𝕊𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕓𝕒𝕫 𝕆𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤 (𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤)

Merry me, Snow. pt 1

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Christmas fluff prompt by @M00NSTRXCK   <3 <3

BAZ'S POV

I enter the dining hall, which is nearly empty since Christmas break started a couple days ago.

           I'm not even sure if I regret opting to stay at Watford for Christmas, and not in my gargoyle-covered room. It's just that ever since I came out in the summer, father has been acting as if I'm about as important as a houseplant, and definitely as insufferable as Snow is. I'm only queer, not an abomination. . . but father doesn't quite agree. The only reason he didn't disown me by now is probably Fiona. She would've beaten him.

          Nevertheless, I chose to stay at Watford to avoid the awkward staring, the disappointment in father's eye, just. . . everything.

          In the last class of Magick Words before Christmas break, we learnt spells to set up a festive decor. And the remaining students used the classic spell, "Deck the halls with boughs of holly!" and cast a "Tis' the season to be jolly!" to decorate the buildings. There's even a monstrously-large enchanted evergreen in the middle of the dining hall. It has all kinds of ornaments and lights draped around it.

          My thoughts are scattered and disturbed. And then, Snow walks in.

"What are you doing here, Baz?" he asks, with only slight aggression and hostility. Shocking.

"Considering the fact that I attend Watford as well, it only makes sense for me to be here, you thumping idiot." I quip lazily, raising my chin to look down at him condescendingly.

"I meant that I'm the only one who stays for Christmas break." 

"Now, don't get mad at me because nobody wants you in their homes for Christmas. . ," I start. "Where is your precious Wellbelove, anyway? Doesn't she babysit you this time of year?"

"We broke up, you arsehole." he growls. "And nobody babysits me!"

 I quirk a smirk at this one.

"Snow. . ." I begin, and we share a look of confusion at his statement. He silently begs with his big blue eyes for me to not call him out on saying something so incredibly, unbelievably idiotic and boring and childish. But I wouldn't be much of a nemesis if I listened. "That was the saddest, and most eternally lame comeback ever," I tell him, with slightly furrowed brows and wide eyes. Earnestly, really. Nearly worried at his burst of newfound idiocy; and determined to embarrass him.

"Shut up, okay?" he mumbles. ". . . I know."

After looking away for a minute--his freckled cheeks cast with an ever so rosy hue--a look of curiosity making its way onto his features again. "What are you doing here? Did your family get sick of you, too?" he teases. I wonder when Snow started teasing me.

"None of your business, Snow." I snap at him, sneering immediately. Oh how delightful it is, to share a room with Snow. Even on Christmas. I almost regret not going back to Hampshire now. But at least this way I can try to quench my desire for him by staring at him and fighting. . . If I was back home I'd likely attempt drowning in my bed to save me from every memory of Snow attacking me. He'd be doing something as nauseating as shoveling food int his mouth, and I would still stand awestruck. (At least in the privacy of my mind, I would.) Or he could be raking a hand through his tight bronze curls. Anything, really, and I assure you I would be swooning. It isn't beneath me. (Snow, however, is. Beneath me. Always. By at least three inches.) (Especially now. He's standing so, so close.) (Just leaning in, by only a few inches, and I could. . . Bite him? Kiss him? Improvise?)

"Fine, be a git. See if I care." Snow huffs, puffing his chest and snarling. He's obviously unnerved. And yet, I feel no satisfaction. Just emptiness. A void. And maybe distant aching, from my undying longing for Snow, of course.

I simply turn around and leave for the Catacombs, already tired of the way my heart falls when I see those freckles splattered over his face. Already tired of his piercing blue gaze burning holes through me. I feel sick. Extremely exhausted and sick. Even though I'm a monster, for whom it is physically impossible to get sick.

            I feel like I'm losing. And I want to throw up.

            I catch around ten rats and bash their heads into the stone-wall. Then I collapse against that very wall, and dig my fangs into the rats. 

           Soon, I make my way back to Mummers House which is nearly empty. Rather desolate-looking, too. Eventually, I reach the room I share with Snow, and find him pretending to sleep. Or maybe he's trying. Whichever it is, his heart starts beating faster when he hears me. I choose to ignore that, and take a shower, and drown in my bed instead.

SIMON'S POV

Baz is acting strange. He seems so cold, and emotionless, and tired all the time. His eyes are always lidded; purple and blue veins peeking from under his porcelain skin. I almost believe that vampires are dead after seeing him like this. It's disturbing. And while I sleep, I feel his eyes linger on me, I feel his troubles weighing on him. His tense exasperation hanging in the air between us. It's a little suffocating. 

             I almost feel sorry for him. Then I remember that he's a git.

             But still. . . 

BAZ'S POV

It hurts to look at Snow. Yet, I can't tear my eyes away. It hurts to see him knotted up in his blankets and his bronze curls crushed against his pillow case. Hurts to see the constellations of moles on his bare back that is facing me. Hurts to not be able to capture him in my arms and kiss him till his lips are swollen. To tell him that I love him.

          I turn back around. Avoiding the golden boy lying in a bed less than a foot away from mine. I try my hardest to fall asleep, to momentarily relieve myself of the pain. But a few hours later, I find myself staring yet again.

          The next couple days are spent in misery. Snow, however, attempts to lift my spirits which is utterly ridiculous since there is nothing he could do to help. . . Other than kiss me under the mistletoe toe, at this point. Ah, Snow. He won't stop cracking bad Christmas jokes, and laughing all the time. He also gets ravenously hungry, and because no one else is at Watford, there isn't  much food for him. Then out of annoyance at Snow's constant whining about being hungry (mostly just out of a hiccup of tenderness, though), I use the key Cook Pritchard gave me to get him heaps of food. I'm the nicest, I know.