Work Text:
Baz
Sleep is a struggle I can’t seem to tackle tonight. I take my phone out and check the god-awful dating app I signed up to only a month or two ago. The whole affair has been bloody dreadful and yet I can’t seem to stop using it, which is pathetic.
I swipe through various profiles, knowing exactly how pointless it is, but it is an effective boredom killer if nothing else…
I come across an exceedinglyfamiliar face – not for the first time but still – and I can’t help but click on it and read the bio, shocked to my very core.
It’s definitely him. Bronze curls, blue eyes, constellations of moles. And the most atrocious spelling and grammar to grace the Earth.
This is the very definition of a bad idea; so of course because I’m tired and vaguely masochistic, I swipe right.
Simon
I almost have a heart attack when I see the notification. When I read the name on the profile I’m certain it must be a catfish. I type out a simple hiand wait for a reply; because as annoying as catfish are I love to fuck with them a little before blocking them – Penny rolls her eyes and calls it ‘a juvenile form of entertainment’ but she also helps me come up with incredibly fucked-up questions to ask, so…
I hear a ping and read the message…
‘hi’? Really, Snow?
I don’t have my last name on my profile, so I reply.
Baz is that really u?
The next message comes through so quickly I jump when I hear the notification; I turn my mobile on silent.
Of course it is you fucking numpty.
Oh for fucks sake. I almost forgot how much of a shitty person he was – gorgeous yes, but still shitty.
Ur profile says ur name is Ty tho?
Duh. It’s the shortened form of my first
name.
Ok?
Look, people know me by my middle name.
I’d prefer for this not to come up if anyone
Googles me…
Y would any1 Google u?
Job interviews, FBI investigation, etc.
FBI?! Wtf kinda illegil shit r u
doin Baz??!
That was a joke, Snow.
School’s over do you
honestly think I’m still plotting?
… u don’t want me to answer that…
It’s been two. Fucking. Years. Snow!
Not to mention this is the last place
I expected to find you!
Wait… this is a dating app…
No shit, Sherlock.
Dont b a dick...
You’re on here, I somewhat assumed
that dicks wouldn’t be much of an issue…
I can’t help it I laugh so hard it turns to tears.
Baz
The conversation was going quite smoothly, but when Snow leaves me on readI start to wonder if maybe I said the wrong thing… Well I guess that’s why you don’t try to make conversations with your former roommate who accused you of plotting because you were socially inept around him, partly due to an extremelyconfusing crush on afore-mentioned roommate that you never really got over. I reach back for my phone again even though it’s painfully obvious how stupid it is. I’m surprised when I see a new message, but it’s not from Snow.
Hello stranger,
you should know you’ve reduced
my roommate to tears of laughter.
Tell Snow I meant what I said.
Okay, first of all HE WOKE ME UP!
And secondly, that dumbass better not
be giving his last name over the internet.
If you plan on hurting my best friend
keep in mind that I’m getting a degree
in criminology and I’m top of the fucking
class, so I wouldn’t fuck with me
if I were you.
I laugh, a juvenile snorty laugh.
Wait... Is that you Bunce?
Who’s asking?
Baz Pitch, from Watford Academy.
Don’t give your last name out
over the internet, you dolt.
And yeah, this is Penny.
That’s all your going to say about
this?
Hey this is Simon again.
Ur really funny Baz,
funnier than u were in skool :)
Snow, one day someone will
have a stroke after receiving
a message from you.
Um… if their an old man sure,
but I plan 2 wait and see if im still
single @ 30 b4 I bcome a sugar-baby.
Have fun with that, Snow.
Pfft sure… its a last choice…
And your first choice?
Um an actully luving relashonship??
im nackered, imma sleep. Gn Baz… xo
Terrible grammar aside,
I hope you find what you’re
looking for. Night, Snow.
I fall asleep with an impossibly sappy grin on my face.
***
Simon
I wake up to the lovely warmth of the Sun on my face. Baz used to hiss when I opened our curtains back at Watford, like actually hiss. Then I’d call him a vampire. And he’d call me a nuisance. I can’t help but chuckle at the memory.
Speaking of Baz, I check my mobile and send him a message.
Good morning! :)
You’re still talking to me?
I feel a slight surge of dread; I’ve probably misread the situation. Shit.
Do u not want me 2??
No, just surprised. I mean,
we weren’t exactly besties
back at Watford. But if you
insist on making friendship
bracelets and braiding each
other’s hair I’m not going to
deny you of that…
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and laugh.
My hair isnt desined to b
braided but sure ;)
Don’t try being cute with me,
it doesn’t work on me…
Im not cute… im adorable,
big fkn difference ;)
Oh yes, of course. My bad…
How bout we go for coffee,
u kno so u can make it up
2 me ;)
You make a compelling
argument… Sure.
2morrow?
I’ve got a ridiculous number
of uni lectures on tomorrow…
Thursday?
Ok! Sounds g!!
***
Baz
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I should change into something else for the umpteenth time this morning. I hear a loud knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in.” I say and the door creeks open. My Aunt Fiona gives me a questioning look as she jumps on top of my bed like an absolute fucking heathen – I’m too nervous to send a get-the-fuck-off-my-bedglare in her direction.
“Have you met a bloke, Basil?” She asks.
“No.” I say plainly.
“Uh-huh, so all this,” she waves a hand in my direction, “couldn’t possibly be to impress some hopeless bastard who had the misfortune to cross paths with you?”
“Look, I didn’t meethim exactly,” I pause, “he’s someone I went to school with, we had a chance encounter online; we’re catching up for coffee and a chat and that’s it. It’s nota date.”
“‘It’s not a date.’” Fiona says in a whiny high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like me and scoffs. “My arseit’s not a date, Basil. For someone who graduated as the fucking duxof Watford, you’re exceedingly obtuse.”
“Would you care to enlighten me then?”
“Look, he asked you out for coffee?” She asks.
“Yes, but it’s not-”
“Of course it’s a fucking date, Basil!” Fiona exclaims throwing her arms up in an overly dramatic gesture. “‘Let’s go for coffee’ is pretty much code for ‘I am single and down to bone’.”
“Fuck’s sake, Fi,” I shout, “Must you be so crass?”
“Hey, don’t blame me for doing God’s work, boyo,” she retorts, “let’s face it, Baz – you’re a miserable little emo shut-in who needs to get laid.”
“I’m a virgin!” I say undignified.
“Yes, that’s the exact point I’m trying to make!”
“Well maybe,” my voice drops down to a whisper, “I’d like to have a meaningful relationship before I – ahem – let someone get into my pants.”
“Suit yourself,” Fiona shrugs then makes a face, “I just don’t get the fuss over this sort of thing. Feelings are a tad too messy for my liking. Getting attached to someone? Yikes, no thanks.”
I go turn back to face the mirror and frown.
“Are you sure it’s not a date?”
“Yes,” I sigh dejectedly, “I’m pretty sure.”
“But you like him?” It’s a question, but Fiona’s giving me a look that tells me she’s already made up her mind about the answer. No point lying then…
“Yes.”
Fiona glances over at me with an odd mixture of concern and curiosity, but instead of lecturing me she simply says,
“Basil, quit fussing over your outfit. You look fine, and if this bloke isn’t impressed, he’s an absolute moron who’s not worth your time.”
***
Simon
I’m late for coffee with Baz. Honestly fuck this weather, the rain is such a pain in the arse that I think I finally understand why Aggie moved all the way to California where the sun is apparently always fucking shining.
I burst through the door of the café, feeling impossibly frazzled and no doubt looking like a drowned rat. I frantically try to get my brolly to fucking close, but much like the rest of this morning it’s decided to be terribly insufferable. When I finally get it shut, I shove it in a basket with various others.
I’m raking a hand through my curls – which have frizzed up to maximum capacity, which is just fan-fucking-tastic – self-consciously when I spot Baz at a table across the room watching me with an amused smirk and one eyebrow raised. Of course his hair is perfect. It’s not constrained by copious amounts of hair gel like he always styled it back at Watford, in fact it’s loose and falling in a lazy wave over his forehead – obviously wind tousled but still bloodyperfect.
I make my way over to him and take a seat at the table, my boots squeak a little but I don’t trip over my own feet. (Miraculously.)
“H-hey, Baz,” I stammer. Well isn’t that just bloody brilliant.“Sorry I’m late.”
“Quite alright, Snow,” Baz says, “you certainly know how to make an entrance.”
“Like you can talk,” I say, chuckling and shaking my head, “remember eighth year?”
“How could I forget?” He asks. “Yousent furniture flying and Wellbelove destroyed excruciatingly expensive crockery. What ever happened between you two? I’m pretty sure everyone thought the pair of you were going to ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after.”
“Well we actually broke up before you came back for eighth year,” I begin to explain, “she realised she was aro-ace and that her feelings for me were purely platonic and I confided in her when I was going through my own sexuality crisis. We never really disclosed the breakup so everyone just kind of assumed we were still together ‘cause of – what did Penny call it again? Oh yeah that’s right – heteronormative societal expectations.”
Baz’s jaw drops in shock. Rendering Basilton Pitch speechless isn’t an everyday occurrence; I feel a warm sense of pride bubbling in my chest at the achievement.
“But, you went to the leavers ball together.” Baz looks at me like his entire world is imploding.
“Yeah, but as friends.” I say.
“You spent the entire evening stepping on her toes.” He points out; only I don’t think it’s intended to be malicious.
“Ah yes, until you whisked her away onto the dance-floor. Remind me what it was you asked her again?”
“I believe it was something along the lines of; ‘Wellbelove, would you care to dance with someone who doesn’t have two left feet?’”
“Hmm, that sounds about right,” I nod.
Suddenly one of the wait-staff is setting a plate of scones – and I’m pretty sure they’re sour cherry, my favourite kind. I look down at the scones, then at Baz who’s thanking the waitress as she sets down a drink topped with whipped cream. My mouth is hanging open; Baz once again raises an eyebrow.
“Close your mouth, Snow,” he says with a smirk, “you’ll catch flies.”
“B-but the scones.” I stutter, still not understanding.
“Yes I went to the liberty of ordering them for you,” Baz explains, “you’re welcome, Snow.”
“You remembered.” I say, pleasantly surprised.
Baz
“Of course I did,” I huff, as he begins buttering the scones, “you only shovelled millions of them into your face every time we had afternoon tea; not to mention all those other times you’d sneak mountains of the damned things andan honest-to-god butter dish back up to our room.”
“Oh, says you, Mr. I-eat-salt-and-vinegar-crisps-as-a-midnight-snack,” Snow pouts, “I don’t think I even once saw you with a breakout of spots.”
“It’s called having a skincare routine, Snow,” I roll my eyes, “I used to buy snacks in bulk throughout the year and keep it all hidden, whereas you were smuggling your loot openly. Not that I would have told you at the time but I was secretly a little impressed by that; that and the fact that every baked good made it safely to our room at the fucking top floorof Mummers’ unscathed, you used to be a bit of a klutz.”
“Used to?” Snow snorts adorably. “Did you not see my less than graceful entrance?”
“Look,” I say, “you didn’t trip on your way into this lovely establishment so I think I’d call that an improvement.”
“I think I’ve really just grown out of my awkward stage,” he continues, “like how the ugly duckling turned into a swan…”
“Please, Snow,” I say, “you were never an ugly duckling.”
“Correction; youwere never an ugly duckling.” Snow retorts around a scone, much to my disbelief – at both his statement and hideous table manners. “You were always so perfect – snobby and uptight but still bloodyperfect. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Oh, Snow,” I can barely contain my laughter, “I think you’re conveniently forgetting the fact that I wore fucking bracesthe entirety of fifth year.”
“Hmm, no I actually do remember that; it drove me up the bloody wall that you stillmanaged to look fit with braces.” This confession from Snow makes me squirm with giddiness; I shake my head in a fruitless attempt to will the emotion away, but the result has nothing to do with deterring my emotions and everything to do with making my hair fall in my face. I push it all out of my face and resort to tucking a particularly stubborn lock behind my ear.
“You thought I was fit?” I ask a little self-consciously.
“Well, yeah obviously,” he gives me a sheepish look, “you still are.”
Is he flirting with me? No. Snow’s never been one to shy away from speaking his mind – when he manages to get the words out – but that doesn’t mean he meant it like that.
Flirting is a liars’ game and Snow is as earnest as they come. He’s always been genuinely kind to everyone he meets; he was even quite gentle with me back when we first became roommates because he thought I was shy, then I shot down his attempts at friendship and he realised I was not in fact shy, but as he so tastefully phrased it, ‘a snooty prick’. Then again we did reunite via a dating app, so it’s probably not a completely implausible concept is it? I couldprobably just ask whether or not he was flirting, but that also means I might scare him off if he wasn’t and then it’ll be awkward and it would be my entire fault for ruining the one conversation I’ve had with Simon Snow that was actually pleasant and free of hostility.
“Baz, are you okay?” Si- Snow’s voice breaks me out of my stupor.
“Ah, um- yeah I’m fine.” I say shaking my head again.
“You sure?”
“Of course,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face again and playing with it absentmindedly, “just spaced out for a moment there.”
“Okay,” Snow sighs in relief and chuckles breathily, “thought I broke you for a second there.”
“Please, Snow, I’m not made of glass,” the next words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, “you’d have to work hard to break me.”
Snow tilts his head and furrows his brows. Ah yes, I’ve royally cocked this one up haven’t I?
“Hey… Um, Baz?” Snow manages to ask before I can begin to explain myself. Fuck.
“Yes, Snow?” I gulp nervously and attempt to brace myself for a poorly worded yet heartfelt rejection.
“I’m kinda terrible at reading people, so uh… Are you flirting with me?”
“That, um… just slipped out?” I attempt.
“You’re avoiding the question, Baz.” Snow deadpans.
“I’m actually not completely sure,” I admit, “I’ve never really – shit this is embarrassing – datedanyone. I mean, sure I’ve been on dates – but they just always felt forced.”
“So this is definitely a date.”
“Do you want it to be?” I ask.
“Yes.” He nods his head determinedly.
Simon
“You want this too, right?” I ask. It’s always good to confirm these things.
“What does ‘this’entail exactly?”
“Well for now, a date and after this if you’re still interested we could go on more.” Baz waves his hand as if to say ‘go on’, I do. “And, well, I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’d have me. Just to warn you, I could be completely terrible at it… Because in the past I never thought I could get a bloody thing right-”
“Simon.” Baz said my name, which he’s never done before I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing. His gaze is strong and maybe it means that he wants this too or maybe it means he’s going to reject me so mercilessly that I pass out from the sheer ruthlessness of his words.
“Yes, Baz?” I hold my breath, my heart pounding in anticipation for his reply.
“You can stop fretting,” the corners of Baz’s lips quirk up slightly, “I’d like to go out with you.”
“Really?” I ask confused. Baz is interested in me enough to dateme? This mustbe a dream, a strangely pleasant one where my former roommate – the same former roommate I only recently realised I may have had a not-so-tiny crush on – instead of being a complete arse, is talking to me civilly and returning my feelings.
“Really, Snow.”
Baz
“You called me ‘Simon’ before.” Snow teases.
“No I didn’t.”
“Did so.” He grins playfully.
“Did not.” I insist.
“Oh, you did too. I liked it.” Snow has the sweetest expression on his face.
“Simon,” I say, “you’re being idiotic.”
“And you’re being too coy for your own good.” Simon rests his arm on the table the palm of his hand offered to me like I’m fucking fragile and delicate and he thinks he’s going to scareme off. I’m a little offended by this.
“Who’s being too coy for their own good now?” I ask as I brush the freezing cold tips of my fingers against Simon’s perfectly warm ones.
He slides his fingers under my palm then wraps his whole hand around the breadth of my fingers before bringing my hand close to his lips. Simon doesn’t kiss my hand, just holds it tauntingly close to his face. I feel every single puff of breath that escapes his lips and the slightesttug of the air when he inhales. Mouth breather.
I stroke his pinkie-finger experimentally with my thumb and he gently caresses my knuckles with his lips. Simon peers up at me with a soft look in his plain-blue eyes, but his gaze is firm as if to ask is this okay?I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and give him a small nod.
The press of his lips to my hand is warm, sweet, tender and over much too soon. Before I can begin to protest the perfect arrangement of words leave Simon’s mouth.
“Let’s get out of here.”