Snowbaz one shots!

Unknown reasons

The sun was setting over Watford School of Magicks, casting long shadows across the grounds and painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Most students were already inside, finishing homework or gathering in the common rooms to relax before curfew. But outside, near the edge of the enchanted forest, two figures stood beneath a cluster of trees, locked in what could only be described as a reluctant standoff.

Simon Snow, the Chosen One, was pacing back and forth, the soles of his well-worn shoes crunching on the fallen leaves. His messy blond hair was even more disheveled than usual, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists as if trying to decide whether he should draw his wand or just start shouting.

On the other side of the clearing, Baz Pitch stood leaning casually against a tree, the very picture of cool indifference. His black hair, slicked back and perfectly in place, contrasted with his pale, sharp features. His dark uniform seemed almost to blend into the evening shadows, and his expression was one of barely concealed amusement.

"Snow," Baz drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're going to wear a hole in the ground if you keep pacing like that. Is there a point to this little... ambush of yours, or are you just here to provide me with some entertainment?"

Simon stopped in his tracks, glaring at Baz with all the intensity he could muster. "I know you're up to something, Baz," he snapped, jabbing a finger in his rival's direction. "I saw you sneaking out of the tower last night. You think I don't notice when you disappear like that?"

Baz raised an eyebrow, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his lips. "Oh, please," he said, pushing off the tree and taking a step forward. "If I were really up to something nefarious, do you think I'd let you catch me?"

Simon's face turned red, his wand hand twitching as if he were itching to cast something—anything—to wipe that infuriating smirk off Baz's face. "You're hiding something," he insisted, trying to keep his voice steady. "You always are. And I'm going to find out what it is."

Baz sighed, rolling his eyes. "Snow, do you ever get tired of playing the hero? You don't even know what you're accusing me of, do you? What, exactly, do you think I'm plotting? A dark ritual? A coup to overthrow the Mage? Or perhaps I'm just sneaking out to meet my vampire brethren under the light of the full moon?"

Simon's eyes narrowed. "I know you're a vampire, Baz. I'm not stupid."

Baz's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, and Simon caught it. "So that's what this is about?" Baz said, his voice turning colder, like the air had dropped a few degrees. "You think you've figured me out, do you? What, are you going to turn me in to the Mage, then?"

For a moment, Simon was thrown off balance. He had imagined this confrontation so many times in his head, had pictured all the ways it would end—with him triumphant and Baz exposed as the villain Simon always suspected him to be. But now, standing here, facing Baz's cold, unreadable eyes, he found himself hesitating.

"I just want to know what you're up to," Simon muttered, the fire in his voice dimming to a flicker. "You're always sneaking around, always looking at me like you know something I don't. And... I can't figure you out. It's like you're playing some game that only you know the rules to."

Baz stared at him for a long moment, his dark eyes searching Simon's face as if trying to read something in his expression. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a sharp, humorless sound that sent a shiver down Simon's spine.

"Oh, Snow," Baz said quietly, stepping closer. "If you knew half the things I think about when I look at you, it would keep you up at night."

Simon's breath caught in his throat. The way Baz was looking at him now—intense, almost hungry—made his pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. For a second, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the evening shadows closing in around them like a curtain.

But then Baz took a step back, the mask of indifference slipping back into place. "But don't worry," he added, his voice back to its usual mocking tone. "I'm sure your little brain couldn't handle it."

"Bastard," Simon muttered under his breath, but there was no heat behind the insult. Instead, there was something else—something he didn't quite understand.

Baz turned on his heel, clearly done with this conversation. "I'd suggest you get back to your dorm before curfew, Snow. You wouldn't want to get in trouble for being out here after dark, would you?"

But as he walked away, leaving Simon standing in the clearing with a million questions still swirling in his mind, Baz allowed himself a small, secret smile. The truth was, Simon Snow might never understand the real reason Baz was always watching him. It had nothing to do with plotting or schemes.

It was simply that Baz couldn't take his eyes off him.

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I hope y'all liked it!

-Zeph