Chamber by Chamber // Snowbaz

Suffocation

Otp Prompt #26: It's eighth year and Simon doesn't understand what he and Baz... are to each other, anymore. A confrontation ensues.

~ For @TKay_on_fire I hope I did okay. Enjoy! ~

*Simon's POV*

"Do you really think the merewolves are out to get you?" I ask Baz, a grin spreading on my face.

We had been walking back from the Wavering Wood (from different places, of course), Baz walking swiftly in front of me to avoid contact when it happened. He was crossing the bridge, just a few steps ahead of me when a merewolf leaped out of the bloody water, soaking Baz. Of course, instead of helping him, I stood there, doubled over with laughter as the merewolves tugged him about and he cussed me out. Of course, he didn't need to ask me for help. He got out of it just fine himself, and came back out on the bridge, all of his uniform clinging to his figure. (I ignored the feeling of my blood rushing from my toes up.) But he spelled it right quickly and we walked the rest of the way up to Mummers, him complaining about the merewolves the whole way there.

"No," He grumbles, toweling off his hair. (He had taken a shower right when we got back- said he s'posed he smelled like the filthy scum in the lake.) He peers out of our window now, looking down at the bridge and merewolves in the water under it. "I just think they aren't particularly fond of me, Snow-" He leans out and spits down at them. "And the feeling is bloody mutual!" He yells. It's so odd seeing him losing his composure like this when he usually keeps so cool. His hair falls in lazy waves, framing his face, and I wish he'd wear it like that more often. It suits him.

"Well you don't seem to be fond of them, either." I state simply, drawing out a quirk of an eyebrow from him.

"Don't be a prat," He says, wearing an infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Of course I'm not fond of them. But I don't go out of my way to harm them."

"Right. That's reserved for me," He gives me an odd look.

"Precisely, Snow." He settles on his bed and I do the same across from him. Things have been... oddly calm between us lately. He hasn't seemed to be plotting as much (Penny says maybe I'm just becoming less paranoid) and we haven't fought as much, either. (Penny also says things with the families have started calming, which might have something to do with it.) We even have a bloody smile every so often, now. And it feels- well it feels right odd, yeah? Because there will be times like this, when he would have cursed me for just talking to him, and I would've gone off as soon as he called me a prat. But now? It seems as though our conversations have had less bite. And I want to know why.

"Y'know, we could go down sometime and tell them to bloody back off," He furrows his brow at me and I hastily add, "Even if it is funny when they make you fall flat on your arse." I smile a bit, testing the waters. Baz scoffs and looks at me like I've grown another head.

"Why?" He spits and glares at me. (Are we already back to this?) I stumble over my words, looking for a reason other than because you tit, I want to know if we're friends now.

"Well, erm- I s'pose I thought that maybe we, um- I mean... because if you want-"

He cuts me off with an eye roll. "Sure, Snow," He smirks again. "We'll go talk. To the merewolves. Together. Sounds like a grand old time." His words carry an edge to them, like he's teasing me.

I have to resist the urge to move over to his bed when I say, "Baz?" Softly, like maybe I'll break him. (Maybe he's already broken.) (Maybe we're already broken.)

He looks over at me lazily, his eyebrow raised to his hairline. "Yes, tosser?" I can't help but feel heat rise to my skin and the oxygen steadily leaving my lungs. Maybe I'm suffocating. (Maybe he's suffocating me now, with only just a look. He has the power to.)

"What are we?" I breathe, sitting at the edge of my bed, holding his gaze even though I want to look away. He sits up on the edge of his bed, mirroring me. He looks pale. (Paler than usual, anyway.)

"Pardon?" He asks, drawling his voice.

"What are we?"

*Baz's POV*

I'm suffocating at the hands of Simon Snow. He's stealing my air- ripping it right from my lungs with three words. He's sitting there, facing me, after we just had a conversation about the fucking merewolves, asking me what we are. I'll admit- things have been different, lately. It's been a bit tedious, our relationship balancing precariously on a line between enemies and friends. (How I desperately want it to be more. So, so much more.)

I play dumb. "We? You'll have to clarify Snow, you're not always clear in your inarticulate ways. Who... is we?" I have to steel myself to stop my words from quivering. He looks at me dumbly, like maybe I'm the bloody chav that could barely pass first year. Do I blame him? No. Do I hate him? Yes. Do I love him? Also fucking yes.

He shakes his head as he holds my eyes, saying, "Us, Baz - you and me - we. What... what are we?" The air is sucked from the room and there is no explanation for why I am still breathing, other than the simple fact that Simon gives me life as he takes it.

It takes everything in me to scoff instead of spitting on him. And then licking it off and kissing him and telling him I love him. (Because I'm disturbed. Ask anyone.) "We are enemies, Snow. It's always been that w-"

"Bullshit." He tugs at his hair and stands up. And because I don't like being shorter than him (and because I'm weak), I stand to face him, bringing us closer than we were before. (Curse the bloody close proximities of our beds.)

"Excuse me, Sn-"

"You heard me. Bull-bloody-shit." I shake my head like I don't understand.

"Pardon my inability to comprehend what you're saying. We are enemies indeed, Snow. Always have been. Always will be."

*Simon's POV*

I don't understand why it's so important to me for this answer to be anything but enemies. (Penny would - will - likely have something to say about it, but she's not my focus now.) I also don't know why I keep calling his bluff when he tells me outright that he still considers us enemies- but I have trouble believing that when things have been so... so good, lately.

"I don't think that's true, Baz." I take a step closer to him.

"Don't be daft," He pauses for a moment as he thinks, face changing (softening) only just so much that I can tell. (P'raps because I know every curve of his face from watching him plot all these years.) "What else would we be?"

I don't remember moving my hand. I'm not even bloody aware that I'm doing it until it takes Baz's hand, turning it over to face his palm up. I look down at our hands while he still looks at me. His hands are rough and calloused and surprisingly shaky as I trace the lines in his palm with my fingers. (To my surprise, he hasn't hit me yet. And I don't think he's going to. I might be right dead from the neck up for thinking that. But... I know him. He won't hit me, yet.) When I look back up at his face, he looks scared. (Of what?)

"More." I whisper, simultaneously sure of myself and not sure at all. Suffocating.

"Ex-enemies?" I smile and shake my head, still looking into his eyes. (How have I never noticed the flecks of blue in them before?)

"More," I'm even quieter as I take one step closer. (I don't think he's breathing.) (Am I?)

"Friends?" He's never sounded less sure of himself. Less cocky, more incredulous. Something pulls at my gut when he says 'friends' and I realize, no. Friends is not what I want. Friends has never been what I wanted.

I'm scared he can't even hear me when I get centimeters from his face as he looks down at me and I whisper, "More." But when he kisses me, still unsure, I know he did hear me. But I'm sure. This is what I want.

*Baz's POV*

Cause of death? Suffocation. (In Simon, Simon, Simon.)