wiped out! - snowbaz

1 - baz

        

sod this stupid bus and it's stupid driver and the people on it. sod them all.

baz shrinks down in the seat, hood tugged up on his neck, hat covering his hair, headphones in his ears. trying to make himself invisible.

baz hates this. he hates his life, with his overprotective, old fashioned parents with their high expectations and their disappointed stares across the breakfast table, and the teachers with their concerned smiles and their "if you need to talk, i'm here!"s and their "is everything okay at home?"s when he knows that none of them really care at all.

and the pupils, too. because nobody likes baz pitch. they think he's stuck up, emo... and a whole list of other things that baz doesn't really want to think about right now.

so sod them all.

so there he is, in his little cocoon of emo, my chemical romance blasting, when the new kid hops onto the bus. at least, baz thinks he's new; baz has been catching the bus for almost five years, and he's never seen this kid before. looks like a right twit as well, so maybe it's best that baz has lived the most part of his life without him in it.

and the new kid is actually smiling. who smiles on their first day? does this kid not know anything about surviving secondary school? baz unplugs one headphone and hastily covers the speaker with his thumb; he doesn't want anyone to hear the screams of i'm not okay echoing through it.

the new kid is now trying to figure out where to sit. the front is for year sevens and losers, the back is basically a death wish unless you're friends with david mage and his band of minions, so the middle is the best option. unfortunately nearly all of the middle seats are taken.

so of course, of course, the new kid just has to come and plonk himself down next to baz. baz's eyes almost roll right out of his head, and he has to stop himself spitting in disgust. goddamnit.

"hello!"

baz rolls his eyes again and turns away to look out of the window, plugging his headphone back in and enjoying the dulcet tones of helena. or at least he would be, if this blasted kid wasn't tugging at his sleeve.

"i said hello!"

"whatever."

"what's your name?"

baz could swear this guy's like a five-year-old in a fifteen-year-old's body. jesus.

"baz pitch."

"simon snow. what're you listening to?"

"none of your business."

the kid grabs one of the headphone cables and tugs. the pod pops out of baz's ear, and he turns around to snarl at him, but before he can simon snow has stuck it in his own ear and is nodding his head to the beat.

"you got any troye sivan?"

"um... yeah- hang on-"

wait a second. why is he sharing his music with a person he's just met? what the hell? this guy could be an axe murderer, or a child molester, or one of those people who go into schools and shoot students. he doesn't look like one, but baz is shocked at himself for trusting the guy so easily. he tugs the headphone out of the boy's ear and shoves it back in his own.

"actually, no. i don't."

and, jesus, the stupid kid actually looks offended, like his eyes (which are actually surprisingly blue now that baz has properly looked at them) have actually gone all wide and his eyebrows are all angled and creased and his mouth is squeezed up in a sad little line. baz knows that face. it's the disappointed face. the offended face. the basilton-why-are-you-being-so-rude-face. goddamn.