tell Snow it's him anyway.

I've refilled his lemon and honey at least three times because he continues to insist on talking and I don't really have the heart to stop him. We're barely fighting right now. I still get in the odd jab here and there. Snow lets a lot of them slide today, probably because I'm looking after him, maybe because I'm not as venomous today.

"You still haven't told me why you're helping me." He prompts me as if that's all it takes.

I'm sitting facing him now. Leaning my side into the bed and tucking my knees up to lean there too. One arm draped over the sheets and my chin resting on it as I watch Simon Snow prattle on about his day to day life.

"It's all part of my evil plot for you to let me into your apartment so I can kill you while Bunce isn't around."

He doesn't laugh. If anything, he frowns, looking a little like he believes me. "I wouldn't put it past you."

I do laugh, it's a bit more bitter than I intend though. "Relax, Snow. I don't need to kill you anymore. No Mage to tell you what to do and even if there was, your magic was what made you a threat, Snow. You didn't think it was your strategic mind now did you?" It's callous perhaps, talking about his dead father figure and lost magic that way, but it's also the truth.

His frown only deepens. "Exactly, no magic. I'm no use to anyone. The old families can't use me. So why are you here, Baz?"

"Do you want me to go?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, or at least, he attempts to. I think maybe he needs a shower and a bottle of conditioner to fix that mess. "No, I'm sorry, I just-" He tumbles over his words again. "I'm Normal- Useless- I was the bad guy- fraud-" and a million other things that for once aren't curses directed at me but himself.

"Snow," I try to interrupt but he blusters on.

"I didn't- I should have- "

"Snow."

"It's my fault- fucking supervillain-"

"Simon," I snap eventually and his head jerks up. "Shut up."

"Baz, I-"

"No, Snow, shut up," I growl at him and then turn so I'm facing the wall again, facing away from him. "You're a fucking hero. Basically, a martyr."

"Baz, I was the Humdrum."

I knew that. Fucking everyone knows that. There are, of course, some people who blame him, my father is amongst them. I'm not.

"It's not your fault."

"It is my fault."

"Then it's my fault too." And it is. Of course, it fucking is. "How many times did I push you till you went off, Snow?"

"It's not-" The protest dies on his lips. "I always knew you were a villain."

I think he's joking. He sounds it. I laugh either way. "I suppose you had to get something right eventually."

He scoffs and choruses out a "vampire."

I roll my eyes. He's right but he doesn't need to know that. "Wrong again, Snow."

"No, I'm not." Even after all these years, he sounds so sure. I suppose it was more than a sneaking suspicion, he really did know. "Baz," he tries again, "why are you here?"

I sigh and stare pointedly at the wall. "Because you saved us, fucking all of us. And you lost everything because of it. Now you need help and there's no one around. So let’s call it repaying a debt, shall we?"

"You don't owe me anything, Baz."

"Not anymore, certainly. You can die of the flu next time for all I care."

"You never owed me anything." He's more insistent this time.

I shouldn't say it. It'll only upset him. More than perhaps any insult I could throw his way. I say it anyway. "Of course, I do, you didn't mean to but you avenged my mother's death."

"What?" He perks up a little, I don't need to be looking at him to know it, I feel the mattress shift at my back.

"The Mage," is all I say.

"Oh," is all he says. Not a protest. Not a denial of what happened. Just a small sound of surprise.

And it's too much. Too much for not having seen him for two years. Too much for seven and a half years of despising each other. "I'll get you some more lemon and honey," I say, standing, "get some sleep, Snow."

I think he'll protest, but he just nods his head into the pillow. It's rather endearing.

No. I'm never going to be over Simon Snow.

Simon

I wake up to the sound of a door closing. Not my door, the front door.

It takes a moment for my groggy mind to put together the pieces but the moment I do I'm more awake than I have been in possibly my entire life.

Baz.

He's leaving.

I knew he would eventually but that doesn't mean I want him to.

Even being here, with my best friend by my side, an apartment that's partially mine, studying and not fighting anything and not having to save the world. It just doesn't feel like home. Not in the way my old room at Watford did.

Baz though? Baz feels like home.

After leaving Watford my view on what exactly our relationship had been shifted a little. I dated girls. Then I dated boys. Then I dated a particular girl that I wanted to follow everywhere and made me feel sick when I thought about her and who I was thinking about pretty much all the time. At first, I thought it was loathing but it wasn't. I know that now. She's long gone though, we burned hot but went out quickly. Then Baz was on my mind again, like he had been since I was eleven.

And now Baz is here.

And he's leaving.

I all but jump out of bed and sprint out the front door, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to follow him.

I crash directly into him, nearly throwing us both down the stairs, but he catches himself on the railing and rights himself. He rights me too.

"Baz," I basically pant out, trying to figure out what exactly it is I want to say to him.

He raises an eyebrow at him. "Decided to try and take the opportunity to get me back for pushing you down the stairs, Snow?"

I shake my head wildly. Shit. This was a bad idea. I can't breathe. My nose is too stuffy to properly drag in a breath and the air claws at my throat with every gasp.

"Go back to bed, Snow."

I finally manage out a, "Can I have your phone number?"

Baz looks taken aback, which is reasonable I suppose, given our history. "Fine, but only call me if you're dying," he concedes holding out his hand for something. "Did you bring your phone?"

"No."

"A pen?"

"No."

"You didn't think this through."

I roll my eyes as best I can manage whilst on the brink of death as I am. "Can you come back up? I didn't bring my keys either."

Baz gives me a rather condescending look. "You can’t even blame this idiocy on your sickness, you're like this all the time." He does, however, start heading back up the stairs towards my apartment.

"Thank you."

Baz doesn't say anything as we ascend, he spells open the door though and lets us in. "Get back in bed, Snow." He says, absently scribbling down a series of numbers on a napkin sitting on the dining table. "I'll come by tomorrow after class."

I don't argue with him. "Okay, thanks," I say again even though I already thanked him.

He just nods and heads back out the door, tossing a "Bed. Now," over his shoulder at me before he shuts the door.

* * *

Baz does come back. Waltzes right into the apartment while I'm half dozing on the couch. I jumped a little even though I knew he could do that because he did it the day before.

He'd just raised an eyebrow at me and set about heating up more soup he'd brought. Making me drink it through yet another series of threats. I just wanted to sleep, so I didn't put up much of a fight that time.

I think he's just leaving dishes in the sink for me to do later, but I don't really mind. I'll mind later, I'm sure, but right now he's taking care of me so I don't really care.

It's a surreal feeling, falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. I never had parents who carried me to bed, so it was odd indeed. As were the cold lips I'm entirely sure I felt press against my feverish forehead. I'm pretty sure that was just a dream though, I was semi-conscious so it all got a bit mixed around.

I know what's happening now though. Similar events I suppose. I'm sitting on the couch huddle up under a blanket when he comes in. He heats me some soup and gives me bread with loads of butter, I finish it all at a pace that makes him look a little disgusted. He drops my bowl in the sink and sits down beside me.

I'm not tired today, though. Not really.

So, I curl up on the couch and let my head fall into his lap, my eyes still focused ahead and on the television.

He tenses up for a moment and then relaxes. His hand falls into my hair and bit by bit he starts combing his fingers through and detangling it.

I'm furiously flicking through the channels every few minutes, trying to find something to watch. If it annoys Baz he doesn't show it.

I toss the blanket I have on and off as the hot and cold flushes come. Baz always helps me tuck it back around me, so I don't have to move too much. He complains the entire time, calling me fickle and indecisive and an impulsive moron for tossing it on the floor. He still picks it up though and lays it over me and puts his hand back in my hair even though he's combed out all the tangles and I'm entirely sure it's just a frizzy mess right now.

I should probably tell Baz I haven't washed my hair in a while but I don't want him to stop. He made me take a shower today, while he heated up my soup. I just stood there and relished the feeling of steam starting to clear out my sinuses, very little actual washing went on.

It all feels very domestic. And horrendously right.

I'm entirely sure my body is trying to off itself right now. He doesn't make it better, not completely, but it's nice to have him there.

No one's ever taken care of me before. Not like this.

I've ended up in the infirmary at school loads, but those were mostly injuries and they just spelled me better and left me to rest for a few days.

I got sick in care a few times. I mostly just had to tough it out. People don't really look after you there.

I’ve not been sick since leaving Watford. I’m sure Penny would have looked after me, I’m sure she will when she comes back. I thought it was the worst of luck that it first happened when Penny was out of the country, but now I think maybe it’s not.

Of all the people taking care of me, I never thought it would be Baz. Would he have been like this in school? If I'd gotten sick then and resigned myself to suffer in our room? Surely not. The years must've softened him some. Or maybe he was telling the truth and he does feel like he owes me.

I don't want this to be because he owes me.

Eventually, I give up flicking through the channels and turn to look at him, rolling onto my back.

His hand retreats from my hair and I immediately miss the contact.

I'm not entirely sure what I want to say, just that I want to talk to him. It seems fine, he's more than happy to fill the silence.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine." My voice comes out croaky and weak.

I see a frown momentarily crease his brow but it's gone a second later. "Do you want more soup?"

"No."

"Lemon and honey?"

"Nah."

"Tea?"

"I'm fine, Baz."

"Then what the fuck do you want, Snow?" he asks, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"I-." What do I want? Him to stay until I'm better? Then for the rest of our lives? Something other than a fucking sneer for once? I think for now I'd settle for just his hand in my hair again, so I say, "nothing" and roll back onto my side.

He hesitates for a moment. I swear I hear a little huff of annoyance, or exasperation, or something escape him. I say nothing though. His hand does return to my hair, slowly carding through it. I close my eyes and resign myself to just enjoying the fact that he's here.

It doesn't last long.

I hear the door open and Penny gets all of halfway through, "Hey," before her voice dies.

"Afternoon, Bunce. Good holiday?" Baz asks with all the nonchalance of someone who pays half the rent and has never tried to kill me.

"Hey, Pen." I follow, not bothering to sit up because I think if I sit up Baz might leave.

Alas, Penny has never been one for subtlety. "What are you doing here, Baz?"

"Snow's sick." He says with a shrug.

"That's not an answer to that question," Penny points out and I'm inclined to agree with her. "Unless it's vampirism and he's about to turn."

I don't need to look at Baz to know he's scowling. "He was stumbling around London looking half dead."

"And you what, came here to finish him off?"

"It's fine, Penny. He's been helping." I interject before they can manage to escalate this further.

"Though now that you're back, I suppose he's your responsibility again," Baz gives my shoulder a gently push, motioning for me to get off I think.

I don't want to get off. I want him to stay.

But Penny is here now and Penny will look after me and Baz has other things to do with his time, I'm sure.

I roll over onto my other side so my face is pressed into his stomach, wrapping an arm awkwardly around his middle in a sort of mock hug. "Thank you," I mumble into his shirt.

He doesn't say anything. He stiffens for a few moments and at first, I think he'll just shove me off. Then he just draws his hand through my hair, longer and slower than last time, like he doesn't want to go either.

I do sit up though, letting him stand.

He picks up his coat on the way out, giving Penny a nod of acknowledgement as he leaves.

Penny finally enters the flat properly. "So, what was that?" she asks as the door swings closed.

"I was sick." I give the same answer Baz did, but it sounds dumb coming from me.

"You can see why I'm going to need a bit more to go on than that. Generally, the next step from being sick isn't cuddling on the couch with your arch-nemesis."

"I don't think he's my arch-nemesis anymore since we don't have to fight."

Penny gives me a look like she's waiting for more than that but I don't supply it. I don't really know what was going on either honestly, just that I liked it.

I give a small sigh. "Look Pen, I don't pretend to understand what's going on in Baz's head-"

"But it's all you talked about for seven and a half years."

"That was when he was evil and plotting."

"And he's not anymore?"

I chew my lip a moment, letting myself flop back down on the couch. "I don't think so. I'll keep you posted."

She quirks an eyebrow at me. "He's not coming back tomorrow is he?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so. Not if you're back."

"But you'll see him again?"

"He gave me his phone number," I say as if that explains everything and for me at least, it does.

I see something click into place in Penny's brain and then her eyebrows shoot up. "And you're going to ask him out?"

Well, it sounds weird when she says it like that. Weird but nice. "When I'm better."

I expect her to protest and tell me this is a bad idea and smack some sense into my sickness clouded head. She doesn't.

"I suppose I'll go get you more soup then."

Chapter Text

Simon

A week, about four lemons and enough soup to feed an entire nation later, I'm better. Not just kinda better, like when you just accept your new sickness as part of your life, actually better. Completely well. Cleared by Penelope to continue living my life.

Cleared to finally ask Baz out.

The thing about him coming over while I was sick was that I never actually put his number in my phone. When Penny came back she cleared up the napkin with his phone number on it and I had to spend an hour digging through the trash to find it again. And here I thought I was done being humiliated because of Baz Pitch. Though I suppose this time it isn't really his fault.

I hover over the call button for a moment, wondering if perhaps Penny accidentally throwing it out was a sign from the universe that this wasn't meant to be. Then again, the entire world seemed to be saying Agatha was my future and that is evidently not the case. So maybe it's time I make my own decision.

I regret it the second I hit call, but it's too late now so I suppose I’ll just suffer through this.

Maybe he won’t pick up. I half hope he doesn't pick up.

"Hello?" His voice is curt and level.

It takes me a moment to find my voice and I half worry he's going to hang up. "Hey."

He stops for a moment and I think he actually has hung up, then he says, "Snow?"

"Yeah."

"I told you not to call unless you're dying. Are you dying?"

I laugh awkwardly. "Dying to go out with you maybe?" And then I regret my entire existence. I mentally kick myself. I consider getting Penny to actually kick me but then I'd have to tell her why and no other living soul can ever know about this.

"What?" I hear him sputter out from the other end of the line. I don't think I've ever heard him sputter before, so I suppose I can count that as a win.

"I-" I start unsure where to go now. I've basically already thrown my cards on the table. So obviously I double down. "I was thinking maybe Tuesday?"

Tuesday because it was the day he found me, because I know he doesn't have uni that day and he'll be free.

"I have uni," he says almost immediately.

"Oh." I know it's a lie, he's already told me as much already. I never thought Baz Pitch would be the kind to let me down gently but apparently, I was wrong about that. Maybe I was wrong about a lot of things. "I- ah - thanks anyway," I mutter out and immediately regret that too. Merlin, I'm a mess, no wonder he doesn't want to go out with me.

I'm about to hang up when he speaks again, "Thursday?"

"What?" I take my turn to ask, feeling more than a little baffled. Is this a plot? Does he have some evil scheme he can only do on a Thursday?

"I'm free," he starts, sounding more unsure of himself than I've ever heard him, maybe he's been practising. "I'm free on Thursday. Are you?"

It's probably a plot. I'm almost certain it's a plot.

I want to go with him though.

"Yeah," is all I say, not trusting myself to say any more than that in the hopes of salvaging the last remaining scraps of my dignity.

"I'll pick you up at seven?"

"We can just get the tube you don't need to pick me up."

"I'm not getting the fucking tube, Snow."

"Posh git."

"Chavvy moron."

"So, seven?"

"Seven."

I'm not sure how to end the call from here. It doesn't matter. Baz has already hung up, the prick. Maybe he was only being decent when I was dying.

Or maybe it's a trap. I've always walked right into all of Baz's traps though and this time the bait is particularly good.

* * *

Really, I thought it would be more awkward.

My stomach has been swirling with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Not regret, certainly not. But I'd be lying if I said I was feeling nothing but good emotions. So I did what I do best, I didn't think about it which in hindsight was a bad idea. I ended up scrambling around searching for something decent to wear before Baz turned up.

I didn't succeed. I still wasn't dressed when he got here and Penny stalled him at the door a little for me, presumably giving him a firm warning about what would happen if he hurt me.

I'd been a little sheepish, coming out of my room in jeans and a tee shirt, assuming Baz was wearing a suit or if not something else very posh. After breaking up with Agatha I hadn't seen the Wellbeloves, so I couldn't borrow Agatha's father's suits. So I just didn't have one. I didn't think I'd needed one till now.

Baz wasn't wearing a suit though. Just a button up. A button-up and jeans . Really, I'm entirely sure if I'd seen him in those jeans earlier in our lives a lot of years of animosity could have been avoided.

I'd considered skipping the date and retreating back into my room, dragging Baz with me. Pulling him away from the door frame he was leaning on, wiping that smirk off his face. Merlin, he looked good.

It wasn't awkward. Not really.

We didn't talk much on the drive over. It didn't matter. I'm not any good at talking anyway and the silence was comfortable. His car was far too nice and I felt like my mere presence chopped its resell value in half. I tried my best not to touch anything, that was until Baz told me to put something on the radio. I'd hesitated and he gave me that look he always does that lets me know I'm being daft. So I did.

It wasn't a long drive but it was a pleasant one.

He brought me to a restaurant that, though it wasn't extravagant, was a lot nicer than what I was used to. I'd asked him out, that meant I had to pay right? It wouldn't bankrupt me, but it would certainly be a hit.

Maybe this was a mistake. I still didn't regret it though.

Then we hit a snag.

"You can't not eat anything," I whisper to him across the table.

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Really, Snow, it's better if I don't."

I frown at him a moment before it dawns on me. "Do vampires not eat?"

"Why don't you ask one?" He sneers back at me.

I roll my eyes at him and rephrase the question. "Do you not eat?"

He averts his eyes for a moment and I almost feel bad. "Of course, I eat," he snaps and then I don't feel bad at all.

"Then fucking order something. I'm not sitting here eating alone."

He raises an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking no force on earth could keep you from food."

"Baz," I basically growl at him.

"Snow." He just sounds bored.

I realise I'd started to raise my voice a little and lower it back down to a hush. "Why are we out for dinner if you won’t eat?"

"You eat. It's most of what you do."

Merlin, could he stop being so infuriating for just one moment. "If I wanted to eat alone, I'd be here alone."

His eyes are steely and unreadable when they finally meet mine again. "And why are you here, Snow?"

"I-" I hesitate. That's not fair. He doesn't get to pull that. I'm the one who asked him out. I answer anyway. "I don't know." I shrug and hang my head for a moment. I see a shift in his expression in my periphery but it's gone by the time I look back up. "I hadn't seen you in a long time and I didn't think it would be like this."

"What did you think it would be like?" His voice is cold and there's a hint of malice to it. I don't know why I ever expected anything different.

"Like two weeks ago instead of two years ago. When you softened around the edges and looked after me. I don't like fighting. I like your wit and some banter but I don't want to fight you Baz." I give a small sigh and I do think I see his blank expression falter for a moment. "I just- missed you, I suppose? Nothing ever felt right after Watford. Not just my magic, everything."

He's still watching me carefully, expression guarded but falling a little. His eyes flicker across my face like he's expecting me to tell him I'm just messing with him at any moment.

I shrug and toy with my napkin, keeping my eyes on it because I could never find the words and Baz always made it harder for me. "It takes me hours to fall asleep without the sound of another person's breathing now. And I miss the smell of your stupid posh soap. I don't know, two weeks ago just felt right. Like I'd always feel when I finally got back to Watford. Like coming home."

Baz is still just staring at me when I finally look up at him and I realise I've said far too much.

I hastily get up, muttering a quick, "I'm sorry, I'll just take the tube home."

But then there's a hand around my wrist. "Simon, wait."

It might be the softness of his grip, or the way he said my first name, or the pleading in his eyes, but I stop.

"Crowley, Snow, I've been completely gone for you since fifth year. I spent two years trying to get over you and then we just run into each other while you look like a fucking mess. After all you've fucking put me through you don't just get to say that and then walk out."

I'm not sure what to say to that so I just slowly lower myself back into my seat. Baz watches me every moment of it, evidently holding his breath.

He eventually lets out a soft, "thank you". Then he leans forward and kisses the back of my hand. I didn't know people still did that, Baz does evidently. Maybe people should still do that, it feels nice. It's not overly intimate, not too much. But it's soft and sweet and even though his lips are cool it makes me feel warm.

I don't think he knows where to go after that either because he doesn't say anything after that.

"Baz, order something." I think I can actually see his resolve waver a little.

"No."

I sigh, trying to figure out how to stop us from getting in that loop again. "Why?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm not hungry."

I glance to where our hands have fallen back to the table, mine draped over his, his fingers pale as they curl around the edge of my hand. He's let mine rest of top so I can pull it away if I want I think. I don't want to. Instead, I trace my index and middle fingers in small circles across his wrist. He shivers a little and his fingers tighten around my hand.

"Baz," I try again, "why?"

"My fangs pop when I eat, Snow."

"Cool," I say almost instinctively.

He just raises an eyebrow at me. "It really isn't."

"We could swap seats?" I offer.

"What?"

"If you're worried about what other people think we could swap seats. I'm pretty much just looking at you and a wall."

"I don't care about what other people think."

"That's obviously not true."

He frowns at me and it takes a moment or two for it to click. He cares what I think. "Baz, I've known you're a vampire for years, I don't care. I am going to think you're a massive prick if you make me eat alone though." And everyone else is going to think I'm a massive prick but that's secondary here. I'm already on my feet before he can protest. "Swap."

He doesn't move for a moment but then he gives the most exasperated sigh I've ever heard, one that I'm sure takes more effort than actually getting up and moving. He does though.

When we sit down again I'm the one who reaches over to take his hand this time. "Now you can either order something, or I'm going to give you half of mine and then we're going to have to order an extra meal anyway."

He finally relents. He orders something and we chat and eat and he insists on me getting dessert even though I say I'm fine. He knew better, I did want dessert.

He paid too, even though he wasn't going to eat anything at first. I tried to fight him on it but not very hard because I don't have that much money.

So, it was a little awkward, but it was also really good.

Baz

Snow puts his hand on my knee during the drive back to his place.

I know I grabbed his hand in the restaurant but in this moment, it feels different. Less 'I don't want you to go' and more 'I'm glad you're here'. More private. Less spur of the moment. Calculated. Even though, given it's Snow, I'm sure it is all those things I think it's not. When I lay my hand on top of his though it's different.

I don't spare him a glance, I just keep my eyes focused on the road, glaring more intently at it than I ever have in my life so I don't have to look at Simon Snow. So he can't see the pink colouring my cheeks. So I don't inevitably crash us because I'm entirely sure once I start looking at him I won’t be able to stop.

I see him smile at me in my periphery. Watching me intently like he always used to, burning a hole in me with his gaze. He flips his hand over under mine and twines our fingers together and I'm entirely sure I feel all the air leave my lungs.

The car ride is far too short, when we pull up outside his apartment he slips his fingers slowly out of mine like he doesn't quite want to.

I get out and go to open his door because that's obviously date etiquette. Snow apparently thinks chivalry is dead because he's already standing on the curb by the time I get there.

I frown at him and stop.

He grins at me. "Were you coming to walk me to my door, Baz?" he asks even though it's all of three meters away.

"I was going to open the door for you but unfortunately they don't put child lock on the front passenger door." I muster my best sneer as I say it and Snow's grin only widens.

"Well you're out now, so walk me to my door?"

I sigh but really, I want to take every last second I can with Snow, so I step into range and he curls his fingers around mine. He doesn't let go when we get to the door to his apartment complex. He just leans against it and smiles at me.

For a moment I think he's not going to let go, but then he does.

Before I can step away, before I can even force myself to hold back a sigh, his hand is around the back of my neck and he's pulling me into him.

When he kisses me it's short and completely innocent. My eyes still close and his do too because they're still closed when he pulls away and I open mine.

"Goodnight, Snow," I murmur as loud as I can without letting on how he's making my voice waver even with that short kiss.

He doesn't let go of me, his fingers toy with the collar of my shirt for several long moments before he speaks. "You've not finished walking me to my door yet though." The look that accompanies his words is nothing but coy. "We've a terrible history with stairs and I think you'll need to escort me up them."

I chuckle a little at that and his face lights up when I do.

He fiddles with his key in the lock for a few moments and unless I'm mistaken his fingers a shaking a little. I feel much the same way.

His fingers curl around mine again when he finally gets it open and I'm slowly becoming sure that no amount of handholding is ever going to diminish the way it warms me up inside.

We walk up the stairs in silence, far more slowly than necessary, far more slowly than any person has a right to walk anywhere.

He turns me when we get to his door again and I half expect another kiss. Instead, he just looks down at his feet. "Baz, do you- do you want-" he stumbles over his words but for once I don't interrupt. "If you- would you-"

For several long moments, he's silent and I think maybe he's forgotten what he wants to say.

"I meant what I said," he blurts out eventually.

I raise an eyebrow at him but keep silent, letting him figure out what it is he's trying to convey because it's been a good night and I'm feeling merciful. And also because I want him to kiss me again.

"When I said I can't fall asleep without the sound of your breathing." He swallows and I mimic the gesture because my mouth is suddenly incredibly dry. "Would you stay?" His voice is softer this time, less insistent.

If I weren't already dead, I'm entirely sure that would have stopped my heart.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" He presses back.

"Never took you as the type to fuck on the first date, Snow."

He makes a kind of strangled noise and quickly goes back to his stammering. "No- I just mean- it would- not like that-"

He rakes his free hand through his hair for a few long moments and I remember what it was like to do that. It's so soft. If I come inside would he let me do it again?

"I just meant, I'd like you to stay. My bed's big enough, we could probably manage the three feet of space that we had at Watford if we tried."

I'm not sure if I'm disappointed that the promise of sex has been taken off the table or overjoyed that Snow just wants me to stay the night with him without expecting anything back.

"Okay," is all I say.

He smiles and moves to unlock the door. For the second time tonight, I'm greeted with Simon Snow's profile as he fumbles with his keys. It gives me a lovely opportunity to trace the moles along his neck and cheek with my eyes. I still remember exactly where they all are, even the ones I can't see right now. The amount of times I've found my fingers tracing along those lines, in my bedsheets late at night, across my desk while I'm studying, across the skin of every lover I've had since I met Simon fucking Snow.

We spent far longer than we needed to at that restaurant, it's late but not so late that we should be sleeping yet.

Bunce is sitting at the kitchen table tapping away at her laptop. She smirks when she sees me, her eyes flicking over to Snow in amusement.

"Evening, Bunce." I greet her.

"Baz." She merely inclines her head to me before going back to her work.

"I- ah," Simon stumbles for a few seconds, grabbing a fist full of his own hair. "Um-"

Penelope gives an almighty sigh and snaps her laptop closed. "I'm going to my room. The walls are thin so keep it down tonight, yeah?"

"Penny, we're not going to-" Simon manages amidst a lot of sputtering but Bunce already closed her door.

He eventually just sighs and shakes his head. "So, do you have places to be tomorrow?" he asks pulling me over to the couch and sitting down with his legs curled up under him.

He doesn't press into me. He leaves a few inches of space between us. I'm not sure how to cross that distance, so I simply don't.

"No," I say half hoping he'll want to do something again. I suppose that's not normal for a first date; staying the night and getting back to it the next day. When have we ever been normal though? After two years of separation, I want nothing more than to spend every second with Snow.

He crinkles his nose. "Do you actually go to uni?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Yes."

"Right, but you're never there."

"I do Monday through Wednesday." I did manage to stack it up quite nicely into three days.

His confusion slowly turns into annoyance. "You were here two Tuesdays ago, you've already told me you don't have Uni then."

Shit. I did tell him that, didn't I.

"I lied," I admit with a small shrug.

"I know, I just called you out on it Baz."

I let out a huff of amusement. "I meant I lied last time. When you were sick."

"Oh," he says eventually. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

I just shrug.

His expression softens some and he puts his head in my lap like he did last time. I don't hesitate before running my hands through his hair this time, then running my fingers along the paths of those moles I've missed so much. This time it isn't someone else though, this time they're actually there and it's really Simon Snow under my fingertips.

His hand reaches out to run up and down my calf as he stares at the television. He does it like it's the simplest thing in the world but my heart rate doubles and even through my jeans I try and memorise the exact way his hand feels against my body.

The only thing that breaks the silence is the sound emanating from the television but I pay them no mind. I'm too focused on Simon. I have a million things I want to say to him, questions to ask, confession waiting to spill from my lips, idle thoughts that mean little but I want to share with him anyway because I want to share everything with him. I don't say any of it. I think if I opened my mouth something horrible would come out. Something horrible always does. So, I stay silent.

Eventually, he gives a soft yawn and sits up. "You can't sleep in those. Nice as they are." He says gesturing to my jeans. "I'll give you a pair of my trackies."

I almost protest but given the only other option is to sleep beside him in nothing but my pants, I just nod. "Thank you."

He drags himself up and I miss his warm weight spread across my lap. He ventures into his room and returns with a pair of trackies and one of his shirts, that makes me flush a little.

"Bathroom's just down that hall," he tells me.

"I know."

Then he blushes, though it's less the pathetic lovestruck way I did and probably more from the embarrassment of me being there while he hurled his innards out.

I dress and go back to him. I know where his room is too. Crowley, I should. I spent hours sitting on the floor next to his bed and talking to him. I carried him in there when he fell asleep on the couch and pressed my lips to his feverish forehead.

He's sitting up in bed waiting for me, shirtless and with his trackies so low on his hips I'm entirely sure he's the one currently plotting to kill me.

When I settle down beside him, leaving as much space as I can between us, I'd like to say I differ from Simon Snow in that I don't think about the sound of his breathing before I fall asleep at night. I do though. Every fucking night.

We murmur our respective goodnights and I lay with my back to him. I want to watch him, I want to more than anything, but I don't think I'm allowed to do that before he falls asleep. I'm not sure, I've never tried before. We've never been like this before either though.

We lay in silence for several long minutes before I feel Snow's fingers reach out and trace down my back, feather-light but impossible to ignore.

I'm weak, so I roll over to meet him, leaving only a few inches of space between us.

I can make out every mole and freckle on his face, every speck of colour in his eyes, the way he's biting the inside of his lip ever so slightly. I drink it in, revel in it. Every moment of being this close to him is something to savour.

I've wanted this for years.

We don't have to fight anymore.

I love him.

So, my pride be damned, I'm going to make the most of it.

He reaches out a hand slowly hovering it over my cheek. I tilt my chin up until I feel the warmth of his hand across his cheek, shamelessly leaning into his touch because I've long since surrendered.

When my head settles completely back into the pillow again his hand follows, a gentle weight against the side of my face.

Then I reach out too. I slide my hand gently between his head and the pillow and he lets me. He more than lets me. He slips the fingers of his free hand around mine, warming my hand between his cheeks and his palm.

I don't know what to do with my other hand but this feels like a competition of who can be the most pathetic. Everything feels like a competition with him though.  So, I eventually settle for running it up and down his bicep, feeling his muscles under my fingers and enough fat to stave off two years of worrying that he wouldn't be getting enough to eat now that he wasn't at Watford again.

He smiles at me. I return it. Blatantly, unabashedly, completely happy.

After two years of nothing, I'm entirely sure this is too much and we're moving too fast and we're going to run out of new things to do within the week. I can't bring myself to care though. Because I've wanted this for so long. Because I never thought I'd get any of this. Because we don't have to fight anymore.

And because for once in my miserable life, Simon Snow is right, this does feel like home.