#*row

Baz hated soulmates. He hated all the couples walking around Watford with their cute little hearts scribbled on skin, mirrored on the other person. He hated that he knew who his soulmate was. And he hated most of all that he could never have him.

Baz had done extensive research trying to learn about the magic behind soulmate links. He couldn’t find out how to reverse it. He couldn’t find out how to reset it. But he did find a few old articles and papers of one-sided soulmates and Baz realized very quickly that once again he fell in with the less than one percent. The unfortunate ones.  

When Baz was little, before his mum died, soulmates were his favorite thing. His mom and dad would write each other little messages on their arms and Baz dreamed of doing the same thing someday. He would doodle on his arm and write messages to his soulmate, but they never wrote back. His mum said that his soulmate must’ve just missed them.

Baz later found out in his third year of Watford that all of his embarrassing doodles and notes had ended up on the arm of none other than his sworn enemy (and roommate). 

He’d decided to write a note on his arm, after 8 years of religiously keeping his skin clean. When it appeared on Snow, sleeping five feet away, Baz rubbed it off his skin until his arm was raw.

He never so much as traced a message on his arm again. Snow never found out.

~ Eighth Year ~

“Hey Baz?” Snow whispered into the dark.

Baz glanced at his alarm clock. 1 am. “Go to sleep, Snow,” he grumbled at the idiotic blonde on the opposite side of the room.

Baz could only make out his head and wild curls peeking out of the blankets in the faint moonlight of the fucking window Snow insisted they keep open year-round, even in the winter. Especially in the winter. As if Baz wasn’t already cold enough being a bloody fucking vampire.

“Who’s your soulmate?” Snow asked, persisting. As stubborn as a brick wall, with equivalent social skills. Baz tried to ignore the way his breath caught at the question.

“Excuse me?” Baz turned over to face Snow. He prayed the darkness would hide his eyes. They’d give him away in an instant. His trained apathy was useless at one in morning.  

“Well, haven’t you ever written your soulmate?” He gestured at Baz’s arm.

“No.” Baz snapped, “have you?” he couldn’t help himself.

Snow stayed silent a moment and stared at the floor between them, “no… Agatha keeps asking me to try it. She wants to know whether we’re really meant to be together.”

“Then just doodle on your goddamn skin, Snow.” Baz said, turning his back towards Snow again and hoping Snow would drop the conversation.

“I don’t want it to not work,” he whispered, “what if it doesn’t work?”

He sounded heartbroken. Baz’s lifeless heart lurched at the thought. He’d never let himself dream that Snow could ever be his soulmate back. Because Snow was straight. Because they were enemies. Because nothing ever really seemed to work out in Baz’s favor. So Snow had to be Wellbelove’s soulmate, and she had had to be Snow’s.

“Then she’s not your bloody soulmate. Write on your damn skin already, I’m sure she’s your soulmate. The golden couple of Watford, happily ever after.”

Snow’s face turned red at that, “shut up.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Baz snorted. Snow could never clapback. Talking wasn’t really his thing. Neither were spells. Or anything having to do with words, in general. Poor Bunce. Poor Wellbelove.

***

Baz wasn’t following Snow. Absolutely not. It was pure coincidence that Snow and Wellbelove didn’t notice Baz sitting a few feet behind them on the Great Lawn, reading his history assignment.

And Baz would’ve left, but he didn’t have the willpower.

“Agatha, I think I’m ready to try writing on my arm.”

“Fucking finally, Simon. You made such a big deal out of it for nothing.” Snow shrugged sheepishly at her words. He pulled a pen (Baz’s pen, his good pen, wanker must’ve stolen from his desk) and rolled up his sleeve.

He glanced up at Agatha, who rolled her eyes at his nervous expression. “Just do it, Simon.”

He reluctantly touched the pen to his arm and started writing slowly. Agatha didn’t roll up her sleeve. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

“Did it work? Lemme see it!” Snow reached out and turned over her wrist.

The whole world froze.

“It didn’t work, Simon. I think that means we’re not really meant to be.” Her voice sounded like ice. Baz could hear the blood pounding in Snow’s head. Or maybe it was his own, but he hadn’t been down to the catacombs in awhile.

“But—”

“You already knew it too, Simon.” She left him like that. Crumbled in the grass. Everything was silent, even the birds took a break from their incessant chirping, yielding to the golden boy broken in the grass.

“Fuck!” He shouted, finally. His green, smoky magic was coming off of him in rolling, nauseating waves. A first year twenty meters to Baz’s left threw up. A few third years scattered, trying to get out of Snow’s vicinity. 

Baz left too. He knew he couldn’t watch Snow cry or go off, if he did he would lose it too. And if Snow caught Baz watching him, all of that lose magic would suddenly be concentrated on Baz and chances are it wouldn’t be friendly fire.

***

When Snow finally returned to the room that night, his cheeks were still stained with tears and the chicken-scratch on his arm was scrubbed raw, but still there.

Snow stopped next to Baz’s desk, foot tapping incessantly, “Well. You were wrong, you were wrong, Basilton. For the first time in your bloody perfect life.”

“You’ve still got a soulmate, somewhere. Just write them if you care so much.” Baz rolled his eyes. Snow was a damn mess.

Snow let out a clipped laugh, “Oh yeah? And why don’t you write your soulmate, then? Huh? What’s stopping you?” Snow hissed, throwing his school bag in the direction of his bed. He was burning up. The room was starting to smell like smoke.

“Because.”

“Because? Because?! Give me your fucking arm.” Snow snapped, reaching for Baz.

Baz recoiled from him. “Crowley Snow, calm down!”

“I’ll do it if you do.” Snow bargained, staring intensely at Baz.

“What?”

“I’ll write my soulmate if you write yours. We’re the only freaks in this school too scared to try it, for Christ’s sake.” Snow shrugged. He didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears rolling down his face. Baz was tempted to take it upon himself, but he let them fall to the uneven floorboards instead.

“Deal.” Baz didn’t really have anything left to lose at this point. Maybe Snow would finally take him out of his misery.

“Really?” Snow looked like someone slapped him and took a step back.

Baz smirked, “You’re going to back out of your own deal?”

“I, no—” he got flustered to easily.

“Then let’s get this over with.” Baz snagged a pen off his desk and turned over his wrist. Snow hopped up on Baz’s desk and did the same.

“On three.” Baz mumbled.

“One-”

“Two-”

“Three!” They exclaimed.

Baz drew a heart. He didn’t have anything to say to Snow. He watched Snow’s wrist as if he could see it forming under his sleeve.

Snow sat on Baz’s desk, staring at his opposite wrist intensely for a solid three minutes.

“Snow. Wake up.” Baz shoved him off his desk.

“When are they going to answer me?” He whined.

Baz shrugged, and made moves to exit the room. “I don’t bloody well know, Snow.”

“What did you write?” Baz blushed and held out his wrist.

“Oh, Merlin. That’s so much better than mine.” Snow mumbled. Baz grabbed Snow’s wrist, not surprised by the atrocious “HI” scrawled there.

Baz snorted as Snow shoved him the rest of the way out of the room.

***

Baz didn’t noticed it until he stepped into the shower. The atrocious, adorable, chicken-scratch “HI” scrawled on his wrist. His breath caught. It couldn’t be.

Or it could. The pounding on the bathroom door sounded like a fucking sledgehammer.

“Basilton fucking Pitch open the door! OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR!” Snow screamed. Baz scrambled out of the shower and tugged on his robe. He unlocked the door hesitantly and it creaked open painfully slowly, to reveal one very red, angry Simon Snow.

And then he charged.

“Anath-” Baz’s protests were silenced by Snow’s lips on his.

Snow backed Baz up against the sink, gripping Baz’s hips underneath white-knuckled fingers.

“Why did you keep it from me the whole time?” Snow panted, taking a half-step back, just enough to look up into Baz’s eyes. His hands were still tight on Baz’s hips and Baz’s hand dropped from Simon’s hair to his cheek.

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me Pitch, you knew this whole goddamned time.” Simon muttered, tracing circles on Baz’s stomach.

“I thought it was one sided. You were with Agatha four hours ago.”

“It’s not one sided. I just needed help figuring it out.” Simon mumbled, playing with them hem of Baz’s shirt. He wouldn’t look up, but Baz could see the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Idiot.” Baz rolled his eyes, and Simon reached up for another kiss.

~

feedback welcome! ngl this is probably shit im sorry… sorry for any mistakes