Snowbaz Oneshots

Slow Motion, Double Vision in Rose Blush

Hey all! I hope you enjoy this piece :) It should be pretty self-explanatory, but basically, it's a Normal AU/High school AU/Uni AU all meshed into one, lol. I'm also sorry if this is a sea of Americanisms, haha. I tried my very best.

Read as you see fit here- warnings for coming out strife/some queerphobia, as well as canon level swearing.

Title (and vibes) from "gold rush" by Taylor Swift <3

Baz

Year Eleven - March

When I thought to myself about going out tonight, I didn't picture the evening ending with me sitting on the ground in the school courtyard, but here I sit anyway.

The night itself was an unmitigated disaster. My first actual date, despite most people my age already being well-versed in the subject, and the guy was a disrespectful prick. He was tolerable during our five-minute conversations within classes, but I suppose one can only handle him in small doses, lest he go from tolerable to flat-out mean and conceited.

No harm done. I plan on telling no one this story and then forgetting about it myself until I find something actually fulfilling. (I'm fully aware that I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up. Not entirely sure why I keep doing it if they get crushed each time, but that can be tabled for a later time.)

I've got my camera out, now, its small blue on light blinking in the dark. My emotional turmoil should at least get me a viable submission for photography club.

Joining was not something I anticipated. I promised myself at the very start of secondary school that I wouldn't let anyone else see what was actually going on in my head.

But photography club is different.

I'm half decent at it, and the administrator is nice enough. Plus, I can express myself however I want and play it off as creative licence, exactly like I'm doing now.

I can hear my aunt's voice, loud and clear: For God's sake, boyo, get out of your own head. You're gonna get lost in there. My father's: You'll never make it in the real world, Basilton.

The real world. Screw the real world.

The shot I'm trying to get is of a flame, centred in the square of the picture. The scenery provided is exactly what I'd want as if I was making it malleable for my shot, a perfect coincidence that makes me want to get this right even more. It's almost that pure black kind of dark out, everything in the courtyard is naturally sharp and in focus, and I don't have to worry about artificial light bleeding in. I'm using my lighter for the flame, but it's an old and worn one that is conveniently refusing to light.

I grunt as I scrape the pad of my thumb against the metal, over and over and over again. Work, work, please, work. As it turns out, getting a faulty lighter to start while also holding a camera is no easy feat. I just need it to work. (Like Mum used to say. Light a match inside your heart and blow on the tinder.) I need something up in flames tonight, even if it's just the memories of my horrible evening, replaced by thoughts of schoolwork and photos. I can handle schoolwork and photos.

After a few more minutes of fruitless attempts, I'm fairly close to snapping the lighter in two out of anger when I hear a ruffle of grass behind me. I swivel around and see a figure wandering over here, walking along the stone benches. I frown. The courtyard is usually deserted, especially this late in the night.

"Baz?"

Oh, of course it's him. He who has no concepts of late nights. Or privacy.

"Fuck off, Snow," I call over my shoulder, but I can't muster the energy to mold my voice correctly or even think of a more creative insult. My roommate has the audacity to laugh as he takes the bench a few metres from my spot, watching me fiddle with my tools.