Sixth Year (Snowbaz)

14. What's your sign?

Baz

I just kissed Simon Snow. The act had occurred so many hundreds of ways in my head over the years, but never in a drunken, jealousy fuelled, stand-off in the catacombs . I'm scared it wasn't a good kiss. Not that it matters I suppose, he didn't kiss me back after all. And he does have a girlfriend. Even if she looks exponentially more unhappy with him each passing day.

Once Snow hurried off, I pathetically, but by no means out of character, sat up against the stone wall of the catacombs and let myself cry. Simon Snow doesn't love me and he never will. Especially now that he knows I like him. Or is he simply too idiotic to connect the dots?

Snow is a complete mystery. He can find the treasure chest at the end of every quest the Mage sends him on but when it comes to social cues he can't seem to find the 'X'. Agatha practically ignored him all night and still carried on spinning her around the room, propping her up like a porcelain doll on display in a glass case. He virtually ignores Bunce half the time and doesn't see anything wrong with withholding vital information from her. Even I was surprised he didn't tell her about me from the moment he found out. (Tell her about me being a vampire, not me being gay.)

It's about midnight when I find myself dragging myself back up to Snow and I's room at the turret of Mummer's House. My face is inevitably hot and inflamed from my unfortunate pastime of hysterical crying. Even after the blood from the rats, the emotion of tonight has ripped the energy straight from my body.

When I enter the room the lights are off. Finally, he's actually asleep. I change into my pyjamas then collapse onto my bed. The plump duck feathered mattress providing solace to my numb aching body. When I wept in the catacombs I thought I would never stop, that I could go on thinking of new things to cry about forever. But now, lying warm and cosy in bed I'm not sure if I could start crying again if I tried.

Snow lies facing the window, away from me. The curls on top of his head finally germinating from the roots of his golden mole-clad skin. Looking at him calms me right down. I make an effort to match my breaths with his as his chest rises and falls. His breathing is more hurried than usual. He's awake.

I pull my eyes away and look towards the ground, as if Snow could somehow feel them burning in the back of neck. The thought makes me feel pitiful so I just end up shuffling over to face the other way. The springs from Snow's bed let out a screech and I can tell he's turned over to face me.

"Baz."

That's always how he starts the conversation, with my name. I like the way he says it, especially when he's tired. It comes out strained and gruff like some chain-smoking Hollywood star. I doubt Snow would ever take up smoking. He'd probably see putting anything other than food in his mouth as a waste of time.

"Snow," I reply, it comes out squeaky and juvenile. I don't turn back to face him.

"So..." he begins, " you're gay."

At last he's finally put together the obvious.

"Well spotted."

Snow hums in agreement. "Cool." That's all he can say? Cool? "It makes sense I guess."

"Why's that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Well, you've never had a girlfriend."

"Snow, lot's have people have never had a girlfriend."

"Yeah but you're well fit, and smart too. I can't imagine it would be hard to get one if you wanted one"

Snow thinks I'm fit? Fit as in handsome? Merlin.

"Trust me. There have been contenders but I'm a waste of their time. They probably all just think I'm a snob."

"You are a snob."

I roll over to face him.

"What did you call me, Snow?"

Through the dark I can see the glint of a smile on his lips. "I said you're a snob."

Swiftly I pull the pillow out from under my head and throw it at him.

"Look who's talking. Your pretentious girlfriend has three Louis Vuitton suitcases for Crowley's sake!"

He throws the pillow back just as hard. "She can't help it, she's a Libra."

"According to Mrs. Chevette, that'll end in disaster. That's your least compatible sign."

"Oh, yeah and what's my most compatible?"

"Scorpio and Pisces." Hopefully my diligent response comes across as studious rather than creepy. Truth be told I've spent hours on astrology websites researching the connection.

"What's your sign?"

"Pisces," I smirk.

"Stop flirting with me Baz, I'm taken," Snow jokes. 

He keeps making choking sounds as if he's trying to stop himself from going to a fit of hysterical laughter. Through the dark I can see him wriggle around to face the window. Turn back around. I want your smile.

"You can stop staring at Agatha now though. I don't care if you're gay. Find another way to undermine me. Punch me or something."

Colosal moron. He really thinks that I was pretending to look begrudgingly at Agatha to make him jealous? Oh wait... I sort of wanted him to think that. But I can't believe the thick-headed git still hasn't put two and two together. I stare burning holes between him and Agatha all the time and I kissed him.

"I don't want to punch you," I let the words come out soft and genuine.

"Good," his voice returns just as gently. "I thought we were over that anyway."

"Me too."

"Also," his tried voice has a guilty tone. "I was sort of hoping you could give me just a few football tips again. Also I'm stuck in Greek."

Classic emotional manipulating Cancer.

"Only if you want to though," he adds. "I won't tell the Mage you're a vampire either way."