Short Stories

French (another snowbaz- i do not apologize)

Simon
When Baz practices violin, he always has his eyes closed. He scrunches up his face in concentration, eyebrows meeting in the middle. When Baz practices violin, I always listen but he doesn't know that. I hate everything about Baz but I love the way he plays. I always sit at the desk in our room and at first I try to do schoolwork, but I give up after a couple minutes and I just turn and watch him. Tonight he's playing something I've never heard before.
Baz moves when he plays, he moves with his stick (I think he called it a bow once) and with the rhythm. But this song that he's playing right now, it's changing so fast and Baz is moving and swaying so much his hair is falling all onto his face. I feel something in the pit of my stomach when he suddenly starts playing wildly, fading back into something soft.
Sometimes I think music is better than magic. I know music is what makes magic work, the sayings from songs always make up important spells. But music is also beyond magic. This thing Baz is playing right now is beyond magic. He stops playing it suddenly. His face falls back into a frown and he cracks his eyes open. I never really look at Baz's eyes, I know the color--dark green and dark blue smashed together in greyed streaks all around his pupils--but to look into them and see something, never. Tonight, after hearing that song, I do. They're dark and sad and-oh, they're looking at me.
"What's the name of that song?" I watch his hand place the stick down onto his bed.
"What do you care?" Baz turns to put away his violin and sheet music.
"Thought it was pretty is all, you don't have to be a twat about it." Baz mutters something under his breath so I stand. "What did you say?" I walk over to him, trying to be as big and angry as I can. When he turns around, I have to look straight up to see his face.
"La fille aux cheveux de lin. The name of the piece. Any more questions, Snow?" He's all pointy and spitty, so I back off a little.
"Yeah, actually. What the bloody hell does la foo shavadala mean?"
"La fille aux cheveux de lin," he repeats it so flawlessly, "means the girl with the flaxen hair."
"What, um..." I sit on my bed and watch him shove the violin case under his. "What's flaxen?" Baz barely glances at me as he folds up his music stand.
"Flaxen, it's like bronze. Blonde hair, golden." He doesn't stop moving things and messing with his hair. "The girl with flaxen hair, she's beautiful beyond measure, she has this... perfect golden hair, she's just perfect. I like to think she doesn't even really realize it. I don't know maybe she'd be way too full of herself if she ever knew, but maybe not." It sounds like he's talking about someone.. This girl isn't just from some song, no I think she's real.
"Is it Agatha? Are you talking about Agatha?" He finally stops fidgeting around and looks at me. He's staring like I'm a complete idiot, but I know I'm right. Agatha broke up with me about a week ago and she told me it was because she couldn't stop thinking about someone else. That she had some sort of connection with someone else.
"What in the name of Crowley himself would make you think I meant Agatha? Are you really that thick?"
"No. No you were. I knew it was you. I knew it-I saw you with her on the pitch. I cannot believe you stole my girlfriend." Well, maybe that's not completely true. I definitely played a part in the 'neglecting our relationship' bit on the list of reasons she dumped me. I stand again, and this time I face him and I don't feel as small.
"You are a git." Baz's voice gives me that feeling in my gut again. Like there's a magnet in my intestines. I growl because I can't help it, and it makes me a little less nauseous. Baz's eyes glance around my face. He glares at the curl that has fallen onto my forehead, then at my chin. I feel like he's scanning my face, looking for the perfect place to punch me or bite me.
"You're a manipulative vampire and-what did you do? Did you slip her a love potion?"
"No! Crowley, what kind of person do you think I am?" He moves towards me until I fall onto my bed.
"I think you're everything evil." He's leaning over me, but I won't let that intimidate me. I'm not scared of you Baz. I lift myself up onto my forearms, tilting my head to get my face closer to his.
"If I'm any of the things you think I am, it's not a creep. I-"
"Well, you sure do creep me out." I think I'm winning. Baz seems to be losing his train of thought as I lean closer.
"Je veux te baiser si fort que tu vois des étoiles. You know what that means, Snow?" I shake my head because it's hard to think of anything to say when he's talking in bloody French. "It means fuck you," he spits, finally standing. He storms out of our room, leaving me tense with a heartbeat going about one hundred miles a minute. The air is cooler without him blocking it. I press a hand against my hot face and try to calm down.