The Key to My Heart (Or to Baz's Diary)

The Little Blue Book

Simon

I practically rip the door off its hinges when I return to my room, ignoring Baz's shooting glares. My books hit the floor next to my bed before I throw myself on to it.

"What's with the pissy mood, Snow?" Baz mocks. I don't need to hear that prick's voice right now. If only he'd shut up for once-

"I don't want you leaving trails of your shit around this room, Snow. Are you going to be picking that up any time soon?" He gestures to the textbooks I have sprawled all over the floor. I give him a vulgar gesture before storming into the bathroom, making a point of slamming the door behind me.

I open the bathroom door again just enough to poke my head through- "Fuck off Baz, I'll pick that up when I feel like it." -before slamming it shut once again. Can't I have a moments peace? He makes me want to explode sometimes. All the time.

I sink back against the door, and it isn't long before the tears start flowing. I do my best to stifle them with my arm. Agatha just ended it with me. Sure, it was only a matter of time. I could tell I wasn't enough for her, that I would never be enough. It was only a matter of time before she decided to let me of the hook. Because it was all borrowed time.

As I lean my head against the door, I start to cry harder when I think of how amused Baz must be feeling right now. I hope he can hear me, because at this point I've completely given up on trying to hide the sobs racking my body.

I'll never be a good enough boyfriend.

Baz

Simon makes it really hard for me to keep up this bitchy act. He's made it hard for years.

I stopped reading, putting down the book in my hand the second I picked up on the crying coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

I'd say something to mock him, to make him feel bad, because that's what I do when I feel vulnerable. When Simon makes my heart beat faster with how much I'm in love with him. Except the sobs that started out quietly, and are getting progressively louder, make my heart crack for him.

So I don't say anything. I figure he'll be in there for a while letting out everything he's been holding in. Then he'll take some more time to clean off his face and the tears I can imagine running down his cheeks, before finally coming out of that bathroom.

Instead I pull out the little blue book I have tucked underneath my bed. Then I reach for the key tucked under my mattress. I unlock the book and flip through some of my older entries. One could call this a diary, but it's only a place I like to jot my thoughts down onto.

I pause on a page from sixth year, making sure Simon is still crying before speaking.

"Having fun in there, Snow?" I feel like the biggest dick in the world when the crying subsides for a minute, then starts up again, but louder. I didn't think I'd have to say anything, but somehow with this book in my lap, I'm feeling like an animal backed into a corner.

It's my heart resting on my lap. One that Simon could very much flip through and read like a book. Crowley, he can read my heart like a book. So I mocked him. To keep him in there for just a little bit longer.

I stopped on this page because I'd written about Simon. Almost like every page in this book isn't already about Simon. Described on the page is a day when I remember breaking down in the catacombs. The only place where I can find any sort of privacy. Simon was the only thing in my head. The only thing I was capable of thinking about. I cried my eyes out that night.

Two years ago. That's when I'd written this. I lock the book and tuck it back under my bed. Reading what went through my head that night was hard. I'd stopped on this page because of the beautiful boy on the other side of the bathroom door. I don't know why he's crying, and Crowley knows he'll never tell me why.

It's good to know I'm not the only one, though.

Simon

I must've been in here for forty five minutes. Cried for a good thirty. Now I'm sitting on the cold tile floor, thinking. I have to let it go. It'll do me no good to keep thinking about everything I did wrong, everything I didn't do right.

But Baz is sitting out there, and I don't want to have to face him. Because he brings out the worst in me. I don't want to be mocked. Reminded of everything I'm doing my best to forget.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I open the door and make my way to the bed, my face still looking like a mess. I don't dare look over at Baz, though out of the corner of my eye I can tell he's watching me.

I lie down and stare up at the ceiling, my head clear for once. "Finished crying, sunshine?"

I can't take it. With Baz it's like flipping a switch. Especially when I'm feeling shitty as is. The tears come like I wasn't just crying for thirty minutes straight. But this time I'm angry. Blinded by rage. Can't Baz let me live my life in peace for a day? He knows I'm pissed.

"Can't you just leave me alone!?" I yell. I don't even make a move to wipe the tears from my face. Let him see me like this. Broken and angry and alone, with him still choosing to make me feel like shit.

"You're not helping!" I continue to yell. "I feel like crap, Baz! I don't care what you have to say to me, I don't want to have to listen to you! Fucking leave me alone!"

There are so many emotions swirling through my mind, that I'm lost when Baz gets up and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. I would be wondering where he's going--it's the dead of night--but I'm pissed and couldn't care less.

I don't even dwell on the fact that it's so unlike Baz to actually listen to what I say, let alone do it without a tinge of bitchiness.

I'm angry. That's how I find myself throwing the sheets off of my bed, emptying my drawers along with Baz's, throwing clothes around the room with all of my strength. Screaming at nothing. Screaming at myself and how stupid I am.

I kick at everything I've thrown across the room, punch the wall, my pillow, the bed. I don't care that Baz will kill me when he comes back. I flip my mattress and hurl it across the room as far is it will go.

Suddenly I stop. The extent of everything that I've done hits me. The lamplight illuminates my shadow on the wall. I pause, trying to regulate my breathing, currently erratic with the adrenaline of turning our room upside down.

My eyes roam over the floor, the beds, the drawers, the destruction that I've made. I realize that Baz might do a lot more than just kill me. He's going to be furious. It's a goddamn miracle that I haven't gone off, that the room wasn't set aflame.

I continue to scan the room. The floor is nothing short of a disaster. I start to pick up some of the clothes, dropping them on to my bed, now without a mattress. The clothes that Baz and I wear are nothing short of really similar. Mostly consisting of our Watford uniforms and a couple of pairs of boxers and socks. The only thing that'll help me differentiate who's are who's things are the size differences between us.

This is going to take a lot longer than one night to fix. I scan the floor again. Suddenly my eyes catch on baby blue sticking out from underneath Baz's bed. It's none of my business, but I figure that I'm already a dead man walking, so I pull it out.

It's a... book? But it's got a gold lock on the side. What the hell? Baz keeps a diary?