Snowbaz: You don't have to answer

You don't have to answer

Baz

It was getting harder and harder to live with my secret.

It wasn't that I wanted to tell Simon that I was in love with him. As far as I was concerned, it was just as well that Simon would never find out. But it isn't easy being in love with your enemy.

Sometimes, when I was leaning against his headboard attempting to study for Politics or some other class, and Snow would walk out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his head, or even just be doing homework on his bed, I couldn't help but watch and ponder. What would happen if I shoved my books aside, pushed Snow up against the wall, and started kissing him? There was a small part of me that thought Snow would whisper finally and kiss me back, mirroring my own lust.

There were so many things wrong with that, though. Snow was straight, wrapped around Wellbelove's finger—oh yeah, and he hated me. It was an obsessive hatred, one that drove him to follow me and keep track of everything I did, but hatred all the same.

If I watched Snow for too long, surely he would notice, and then I would have to talk to him and pretend to hate him, and honestly, it was exhausting. So I would sigh and go back to my schoolwork. It was the same every night. Always wondering, knowing the entire time that it would never go anywhere.

That's probably why I was hesitating outside of the dorm room, at the top of Mummers house. Simon would be in there, probably eating a box of sweets that the Wellbeloves sent him back with. He'd stayed with them the past six Christmas holidays, and most likely did the same this year. I made a point of not talking to him before the break. What would I have said?

I sighed and pushed the door open, dragging his suitcase behind him into the room. But it was empty.

I had never had the room to myself before. Simon always came back before me. I suppose it was nice, though, so I set to unpacking, positive that Snow would be back to torture me before the sun set that evening.

Simon

"You kids ready to head back to school?" Dr. Wellbelove asked, leaning on the doorframe of Agatha's bedroom. Agatha was on her bed reading one of her Muggle romance books, and I was on the floor, leaning against her bed, trying to tie my shoelaces using magic. Stitch me up was a simple spell, but, of course, it had never worked for me.

Agatha had tried to get me to sit on the bed with her when we first came in, but I refused, even when she batted her eyelashes at me. "I don't want to take advantage of your parents' trust," I insisted. Agatha pursed her lips and muttered "Fine," before pulling her book out. That was nearly an hour ago, and we hadn't spoken since. Something about Agatha flirting has always made me uncomfortable. We'd been dating for two years, but we had only kissed once, and it was after I had nearly been killed by Baz's chimera. It was awkward, and something I hadn't once thought about repeating.

When I heard the doctor's voice, I shoved my wand into the front pocket of my hoodie and got to my feet. "Of course," I said, politely. I preferred to beat Baz back to school and have some time to myself, but it was past dinnertime now, and there would be no chance of that now. I wouldn't say that to the Wellbeloves, though. It was nice enough of them to have me for the holidays every year.

It was dark on the campus when we finally pulled up at Watford. We thanked Agatha's mum and got our suitcases out of the trunk, and set out on the snowy path to the dorms.

"Here's me," I said when they reached Mummer's house, finally breaking the silence. Even though I knew Baz was upstairs, probably already getting ahead in his coursework, flaunting some fancy new clothes from his parents, I was anxious to get to my room.