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At Watford, every sixth-year is required to have their wisdom teeth removed.
It's protocol. Something the Mage instated as a way to prove that he truly cared for his students like the old headmistress never had. And it boils my blood—well, brings it to a steady lukewarm—to know that there isn't a way for me to escape it. That I once again have to participate in an action that directly condemns my mother's name.
Snow got it done over Christmas while he was at Wellbelove's. I would have, except I didn't want to bring up the tricky situation of my vampirism with Father. So now it's nearing the end of the year and the nurse is gently taking my arm.
"I promise, Mr. Pitch, there's nothing to be afraid of." She gently settles me into the chair, which immediately hums to life and reclines.
"I'm not afraid, Miss Kristy, I assure you," I say to the ceiling. "I merely understand the unpleasantness of the procedure."
After their eighth ignored bird, the Watford infirmary staff had firmly pulled me out of class and told me to be ready in twenty-four hours and not to consume any foods or fluids. I've obediently abstained, though I'm now regretting it because I'm worried my fangs will pop while they're operating on my mouth.
They'd strongly recommended bringing a friend to take care of me, but I insisted that I would be fine. Magic has never before failed me, and I know that it's not about to.
I'll be fine.
Niall asked Dev, and vice versa. They were both equally hilarious while still under the effects of the anesthetics, so much so that I regret not being there. But I don't have the selfishness to ask them for this. They've always been closer to each other than I have been to them, especially as we've grown.
I really don't mind. What I do mind is the fact that Miss Kristy won't be able to detect my pulse. And that every spell I've cast hasn't done anything to revitalize me, even if just for appearances. Romeo and Juliet spells only work for the opposite.
"Any fluids ingested within the last twenty-four hours?" she says.
"No, ma'am."
"Then we're good to start! This shouldn't be very long of a surgery—an hour, tops. Although… Mr. Pitch, I didn't want to embarrass you…"
My heart sinks to my stomach, and what little air I was breathing gets sucked from my lungs. I feel like I'm going to be sick.
She runs a gentle cloth over my skin, unwavering. "I want you to know that I would never divulge this to anyone. As your doctor, I am obligated to a certain level of confidentiality. And even beyond that… I know you would never hurt anyone."
I avert my eyes. I'm not really here. I'm not anywhere.
"Mr. Pitch…" She rests a hand over my cheek. "Nobody is going to know. I only knew because the x-rays for your teeth looked strange."
"That's all?" I whisper.
"Well… your temperature was off, and your heart rate was low, and your blood pressure… anyway, it doesn't matter."
"But—" My entire body is tight with anxiety, curling in on itself. I feel like I'm going to cry, which would be absurd. If I cry, she'll not only see me as a monster, but a cowardly monster. She'd be right, but that doesn't mean I like outright showing it.
"You don't have to worry," she says. "I'll be able to sedate you just fine. Just let me find the vein…"
I hold still as she carefully inspects my arm, inviting me to make a fist before patting quickly at my skin. She hums as near-bloodless veins come into view.
"Alright…" she says gently. "Nothing to worry about, dear."
And she's really starting to convince me, acting as if this is all part of the routine and she knows exactly what to do. With careful, steady hands, she inserts the syringe.
"You're going to go to sleep now," she says. "I'll see you after the surgery."
She covers me with a blanket, and I wait to fall asleep. It's not at all what I was expecting—like a light switch flipping instead of a gradual submersion.
I can't even quite remember the point where I slip under. I just know that now I'm awake and panicking and calling Simon's name.
"He's not here, dear," Miss Kristy says. "Remember?"
My mouth is filled with blood. I don't know what's happening but I'm afraid, I'm worried Simon is hurt and he's not here.
"But I—I—"
It's so dark (I think my eyes are closed) and I feel so strange and I'm just—
I'm so—
"It's okay to be scared," she says. "Do you want me to fetch him for you?"
Yes.
She must hear my thoughts somehow, because she's already out of the room.
…
"Come with me, Mr. Snow."
Miss Kristy pulls me out of Elocution, which is fine by me. I've been too distracted wondering where Baz is to do any work.
Still, I'm nervous as she walks me briskly down the hall. "Sorry, Mr. Snow. I left him with one of my assistants, but I don't want him to get too upset."
"Who? Is something wrong?"
She smiles knowingly back at me. "Baz needs you."
I start dragging my feet immediately. "I don't want to see Baz! He doesn't need me, he hates me!"
She pulls me forward. "This is not a request, Mr. Snow. A roommate has certain requirements."
"But he's never fulfilled—"
"Simon?"
We're standing just outside a room in the infirmary, and Baz Pitch is tottering to his feet, arms outstretched toward me like a baby asking to be picked up.
"Oh, Mr. Pitch, don't—"
Miss Kristy moves forward to catch him as he stumbles a few feet forward. His hair is as ruffled as I've ever seen it, and his eyes aren't quite… with it.
He gestures inarticulately in my direction. All I can do is stare.
"B—baz?"
His face goes from desperate to overjoyed quicker than I can track, eyes sparkling with the biggest grin I've ever seen on him. It inexplicably melts my heart a little.
I shake my head. "What's going on?"
"Mr. Pitch has just gotten his wisdom teeth removed. He's feeling a little out of it."
Understatement of the year.
"Could you walk him home?"
"I—I don't…" My head is pounding. I'm so confused…
"You took my teeth?" He's staring at Miss Kristy with abject betrayal. "Did you stab my mouth?"
"I—I suppose that's one way of looking at it." Miss Kristy is smirking a little.
"Are you even gonna give them back?" he slurs, pointing at her unsteadily.
"Not unless you want them in a plastic bag!" She giggles, then sobers. "But I unfortunately already threw them away."
He prods his cheek with his tongue. "I can't feel anything!"
"You're numb, dear."
"I wish. I unfortunately remain alert to the world's iniquities."
I can't help but laugh a little at that, and Baz turns wide eyes on me. He looks like I've just given him a treat.
I can't help but smile.
He runs toward me—more like hobbles, but the effort is definitely there. "Simon! I thought I was going to be dead and burned and I wouldn't see you and I was so scared…" He stops in front of me, wobbling dangerously, and I catch him on instinct.
He leans against my chest and tips his head back to rest on my shoulder, which can't be good for his neck. His cheek comes to rest against my sternum, surprisingly soft and cool.
"You have such pretty eyes," he whispers. "I can't stand it."
"Mr. Snow?" Miss Kristy meets my gaze. "Can I count on you?"
Everyone seems to be counting on me these days, and most of the time it leaves a chasm in my gut. But looking down at Baz's face, heart-breakingly hopeful, makes me feel anything but heavy.
This, I might be able to handle.
"Yeah—I mean, of course!"
Baz smiles again and buries his face against my neck. The only think I can think of without combusting is that his breath tickles.
"Okay." I swallow tightly. "Yeah, just… let's go, Baz."
"Okay!" Baz clings to my arm as we begin slowly walking toward Mummers.
"I was in the office and then she stabbed me with a needle!" he says. "And then she told me she knew!"
"Knew… knew what?"
He leans very close to my ear and whispers-but-not-really-whispers-at-all, "I'm a vampire."
I cringe. "Oh… Baz…"
I should feel elated. I've been waiting for a chance like this! But I only feel dirty. Like I've taken advantage of him.
Sure enough, when I look down, his pale cheeks are glistening with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Do you hate me?"
"I mean—yeah!" I say on instinct, watching in horror as his face crumbles.
"Baz, Baz, don't—"
Thankfully, we're passing Dev and Niall's room at that moment. "Do you want to see Niall?" I say gently.
He nods tearfully.
I knock on the door. "Niall! Open up!"
The door opens a crack and Niall's muddy blue eyes peek out at me suspiciously. "What's—great snakes, Pitch."
Baz smiles at him, the best he could with loads of gauze filling his mouth. "Niall Niall Niall!"
"Wisdom teeth," I mutter.
"Can you bring me a steak?" he mumbles into my shoulder, eyes fixed entreatingly on Niall.
Niall leans forward to rub a gentle hand through Baz's hair.
"I'm so hungry," he says.
Niall's eyes are soft. "I know. You can eat again when you're feeling better."
"But how am I supposed to…" He leans forward. "You know?"
Niall stares slack-jawed at him. "Baz, you shouldn't—"
"Oh, sorry. I didn't explain it well enough." He laughs apologetically. "I need to drink—"
"Basilton." Niall clamps a hand over Baz's mouth. Baz stares at him wide-eyed, then continues to speak from behind his hand.
"There's blood in my mouth," he says, sounding scandalized. "A lot of it from my teeth that they took and it's not going to stop probably and then I won't be able to live and then I'll die. Am I gonna die?"
"Crowley, no, Bazzy."
Niall tries to pull Baz into a hug, but he's still clinging to me. All I can do is mouth, "Bazzy?" at Niall. He shoots me a murderous look.
"Anyway," Baz sighs dreamily. "I've just been thinking about babies lately. Like how cute and tiny and cute they are."
"You hate Mordelia," Niall says.
"Yeah but she's not my baby. What if Simon and me had a baby?"
"What is happening right now?" I wheeze.
Baz looks back at me and pats my cheek comfortingly. "That's okay, love. I know you don't want a baby. But you could consider it. You could just hold it and love it and kiss it and it would be so sweet."
He's crying again.
"Will you take him?" I growl at Niall.
Baz grips my wrist. "Please don't leave me." His eyes are so earnest, overflowing with tears.
Niall glares at me, seemingly speechless, before moving forward to grip my shoulder.
"Look, I hate you, Snow," he hisses. "Dev hates you. But literally the only thing Baz wants right now is to be close to you. And while he should have the good sense to leave you in the dust, he somehow believes you're deserving of his time. So if you can't dredge up some of that magic-forsaken goodness to take care of your sick roommate, I don't know how you can sleep at night."
He shoves me back and slams the door.
All I can do is gape.
"Niall?" Baz is pressing his face to the door like that might help him see better. "Nialllll…"
"Come here, Baz," I say softly. "We're going home."
"Oh, yay!"
Yay? What is happening?
Baz refastens himself to my arm like a bracelet and sighs contentedly, but for a moment all I can do is stare.
I really need to reconsider some things. Namely, the state of my life as I know it.
"Niall is protective." He hugs my arm. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. You're perfect."
"No." My chest is tight. "No I'm not. I—I'm sorry, Baz."
He looks up at me, affronted. "You never have to apologize to me, Simon. Never. Never ever never ever ever—"
"Okay." I'm laughing a little now. "Okay, Baz, but—I shouldn't—I mean—"
"Don't speak," he sings softly. "I know just what you're sayinggg…"
I carefully pull open our door. Baz beams and runs straight for my bed.
"Baz, wait, that's not—"
"I know." He flops down on his back across the comforter and sighs, looking perfectly content.
"But I can't sleep in your bed!"
"No you can't." He smiles sleepily at me. "Can we watch Sleeping Beauty?"
Filing the bed crisis away for later, I kneel down next to Baz. He grabs my hands, and I don't pull away.
There's just something so arresting about him.
"I'm so confused," I whisper.
He reaches up to smooth at the crease between my brows. It makes me flinch.
"Oh." He stares at his fingers uncomprehendingly. "I wasn't going to do that. I had just thought of doing it but I wasn't—"
"Baz?"
He looks up at me.
"I really don't mind."
Turning away from his relieved expression—I don't deserve his kindness, not after all I've done to him—I fish out Baz's unsanctioned laptop. I've always secretly wanted to steal it for music and films, but Baz shoots me one of his looks anytime I so much as looks at it.
"Is this okay?" I open the lid and place it on the bed next to Baz, resisting the urge to question him about his Disney preferences.
He nods eagerly.
There are too many thoughts niggling at me. I can't make sense of anything and I just—
"Simon."
"I—I'm—"
"Come sit with me." He pats the bed, unbalancing himself so he falls on his side.
I sit next to him. "Open up, Baz. It's time to change your gauze."
He looks up at me fearfully. "But I can't—my fangs—"
Oh. Oh.
I school my face into calmness and take a steadying breath. Baz needs me.
And in a lot of ways, I need him. I think I always have.
"I'm not worried." I smile reassuringly at him. "I'll be careful."
"You're never careful."
I bristle instinctively, but catch myself just in time, looking into his wide gray eyes.
He's so afraid.
I didn't know there was someone else who felt like I did. Who hungered and wanted and wondered if they might just be in the wrong place.
I take his hand. "We'll make an exception this time."
I press my fingers to his lips and he opens them readily, showing the blood-soaked gauze in his mouth.
"Oh, Baz…" Carefully, ever-so-softly, I reach to pull it out. "I should have changed it earlier. You're so swollen."
"Mmngg."
It's then that I see them—the white flash of his fangs. I touch the base of one reverently. They really are something.
Baz is holding very still, not crying like I expected him to. He's looking up at me expectantly.
I pull the gauze out, then place the fresh chunk between his teeth.
He just keeps looking at me as I gingerly withdraw. My hands are shaking a little. It sort of reminded me of that alligator game at one of my care homes, where you press each tooth and try to pull back before the jaws snap closed on your hand. I absolutely loved that game, even if it frustrated me a little.
Baz is docile and solemn as he looks up at me. "Is it time?"
"What?"
He takes a breath. "I didn't think it would be time until the end of school, but I also didn't think you'd find me out."
I know what he means. "Baz—no, no, of course not! I'm not going to fight you."
"Yet." He drops his head back against the pillow, looking weary. "Yet yet yet."
"Baz…" I squeeze his hand. "You need something in you. Can I bring you some—" My heart jumps with a little thrill at the word, "—blood?"
He flinches like I've slapped him.
"Do you not need it? I'm sorry, I don't know about all of this—"
"No." His eyes are closed. "I'm really thirsty and it hurts and the bleeding won't stop, it's not stopping—"
"Okay." Instinctively, without really knowing why, I drop a kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry about that now, Baz. Just watch your show. I'll come back."
He clutches my wrist again.
"I'll come back! And I won't leave until you're asleep!"
"But I'll wake up."
"You won't have time to wonder where I am, I'll be so quick. Like that." I snap my fingers.
Baz does that thing again where he hugs my arm with both of his. He even nuzzles his forehead into my hand.
He's so… sweet. I can't take it.
I kiss him there again, on his forehead, just to see him melt. "Promise?" he whispers.
I feel myself choking up. "Promise, promise."
He sighs, falling back against the pillows. "Love you," he murmurs.
I bolt upright. "What?"
"I love you." He grins up at me, still with his eyes closed. "You're the best dream in the world."
I can't… I'm not a person anymore. I'm a lump of mush who's trundling around without any idea what anything is anymore.
Baz is asleep, burrowing into the pillow, lashes fluttering. He whistles a little when he sleeps, though that might be the fact that his mouth is currently full and swollen.
This isn't my evil roommate. I can't reconcile their two images, so the only explanation is that I've been faced with Baz's evil twin for nearly six years and this is the real Baz, finally come to reclaim his identity.
Or maybe it's like Miss Kristy said. Maybe Baz is just out of it and he thinks I'm Agatha or something.
Maybe he means it…
But even if he did, would I deserve it, after all this time?
I walk to the kitchen. Cook Pritchard isn't around, so I search and search through the fridges until I find pouches of blood.
I have no idea why they're here—maybe for some dish she's planning. I wouldn't be surprised if I magicked them up out of sheer will. Hopefully they're enough.
When I return, Baz is blinking up at me from his mound of blankets. He's so pretty—I've always thought so, and envied him for it. Wondered why he could stay so put-together while I was barely stumbled through the day. Now I wonder if it's the only thing he can cling to.
I kneel down next to him, reluctant to disturb him—but I'm worried about what will happen to him without blood.
"Baz," I whisper, feeling strangely out of place—I've never made an effort to be quiet, even when he was deeply in the throes of a dream. "Baz, I have food for you. Wake up."
He blinks up at me, one hand instinctively reaching up to touch my face. His fingers leave tiny sparks in their wake.
He finally focuses on me and his eyes are clear, bright. He pushes me away from him, looking horrified. "Snow! What are you doing here?"
"I just—" I hold out the pouches of blood, gently setting them on his bedspread. His eyes flick back and forth, from the bags to my face.
"What are you—get out. Get out of my face."
"Baz, just wait—"
"I didn't ask you to come and be my savior. I didn't tell you where I was going and I never said I needed anything from you—"
"Baz, please."
He stares at me, irate. Breathing hard. Face still swollen and puffy and beautiful.
I let out a breath. "It wasn't right for me to hear all that. It—it shouldn't have happened, I'm so sorry."
"If you're just going to tell me things I already know—"
"I just—I'm so sorry. For all the awful things I've done and said and for… all of it. All those years."
He gawks at me. I see a glimmer behind his eyes. "I'm not a victim." He's laughing a little. "It's not as if I don't have a part in making your life miserable."
"But you don't."
He stares at me. "What—"
"I was thinking while you were gone, I was thinking about what I would do without you. How quiet it would be."
"Oh, don't tell me I'm the one who makes all the noise around here—"
"It's just, you fill up a room and you look so beautiful and I thought—just… that Watford couldn't be anything without you. I couldn't be. And I don't think about you over the summers because I'll miss you too much if I do because you're the good thing I look forward to."
"That and scones."
"That and sc—stop distracting me!"
He's looking at me crooked-lipped, a little fond. A little sad. "What is this about?"
"Just—none of this is your fault. Me hating you isn't your fault. You being… you know."
"Oh what, Snow, there are so many things."
We both laugh, sort of deranged. A little smiley.
We've never been smiley before.
"Do you need help?" I rip open a bag and he sucks in a breath.
"No. Yes. No—Merlin."
"Easy, easy." I press the pouch to his lips and he drinks quickly, brushing my fingers with his lips. I giggle a little at the sensation, and he looks up, chastened.
"I'm—"
"No, it's just, you're…" I blow out a breath and bury my face against my shoulder. "You're so much."
I press the pouch gently back to his lips. He drinks, hesitant this time. Careful not to touch me.
I'd like him to kiss my fingers, I think.
"Would you—did you—do you think you meant what you were saying?"
He pauses, the pouch finished. I linger there for a moment, foolishly.
He blinks open his eyes to stare at me. "Simon. I don't want to do this."
I blush. "I'm sorry. Sorr—I mean, okay. That's… you don't have to. Just—can I do something?"
"No." He looks at my eyes, totally awake. The Baz I know, and entirely not. "Yes."
The way he breathes the word makes me shiver. I could fall asleep listening to his voice.
I kiss his fingers. Like I've seen the gentlemen do in films. His eyes fly open.
I kiss them again for good measure. "Baz…"
"Simon, stop. Just—"
"Am I hurting you?" I pull back, feeling tears prick at my eyelids.
He stares at me for a moment, working his mouth. I think about the times I've seen Baz speechless and come up empty.
"Hi," I whisper. "I'm Simon Snow. I want to start over. Do you?"
Baz looks down at my fingers, still held loosely against his face, and brushes his lips over them. Just faintly.
"I'm Baz Pitch," he whispers.
We wait. I don't know what for.
He looks like he's working through something.
"And you're impossible." He's smiling at me again, twinkly eyes and all.
"Is that a yes?"
"Snow, just think about it, think this through with me. You don't want this."
I wrap an arm around him and lean close, just like he likes to do to me. "Don't tell me what I want, Pitch."
And then I hug him in earnest.
He's laughing and crying and holding me.
"Are you—" I stare down at him, a little scared. "Are you gonna wake up and forget? Or, like, change your mind?"
He hums. "Never. Not once in this past year have I doubted."
My breath leaves me for what must be the millionth time. But he just keeps holding me, eyes a little glassy with tears. "Are you?" he whispers.
I laugh and pet his hair like Niall did. He sighs as I whisper, "Never. Never ever never ever ever never—"
"All right, Crowley."
We stay like that for a minute, and I'm still reeling as he speaks again, barely audible. "Promise?"
I link our pinkies. "Promise. Promise, promise."