Watford's Secret Songwriters - Snowbaz

Secrets Should Stay That Way

Simon

If there were anyone that I could never trust a secret with at Watford, it would have to be Baz. I don't what would happen if I ever told him a secret, probably go off plotting somewhere figuring out a way to use it against me. So that's why what I'm about to do next is a horrible idea. I'm gonna keep a journal. I'm gonna write songs in it.
I don't really know why I decided to do it, probably something Penny told me in passing, I imagine. Why else would I do this? If Baz ever found out that I started writing, let alone songs, in my freetime, he would never let me live it down. He'd be belting out the lyrics I wrote at the top of his lungs in the middle of lunch in the dining hall. That would be embarrassing. Though I'm not quite sure who would be more embarrassed.

Either way, it's a horrible idea, as I can't even spell the journal I'm gonna write in shut cause I'd probably set it on fire. Penny could help me, but I don't want her to read anything I write in the journals. Especially about how I'm feeling. Especially about certain things I've been feeling more recently. About Agatha. About... Baz. Merlin, I don't know what's gotten into me. Maybe I should just start writing. A first verse, that all I need to do right now. A first verse.

You were the moon, I was the sun
You wanted the Earth, but I did too.
We'd drifted apart, maybe we really never were together,
I think I now know why too.

Alright, first verse. I think it's good? Oh who am I kidding, I couldn't tell good writing if the words were literally screaming at me that it was. I want to write some more but Baz comes into the room at that moment and I quickly hide the journal. He lifts he eyebrow at me. He knows I'm jealous of that.
"Keeping secrets are we, Snow?" Baz sneered.
"Sod off," I glare at Baz.
"Well, seems like you're the one plotting now, Snow," Baz smirks.
"Whatever," I say and get up off my bed, "I'm leaving."
"Like I need to know that Snow," Baz rolls his eyes. I walk out the door.
Oh no. I left my journal in there. I can't very well go on in there and get it after I just hid it quickly when he came in and said that I was leaving. That would be really suspicious. Sigh, I just hope he doesn't read it. At least the first verse is very vague. Hopefully he can't put anything in it together.

Baz

I can put everything in this together. Simon bloody Snow, writing a song, huh? How dare he describe himself as the sun, it's my job to do that. Well, at least in my thoughts. I don't think Snow meant to leave this in here when he left, but it's too late now. I suppose I can guess Agatha is the moon, and boy does that make me feel all kinds of things as he just said they'd drifted apart, or maybe never were truly together. But that doesn't compare to the flips my stomach does with my next train of thought.
The only person that Agatha would be going after aside from Simon, is me. Which means that, Simon wants me as well. At least assuming I'm the Earth in this song. I'll just have to wait and see. Maybe I'm wrong. Aleister Crowley I hope I'm not.
Snow writing a song in his journal got me thinking. What if I started writing songs? I could obviously spell them shut so that Snow couldn't read them, and he can't spell his shut without the help of Bunce. But if he hasn't already asked for help spelling the journal, I doubt he'll get it now. To begin, I take out an unused journal from a dresser drawer. I begin to write.

I've let myself fall,
I'm pushed you against walls.
But I'll never let you see what I think.

I stay up too late,
Get stuck thinking about you midday
But you're never there when the morning comes.

I'll think of the rest later. Wouldn't want Snow interrupting me while I'm writing all about my undying love for him. Undying love. I laugh, and Simon opens the door.
"Baz, what are you laughing at?" Simon asks warily stepping towards his bed.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Snow," I sneer. He rolls his eyes. He looks at my lap.
"What are you writing there Baz?" Simon asks, and I realize I still have my journal opened and on my lap.
I close it and put in my dresser saying, "Nothing."
He narrows his eyes at me, "Fine, nothing then."
I shake my head, "Night, Snow."
"Night," he says.
...I forgot to spell my journal.