Breathless...

𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘆

Comment and tell me how you like this!! I'm actually quite happy with this chapter!

Please check out my new poetry book, and snowbaz one-shots <3

Simon's POV

When we reached our room Baz had a weird expression. His eyes went from a stormy grey to wet cement. Don't ask me how, but I swear Baz's eyes do weird things like that. They're actually quite interesting. . . once I even asked him if he used magick on them, and he cackled— actually cackled. He 'claimed' he had no idea his eyes even do that, after he was done laughing like an evil maniac.

             Sometimes the blue and green flecks are almost covered by a cloudy light grey and they look all foggy, like the sky after a violent storm or like a tidal wave; other times the darker grey gives space to the colored parts of his irises. I bet no one else has noticed, but his left eye has more green and his right has more blue, but both of the colors are almost hidden behind the misty silver. . .

             Is it weird that I know all this?

             I decide not to answer that.

             After almost an hour of dreaming about his eyes (don't ask me why), I hear my stomach rumbling (more like growling). I skipped tea today, and am famished by now. I lazily gaze out the window and realize it's dark out. I s'pose I had been too distracted to notice that dinner time had already started. I went to check the time and gasped (in pe'raps the most comical way ever) when I realized dinner time was over!

            Never in my five years at Watford had I missed dinner! (I did leave it early sometimes to chase after Baz, only cuz he was plotting though.)

            How had I missed dinner?!

            But my hunger is forgotten as soon as I think of Baz again, I realize he's been gone for too long, and I should prolly go look for him. Looking down at Baz's uniform clinging to my chest, I realize that I should prolly change out of that, too. However, remembering that I have no clean clothes to change into, I peer over sneakily at Baz's side of the room, and notice his Watford football hoodie. . . I've always wanted to wear it. . . I even wanted to be on the team, but I suck at playing. And I can't stand Baz and his endless showing off. He might be really talented but he loves to goad and I see enough of that from the bleachers. (Granted, I choose to go watch him, but only because he could be cheating! Does his vampire speed count as cheating?)

            Since Baz miraculously let me have his uniform, I s'pose I could borrow his hoodie too. . . turns out his heady Bergamot scent is really strong and almost addictive.

            Maybe this is his plot. . . get me addicted to him so he can get close to me—and kill me!

            That wouldn't really make sense since I sleep only two feet away from him, close enough for his long limbs to reach even from his bed. I really hope he isn't plotting.

             Actually, the more I think about it. . . I sound as ridiculous as Baz says I do.

            Plotting sounds so vague and senseless. And if Baz truly wanted to kill me, everyone knows I'd be long gone. I may burst with magic but Baz is undeniably much more skilled, plus I'm one hundred percent sure he's a vampire; he has super strength, super speed and sharper senses. Baz is deadly.

             And if he wanted anyone gone, they wouldn't last too long. . .

I slip on his hoodie, expecting to feel uncomfortable now that I grasp just how dangerous Baz is. But for some reason I feel a smile play on my lips at the thought of my vampire-roommate with long, shiny, dark hair and mysterious grey eyes. Sighing into the shirt, I breathe in the warm, familiar scent of Baz.