#cruciblefics

i dont know if sams dorm really counts as a flat, but thats what he calls it.

it was funny to see penny all worked up before her birthday. we all knew she would end up in micahs house. she said the weirdest thing was looking in the mirror and seeing micahs face. she took advantage of the opportunity to shave the pancho villa-style mustache he’d been growing out at the time. i think we all secretly thanked her for that one. 

i was almost too scared to go to bed, but i knew it would have to happen someday. i’d heard stories of people who tried to pull all-nighters to try and avoid their soulmate, and it always seemed that they got accidentally knocked out eventually. 

i’d asked sam what would happen if i woke up and it wasn’t him. he said that we’d cross that barrier when we came to it. we decided to sleep in our respective flats as per usual, even though he did come over to celebrate and eat cake with me and penny. 

he kissed me goodnight, and told me that id see him in the morning, winking. 

it took all of my effort to fall asleep. 

when i woke up in sam’s dorm the next morning, id never been more relieved in my life. i jumped out of bed, running around and hoping i wouldnt wake sam’s weird roommate. finally, i decided to check my reflection. i cautiously opened the bathroom door, and closed my eyes. 

“one, two three, four, five…” i breathed. i opened my eyes. and then, i screamed. 

i would recognize my reflection anywhere. baz. 

i brought my eyes up to baz’s mouth. then, his hair. it was as silky as i always thought it would be. all the sudden, sam burst into the bathroom.

“mate, why the bloody fuck are you screaming?” he yawned, “its six in the morning.” sam said, reaching for his toothbrush. 

“no reason… im curious, has that boyfriend of yours called? wasnt he supposed to switch bodies with you this morning?” 

“how did you know about simon’s 21st?” 

“you bought a cake that said ‘happy 21st birthday, simon’” i responded quickly. (nice save, simon). 

“oh, yeah. well, mustve happened already. honestly, he probably went back to sleep as soon as he switched back.” sam said around a mouthful of toothbrush. 

“oh. so you’re not worried?” i said, twiddling with baz’s hair. it was so soft. but his skin was so cold.

“nah.” sam shrugged, leaving the bathroom. 

i twiddled my thumbs until i found myself in my own body again. the whole ordeal of switching bodies was nauseating. 

“PENELOPE BUNCE!” i screamed, stomping through the apartment until i found penny. she was on the couch reading. 

“how’d it go, si?” she winked. 

“i ended up in sam’s dorm.” i hissed. 

“simon, thats so gre-”

“in his roommates body.” i shrieked. her jaw dropped. i swear, the birds stopped chirping too. 

“that’s a twist, simon…” she winced. “are you going to tell sam?”

“well, ive got to, ri-”

ding dong. my heart skipped a beat.

“simon, open up!” sam called. he knocked again. 

i reluctantly opened the door and dodged his kiss. it didnt feel right. nothing felt right. 

“how’d it go? you never called.” sam said, pulling a glass out from one of the cabinets. penny had slunk out of the room. 

“its… sammy, i woke up in the body of your roommate.” 

sam dropped the cup, and the shatter of glass stopped my breath. 

“oh.” he said. i could hear his tears coming. i put my head in my hands. 

“i think… i think i should go, simon. i-you should be with your soulmate.” he said, grabbing his coat. i snatched his arm. 

“sammy-”

“baz is such a good guy, simon. i’ll text you his number, okay? it’s okay, my 21st is in a few months anyways. it’s all going to work out.” he winked, forcing a tear down his face. 

my stomach twisted over when a new number appeared in my inbox later that afternoon. after the number, there was a message.

sammy <3 : good luck, si. by the way, baz is a tough nut to crack. says he’s still in love with his roommate from school, or something. im not at my flat now, if you get my drift

my heart jumped into my throat. 

the number dialed for too long. i almost hung up. i drummed my fingers on my leg, wishing the cabbie would drive faster

“who is this?” baz answered grumpily. he still sounded the same. 

“baz? its simon.” i breathed. i missed him. i did. i know that now. 

“crowley snow, cant a guy live out his life in peace?” baz snorted. 

“baz.” i groaned, “i woke up in your dorm this morning.” i could hear his breath catch. i slammed the cab door. 

“i know. you’re dating my flatmate. didnt know you played for the other team, snow.” he chuckled nervously.

“i didnt wake up in sams body, you arse. you knew i was dating sam?” i ran up the stairs. 

“its why i was never there- you… what?”

“i love you.” i cracked. i had, i think. for a long time. “open the goddamn door, you git.” 

bazs face stared back at me. i think i was crying. i think he was, too. the only sound was the creaking of the door. 

when snow asked me if i was anorexic that christmas eve in my room, i definitely paused a moment. i mean, i wasn’t anorexic, but i did not have great eating habits. i was a vampire, and maybe i didn’t need as much food as other people, or simon the human vacuum cleaner, but i didn’t eat enough. 

it didn’t help that i wasn’t fed a scrap of food in the two months i spent with the numpties, either. when fiona finally found me, she took me right to the nearest mcdonalds and bought the whole goddamned menu. i didnt have the heart to tell her that i threw it all up in the bathroom a half hour later. my body forgot how to handle food. 

until that christmas eve with simon, i hadnt eaten any full meals or much of anything. maybe a biscuit or an apple, here or there. 

i wanted to eat, but i didn’t feel like i deserved it. it was my fault that my mom was dead. it was my fault that my dad would barely acknowledge my presence. 

it wasn’t until one night with snow when i really broke down. we usually stayed fully clothed. or mostly clothed. but tonight, simon was feeling frisky, and he tugged he shirt off over his head. when he got to work on mine, i could feel my stomach lurch. 

was i too pale? 

was i too skinny? 

my torso was weirdly stretched because of my height. 

my hips and ribs were kind of jutting out too… 

my body wasn’t proportional. i didn’t look like any of those boys in the magazines, and i wasnt as muscly or filled out as i had been during the football season at watford. 

i was too tall, and-

“baz? baz, are you okay, love?” i could hear him in the back of my consciousness, buried under the panic and the pressure on my lungs. he sounded like he was under water.

simon crawled off my lap and started smoothing my hair. “darling, whats wrong?” 

“i cant, i look, i cant…” he rubbed a hand on my back and waited for me to come back. when i finally looked into his eyes again (so fucking blue, even in the dark) he looked concerned. he looked like a kicked puppy. 

i felt guilty. i didnt want to hide from him. i didnt want to be the one who made him look that upset, i’d had my fill of that at Watford.

he’d pulled his shirt back on, but i pulled mine off anyways. if i still beat, my heart would be pounding of the walls. 

he didnt say anything for a little while. almost too long. he stared at my chest, and reached a hand out towards me. he didnt touch me, like he was afraid to break me. did i look that paper thin? and then he looked angry. 

“im sorry, simon i-” i didnt want him to be angry with me. i didnt want to make him upset. 

“baz, love, when was the last time you ate anything?” i shrugged, but i could feel the panic rising at the back of my throat. 

“please dont be angry, i just-” i hated the way i sounded, my voice came out in a pathetic whimper. so much for all of those years pretending nothing got to me. 

he shook his head, and pushed my hair back out of my eyes, “im mad at myself, for not noticing sooner.” i kissed the back of his hand. 

“do you want to talk about it?” he asked. i couldnt say no, not when he was looking at me like that. 

he spent the entire night listening to me. i told him everything, and he rubbed my stomach in a weirdly comforting motion. i couldnt help but fall into his touch. 

“i think you should talk to my therapist, baz.”

“si-” 

“and i want to try and help you eat a little more, okay? ill make you breakfast tomorrow.” 

i nodded. i tried to hide the voice that was in the back of my head, but i know he could see it in my eyes. 

“you’re so beautiful, baz.”

-

and he did. he made me breakfast, and i woke up to the sun rising over my golden boyfriend and a plate of burned scones and soggy eggs. it didnt even matter when he got strawberry jam all over my chest (honestly, i think he did it on purpose). 

it was hard not to laugh as he tried to spoon feed me eggs, and it didnt help when penny barged in.

“simon- oh my god, stop licking jam off of baz’s chest long enough for me to yell at you! i just stepped on a raw egg, simon! why did you leave a broken egg on the floor!” 

when penny finally got us out of bed, i noticed the disaster simon made of the kitchen. 

everything wasn’t perfect, and maybe it wouldnt ever be, but it was always getting better, with bunce and my bloody git of a boyfriend.

~

eeekkkk. i hope i handled this okay, i know its a tough subject. body positivity is harddddd man…. if theres anything in here thats wrong in any shape or form or offensive would someone let me know? i dont want to make anyone uncomfortable 

He was staring at me. Those plain, suspicious blue eyes boring into my skull. For the first time in my life, I felt self-conscious in the pool. Especially wearing my cap (my hair was just too long to swim without one—I tried it once and it got in my mouth and I couldn't breathe—it’s horrific). The pool at Watford -however freezing and over-chlorinated- was always my safe place. Nobody could get me here, nobody could beat me here. I mean, I held the school record for the 500 and the 200.

I started swimming after Mum died. She’d always wanted me to swim when I was little, and brought me to all sorts of lessons. I think she loved the sport because Fiona and her swam as kids. She thought I might be good at it, I suppose (she was right). My mom’s name was still on the wall of records. She still holds the school record for the 100 breaststroke. After she died, it was something I threw myself into so I didn't think about her. I just stared at that bloody black line and did laps until I was too exhausted to think about her.

The team at Watford was a bit of a joke. Half the boys here had no idea what they were doing — Snow included. What the bloody fuck was he doing here?

Probably here to impress Wellbelove. They’d been on-again off-again for two years, because Wellbelove couldn’t see a good thing when she had it. 

I wish he was here to impress me. I’d been in love with the bloody idiot since second year. Living with him was torture. Knowing he was insufferably straight and despised me was unbearable.

I glanced at him over my shoulder as I pulled myself out of the pool. He had the nerve to look angry at me.

I can’t wait to watch him do the ten 50’s. It’ll be laughable. Watching any of the newbies swim is always fun. Coach can't cut any of them, though — we still never have enough. If they all stay, we’ll have enough boys to properly compete this year. As much as I don't want to watch Snow parade around in a fucking speedo, I need him to stay.

I compete at home over the summer, and the first year I joined at Watford we had enough boys to compete, but then all our eighth years graduated.

I walked back out of the office, and held out Coach’s stopwatch. I could still feel Snow’s eyes on my back as I jumped back into my lane.

I was the first one done with the ten 50s. I sat up on the gutter and watched the newbies flailing. It was laughable, really. A few other returning swimmers joined me in the gutter soon enough. The ten 50s are quite short if you know how to swim.

My eyes drifted to Snow. I could see the muscles in his back shifting with each stroke. If it could be called a stroke: he looked like he was drowning. But he was strong enough that he was powering through the water anyways, like a bloody wrecking ball. I watched him finish into the wall, and Coach called out his time.

I snorted and he whipped around to glare at me. I wonder if he knew he looked more like a pouting first year than anyone remotely intimidating. I smirked, and he flipped me off. He was still red and panting, probably shocked along with everyone else that swimming isn’t easy. 

“What is it with you guys?” Niall asked. I shrugged, but I knew the answer (hatred and unrequited love).

“Congrats! You all made the team.” Coach called out sarcastically, “Now you all have to learn how to swim.”

Coach spent the next hour and a half going over the strokes. 

Despite it feeling ridiculous to relearn the basics, I always loved the first practice. Being in the pool again was refreshing, and it wasn’t hard enough yet for me to remember how much I hated it. I grabbed my gear bag and followed the other boys into the locker room to shower off. The Watford pool had obnoxious levels of chlorine.

~

I was halfway across the courtyard when he grabbed my shoulder, and spun me around.

“Crowley, Snow—”

“Since when do you swim?” He asked.

He was out of breath. Did he run across the whole courtyard? He should cut back on those scones he’s always shoveling into his mouth, I’m surprised Bunce hasn’t scolded him yet. “What?”

“Since when?” He asked again. Truly the most impatient, insufferable person I’ve ever met. 

“First year, Snow.” How in the world hadn't he noticed? He might as well have stalked me for all of fifth year (the one time he was patient, following me around campus all damn night).

“Why?” He looked genuinely confused. Like a lost puppy. It would be endearing if his bronze curls weren’t sopping wet and flat, plastered to the sides of his face. It took all of my self-control not to laugh at him or kiss him. Maybe introduce him to a hair dryer.

“Excuse me?”

“You play football. Why do you swim too?”

“None of your fucking business, Snow.” I snapped. He shrugged, I wondered for a second how Bunce had a conversation with someone so fluent in shrugging, but she talks enough for the both of them. 

“Can you teach me?”

“To swim?”

“Yes. Baz, will you please teach me to swim?” He looked like the act of begging me for help was going to make him sick.

“Why? Is this for Wellbelove? Are you lovebirds on the fritz yet again?” I mused. The thought of him and Wellbelove together made me ill.

“Yes. She broke up with me last spring. Surely you of all people remember.” I did remember, I was out on the football pitch when Wellbelove came to hit on me (again). I could spy Snow still in the stands out of the corner of my eye, so I grabbed her hands in my own and humoured her. I could at least pretend the jealousy in his eyes had been for me.

Snow didn't speak to me the rest of that year. It was impressive—not that we ever spoke often. But he didn't rise to a single taunt I threw at him.

“I’m sure you’ll work it out.” They always did. Everybody knew they were going to end up together. She was his golden destiny, I was going to run into them at the club someday, and Wellbelove would chase around their blue-eyed, golden-haired children, and Snow would follow her around and—

“So?” Was he always this impatient? No wonder Bunce is crazy.

“What?”

“Will you teach me how to swim?” Snow, alone with me, in a pool? It was like one of my fucking fifth year fantasies.

I couldn't help myself.

“Sure, Snow. Why the hell not.” I rolled my eyes. He beamed, and walked the rest of the way back to our dorm with me.  

“You need to join some kind of team this year Simon, for uni applications!” Penny nudged me. School had only started two weeks ago, and Penny was already all over me about uni.

I didn’t want to think about leaving Watford. It was my favorite place. It was the perfect escape from my ass of a father, and the run down apartment he called home. Every summer I waited until it was time to go back to school. I tried not to think about my friends, Penny and Agatha, because then time would go slower. Just to tease me. I mean, I hoped Agatha and I would still be friends. We haven’t spoken since she broke up with me last spring.

Watford also had the best food in the world. I have to find Cook Pritchard and beg her to teach me to make those cherry scones.

I snorted. “Oh yeah, and what team are you joining?”

Penny had decided this year was the year I’d actually have to do stuff. She’d been worried about uni since we were seven, talking about being class president and running this club and that. Now she was class president, and she ran half the clubs at Watford. On top of that, she somehow got all of her homework done. I still wasn’t quite sure how.

And now she wanted to join a sport.

“The volleyball team, with Agatha. I told you that!”

“I don’t play sports, Penny.”

“C'mon, Simon, there’s got to be some team you can join! What about boys volleyball?”“No-”“Track-”“They’re crazy, they run. Willingly. No.”“Football?”“Baz plays football-” How many times will she be able to roll her eyes before they get stuck in her head? I can’t be on a team with Baz. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Bloody perfect git: best grades, best athlete, best violinist, best hair, best with the girls. They all want Baz. Even Agatha was into him, I was pretty sure she’d dumped me because she wanted Baz. I saw her on the pitch with him one night, about a week before we broke up. He was holding her hands.

I never did figure out why Baz didn’t just take Agatha up on her offer. I’m damn sure he’s into her too. Even if he wasn’t he’d do it to spite me, the arse. Maybe his waiting game is some kind of plot. He’s always plotting my downfall. His flirting games with Agatha are part of it, part of his plot for my demise.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that he’s also my bloody roommate.

“Golf?”“Penny, golf is lame-”“Micah plays golf-”“Micah is lame- Ow! Merlin, Penny…” I complained, she punched my shoulder with that bloody ring on her finger. “It’s an heirloom, Simon.” She’d said.

Penny pulled yet another announcement flyer out of thin air. “What about the swim team?”“We have a swim team?” I knew Watford had a pool, but I didn’t think they actually did anything with it. Sometimes they did open swimming, I think. Agatha liked to go swim sometimes.

“Yeah.”“Penny, I can’t just up and join the swim team, are you crazy? I don’t know how to swim.” I’ve seen the Olympics, they do all different stuff. I can barely doggie paddle.

She waved the flyer in my face, as if I could read it when it’s three centimeters from my nose. “It says the team is no cut! C'mon, how many boys can you imagine are actually trying out for the swim team?” She mused, shoving the flyer into my hands, and turning into her class (advanced something or other). “Think about it.” I made it to my latin class three minutes late. Mino was staring at me expectantly, so I just shrugged. I was always late for latin. I still hadn’t quite figured out how Baz made it from our room to this class on time. It was literally the farthest classroom in the farthest building on campus. I took a seat. The only one left was next to Baz. Figures no one would want to sit next to the arse.

I mean, he only had two friends, really. Some days I almost felt bad for him, but then I realized I only have two friends, if Agatha is even still my friend.

-I must’ve stared at the flyer for too long, because somehow I ended up on the pool deck, sitting on a damp bench with a ton of other guys. I think about half were here for the hell of it, like me. The coach was taking names and giving directions. “Newbies in the last lanes. Pretend you know what you’re doing, will you?” Someone dove into the first lane. Whoever it was obviously knew what they were doing, they had fancy-looking goggles and a cap thing on their head. They were all lean muscle. All the boys who were actually swimmers had knee length, skin tight suits. I didn’t realize people actually wore those. Coach Mino (latin teacher by day, swim coach by night) pointed all of us to a box of suits by the equipment room (what kind of equipment do they use for swimming? Don’t you just go up and down the pool?).

I had no idea what size suit to grab. I just grabbed the first one I could get my hands on, and followed the rest of the boys back into the locker room.

I must’ve grabbed a size too small, because the suit was fucking tight. I felt exposed.

Once we’d all changed, we were forced to actually get in the water. I’d forgotten we’d actually have to get in. I’d been hoping we wouldn’t the first practice, really. None of us said much. All of the returning guys were laughing and joking around. Probably at our expense (I would, if I were in their shoes).

And it was bloody freezing. Figures they wouldn’t bother to heat a pool no one uses.

“We’re still doing a try out. Everyone’s going to swim ten 50’s, with ten seconds rest in between each. I’ll record your times and average them. You’ll be assigned cruise interval lanes depending on how fast you go.”Gareth tapped my shoulder, “What the fuck does that mean?”

I shrugged.

“Pitch, would you grab my stopwatch, it’s in the office.”

“Sure thing.”

12.“Anything else?” Simon called down the hall, the door propped half open by his tail.

“Shut the damn door, Simon, it’s freezing out!” Penny complained from the couch. Simon couldn’t understand why she enjoyed reading all those textbooks. He could’ve sworn she wasn’t even taking half those classes, but she was taking notes anyways.

“Can you stop by the butchers?” Baz asked sheepishly, shuffling his feet, peeking his head out of the bathroom. Simon tried his very best to keep Baz as full as possible (tried), because Baz blushing was quite possibly one of his favorite things to see (Simon imagined he’d be blushing right now).

“Sure, darling.” Simon also loved the look Baz got on his face when he called him ‘darling.’ It quite the opposite of Penny’s expression, Simon could see her rolling her eyes in his peripheral vision, with those huge glasses that kept slipping down her nose. Surely someone as smart as her would think to just spell them to her face or something.

Baz had once admitted to Simon that being called “darling” was one of his favorite fantasies from their time at Watford (Simon quite liked all of Baz’s fantasies).

It always made Simon feel even more oblivious when he thought about it (his therapist had told him he had to start thinking about things, it wasn’t ‘a healthy coping mechanism,’ or something). Maybe if he had spent more time thinking, he could’ve figured Baz out sooner. Anytime was better than never, he mused, watching Baz emerge shirtless from the bathroom. “God, Basil! Put some clothes on!” Penny moaned instantly.

Simon had been in desperate need of some scones, because someone (Baz) ate the last one while Simon was at work. And then Penny had started complaining because Simon drank the last of the milk, and they were all out of eggs, so Simon was somehow cajoled by the two of them to run down to the market at 9:30 on a snowy Wednesday night. Baz was lucky that Simon thought he was cute, the git. “Take my jacket, you idiot, it’s freezing!” Baz rolled his eyes, tugging his jacket around Simon’s shoulders. Simon resisted the sudden urge to smell it, he already knew it would smell like Baz—like cedar and bergamot (and maybe a little bit like Simon after this afternoon).

Simon laughed as Baz dragged him in by the worn collar, lips meeting in the middle. Baz was quite the drama queen, putting on another show for Penny, but Simon decided he didn’t mind. Not one bit. “Merlin, get a room!” Penny complained. Simon knew she’d be just as bad if Micah were here. So Baz just sneered at her, and Simon laughed at her tired expression.

He pulled the door shut behind him, and took a moment to smell the cedar and bergamot and Baz. 

14. 

(Baz’s POV) I heard him behind me, screaming “Can I have this dance?” like a bloody idiot over the damn club music. That was the first time he said it. The second time was five seconds later, when he tapped me on the shoulder, “Can I have this dance!?” I jumped so hard I spilled my drink. All down his shirt. I couldn’t help but laugh. Hysterically. For about a minute. He was laughing too, the gorgeous golden boy with the tawny hair and the moles and the blue blue eyes. He was also sopping wet now, so I dragged him out of the crowd to clean him up. My head was still pounding from the music, and I wondered how someone could work here everyday and not go deaf. “There you go,” I said, handing him back a semi-dry, red-stained shirt (at least it wasn’t a nice shirt, how the hell did a boy like him get into an upscale club like this anyways?) He frowned, “You still owe me a dance…?”“Baz.” I supplied. “Baz. You still owe me a dance, Baz.” I laughed more that night than I had in months. *** The third time he said it was Christmas. Our first Christmas, in his loft, with his roommate Penny groaning in the background. His eyes twinkled mischievously, holding out what could only be assumed to be a hand under his too-big jumper, “Can I have this dance?” I spent most of my time in Simon’s loft that winter, dancing with the blue-eyed prince that turned my world upside-down (Penny only threatened to move out 64 times, which I think was a record season for her). ***The fourth time he asked was the day he found me in the middle of an empty room, staring at the ugly pink walls and the purple trim. It looked like someone had let Penny choose the color scheme (which was a bad idea, if our last trip to Penny and Micah’s was anything to go by). Simon’s sense of style wasn’t much better, if his red-stained shirt was anything to go by. “Can I have this dance?” He asked, holding out a hand, pulling me up from the dusty ground. I laughed as we danced around boxes, unpacking our old things and unboxing new stuff for our first apartment. We pretended that we had music, spinning in circles until Simon tripped over a box. It was only a twisted ankle, but Simon demanded I “carry him across the threshold” anyways after a quick trip to A&E. ***The fifth time was my turn, and I turned to that tawny skinned, blue-eyed, suit-laden boy, and asked “Can I have this dance?” He beamed as bright as the ring glittering on his finger, taking my hand. For once, Penny didn’t moan. She did cry, and record the whole thing. 

(Apparently first dances are a big deal).