A Flat

Simon Scone

Simon's POV:

Baz has been surprising me all week. We've been going to fancy parties, a carnival, we even spent a night on his family's island. Yes, they have an island. Well, it's all been great.

But he's definitely plotting. Tomorrow he's probably going to tell me he's buttered me up to eat me. Or worse, he'll tell me he's leaving to become a real vampire in Transylvania or some place. So, yes. I'm lying next to my boyfriend in the dark, thinking of all the ways he can kill me. Ah, this feels like the old days. Except, now: he's mine. I feel my eyes drooping. Ugh, I roll over to watch him sleep. Still devilishly handsome. I smile, eyelids like led.

-+-

I feel a kiss on my cheek. I swat away my evil villain. If he can't wait until the sun is shining to kill me, I don't know why I'm dating him. I open one eye. It's completely dark in the room. Baz is walking across the room now, his footsteps like thunder. Light floods the room. He must have opened the curtains. Okay maybe the sun is up, like I should be. I rub my eyes, yawning loudly just to annoy him. I can sense an eye roll.

"Good morning, darling," I mutter. That line always makes his breath hitch, and his face go all red. I love seeing him without composure. Though, I rarely get to.

"Good morning, birthday boy," he replies, cocky as ever. Wait.

"Um, it's not my, er, uh, what?" I stutter. I don't have a birthday, well, I do. I just never knew it. Is Baz for real? He must be messing with me. Today's just another day, it's not mine. Nothing's been mine, except him.

"Yes, it is. I did all the paperwork last week. Today's the day Simon was born, my Simon."

"Your what?" I ask, trying to smirk. It comes out instead as a fit of laughter. I don't know why I'm so happy. I've never wanted a birthday, but now that I have one, I'm not so sure.

"Or maybe we should skip the festivities for an ear appointment. You're having those hearing problems again. With hearing me," he retorts. What a good description of everything Baz says. He retorts everything. Heh.

I reach an arm up to the sky. Baz crosses the room in seconds. He hasn't told me all of his powers, but I'm pretty sure he has superspeed. He takes my hand and pulls me up. Ugh, why? He has his other hand behind his back, Hmm, well maybe he was plotting. It has always been my job to find out what he's up to. I stand on my tiptoes, just to look him in the eye. He must love being taller.

I look him in the eye, and press my lips to his. The first time we kissed, I thought the fire was what caused the warmth to spread all the way to my toes. Before I let Basil distract me, I reach behind him to grab.. a slip of paper? I break the kiss, glancing between him and the piece of paper. Mischief lights in his eyes, and he nods for me to unfold it. I do.

A recipe? I study it a bit closer, my eyes growing wider by the second. Aleister Crowley..

"You didn't," I mutter in disbelief, my eyes not leaving the sheet.

"I told you I was friends with Cook Pritchard, did I not?" A smile is creeping cross his face. I force myself to look away from the paper, and up at Baz. I jump up throwing my arms around his neck. "Merlin, Snow. Be more careful," he says, softly. He's petting my hair now. I rest my forehead against his, still smiling like an imbecile. Baz has his arms around my waist. This is nice.

-+-

After an hour of kissing and fluff, we're in the kitchen. Basil can get very, grumpy if he doesn't get his breakfast. And by can, I mean he does. He's magicking us some tea, trying not to put a damper on the mood. I'm staring at the recipe, trying to make sense of the writing that's scrawled across it.

"Baz, can you spell this? I can't read it." He gives me a look. 'S always trying to make me independent. I don't get it. Why would I need to be a Normal if I have my own personal vampire. "It's my birthday, Pitch," I add for good measure. All I receive is an eye roll and a muttering of  ABC, it's easy as 123. I smile up at Baz, he hates that spell. Calls it an American Abomination. The words appear, blazing just like Baz, above the page. This spell is different for everyone, Americans have always been ones for a show. Once, Penelope did it when I was visiting her place over Easter break. The words were written in parchment, cut out like paper dolls.

I go about pulling out the ingredients, quickly so Baz doesn't strain himself. We'll save that for later. 😏

When he lets me fly around the city, of course.