Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Snowbaz

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

'Words are flowing out, like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither while they pass. They slip away across the universe.'

-|BAZ|-

Snow has been asleep for a while now. He dozed off after a few hours of talking about random things – right in the middle of a sentence too.

He made a whole scene of it, like he does with just about everything else. We were humorously bickering about one thing or another in between his yawns, when he slowly began to slide down his bed an inch at a time.

"Yeah, well..." He yawns as he shoves his butt forward and lays back on one elbow, "You would think that..." He was slowly shuffling forward, pulling his pillows down a bit with him. "Because you're..." He pulled my pillow (the one that I had put behind him earlier) up a bit like he was debating whether or not to give me it back, before deciding to lie on it instead. "A..." his eyes closed as his head hit the pillow.

"A what, Snow?" I'd asked, but he'd already drifted into sleep.

I decide not to sit here and punish myself even more and instead actually go to a few of my lessons. I only have two lessons left today but they're Magickal History and Greek which can be difficult to catch up on if they have covered a lot during my absence.

I might as well have not gone though, because not a single second of those two hours were spent focusing on anything other than the thoughts of normal blue eyes and soft bronze curls.

This does me no good, I know. But at this point it's almost as though I'm giving up.

No, that's not right. If I was giving up, I'd have broken the curse by now without even trying to. Just deciding in the heat of the moment to get it over with and either bite him or kiss him. Deciding on the latter. No...I've not given up. I guess I'm just being more lenient with myself. Soaking up as much substance of Simon Snow before he dissolves into a fragment of a memory.

Oh, the irony. That one day the elephant on my chest will have transformed into a memory – a myth, perhaps, in years to come.

The Messiah who fucked it up early.

Great snakes, what a tragedy. He couldn't be a bigger mess.

After dinner, I finally allow myself to head back to the Mummers House. My mind has been set on this consolation prize for the past three hours; it's quite correct to say that I'm rather miffed when my journey back is hindered by the one and only Penelope Bunce. She storms over like a deprived camel to water, a glint of determination and a good cop/bad cop lenience about her. As though she's ready for whatever revelations I spring at her. Surely not.

"Basil." She greets, crossing her arms as she stops just a foot from me.

We're on the courtyard outside the building. You can feel Snow's magic from here, as though you were stood right next to him on a normal day. "Bunce. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I don't know what you're up to." She informs me, sticking her nose up slightly, as though she has the upper hand here.

"How relieving." I reply, nodding upwards, as though pointing out my height advantage.

"You're eight weeks late to school. During your absence, your aunt bestowed a fatal curse upon Simon. Now you've returned mere days before his demise. And you're skipping lessons, spending extra time up in your room – a place both you and Simon ensure you spend as little time in together. You're up to something. Just because I don't know yet doesn't mean that I won't find out, Pitch."