Chosen~ Snowbaz

Love used to Feel Like

Set 12 or so years after Carry On

***

Baz

Simon looks over at me from the driver's seat. "So, your place or mine tonight?"

I smile faintly, thinking of what those words could have meant seven years ago. "You had them last week, it's my turn, Snow."

"Right." 

There's an awkward pause. "So," I ask finally, "Met any interesting people lately?"

"Baz, are you asking me about my love life?"

"Well, I need some form of entertainment. Remember how hard I laughed when you told me about Jessica Parlow?"

"You spit your latte all over my car, if I recall correctly."

"We don't talk about that. And at least you get more action than me."

He rolls his eyes at that, and takes one hand off the wheel to hit me lightly on the shoulder. "Well, Patrick from golf asked me out a few days ago." 

"What, the blonde one with the ego? And you didn't tell me?"

"Yeah, him. I guess I forgot, s'all." 

"Forgot what, dad?" Nancy asks from the back seat. 

"Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep." 

"Mm kay."

Soon, we can hear her faint snores again. Without even thinking about it, Simon and I share one of those  smiles. 

We haven't done that in years. 

I clear my throat and look away. That expression on Simon's face... well, it brought to the surface a lot of bittersweet memories. 

"So, what'd you say?"

"What do you think?"

"I sense..." I close my eyes, as if receiving psychic waves or shit like that. "That you said yes, and the two of you will become the best-looking couple in the world."

"Aw, Baz, you know nothing could ever beat our standards." He winks, and my breath catches in my throat. "I said no, by the way."

"Cool." 

"What about you?"

I don't answer, and I think he picks up pretty quickly on the fact that I'm not going to. 

I also don't tell him why. 

See, it kind of hurts, but I'm still not over Simon. I don't think I ever will be. That boy wormed his way into my heart when we were just that—boys—and made himself quite comfortable.

The whole thing is comforting in a way. My hopeless love for Simon Snow has once more become the constant in my chaotic life, and I honestly wouldn't have it any other way. 

Well, I might have him feel the same again, if I could, but that doesn't really count. 

"Oh, I forgot. How'd your interview go?" I ask, picking the first thing that comes to mind as a new, desperately  needed topic of conversation. 

"Decent. I don't think the guy really got my sense of humour"—I snort at that—"but I did okay."

"Snow, how many tail puns did you make?"

"No more than six." 

"Good grief, I'm surprised he didn't murder you then and there."

"He considered it." He pauses for a moment. "Baz, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."