Head Over Heels - A Simon and Baz fic

7. Baz

Snow didn't come to any of our morning classes. I can't decide if this is a relief or not. Bunce keeps shooting me furiously suspicious glances throughout political science. I suppose she knew Snow planned to confront me yesterday and now assumes he's lying in a magically induced coma somewhere. But she doesn't say anything. (I suppose she doesn't want to disrupt anyone's learning.) Not until lunch.

I sit alone today, unable to bear the mindless droning of Dev and Niall in my current state of mind. But there's nothing I can do to stop the emerald-haired figure of Bunce striding towards me across the lunch room. She slams her hands on my table.

"Where is he?" she demands.

"Snow?" I suck on my teeth and slowly raise my eyes from my untouched lunch to look at her, "No idea."

Her wireframed eyes drill into me, "I know he was going to pick a fight with you last night. So What. Happened."

I force myself to smirk, "Ah, now that I do know. Your precious Simon confessed his undying love for me before running away in despair and embarrassment at my rejection."

Bunce pushes herself forcefully off the table and whirls away from me. "Fine. If you're determined to be your usual asshole self, I'm going to the mage." She flicks her hair out of her face and begins the apparently necessary process of storming off, but before she can get far we both spy Snow slipping in from the kitchens, obviously trying not to attract attention. That might've worked had he not been carrying a plate of food piled a foot high, and had Bunce and I not been Snow spotting experts. She immediately changes course and goes to Snow, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him over to their usual table.

I can hear the strained and angry tones of her voice from over here, but she doesn't seem to be getting anywhere much. Snow mutters monosyllabic answers and glances at me whenever he thinks he can get away with it. I make myself appear unruffled and pick at my sandwich.

Bunce's yelling cuts off and I risk a glance at them. She's looking back at me, nonplussed. She turns back to Snow and fires another question at him. Instead of replying, he just picks up his two remaining sandwiches and leaves.

The urge to follow him out the door is almost overwhelming. I want to talk to him so badly, to find out what the hell is going on here, but at the same time the thought of even looking him in the eye terrifies me. I stay in my seat, desperately thinking of anything but him, until at long last the bell rings.