A Simon Snow/Baz Pitch fan fiction by zmethos. (Set post-Wayward Son.)
The first day without Baz is a Monday. He’s been in my life every day for the past year—has occupied my thoughts in various forms and fashions for nine—so I’m not prepared for his absence. (His physical absence.)(He still occupies my thoughts.)
He’d been over on Sunday afternoon, and everything had been… as normal as they ever were. Mondays he has classes, but he always comes by, even if only for a few minutes. Sometimes he just drops in to make sure I’m awake and functioning, or that I’ve had enough to eat, or for a quick snog if we happen to be so inclined. But it’s become harder and harder to tune into one another, find the same wavelength; it feels like we’re disconnected and drifting apart. The things that once bound us—a shared room, a magical world, mutual threats—have come unraveled. I know it’s only a matter of time before Baz find someone with more in common and gives up on me.
Which is why I don’t call or text when he fails to show. I don’t ask Penny if she’s seen or heard from him, either. I just crawl into bed and pretend to sleep.
When I stumble out of my room on Tuesday morning, Penny is pouring milk for her cereal. Her eyebrows are bent in a deep V, as if pouring milk requires concentration, or maybe she’s mad at the milk for some reason. Then she asks, “Did Baz come by yesterday?” But she doesn’t have to wait for an answer; my face says it all. “Oh,” she says, and, “Oooohhh. Did you have a row?” And then, based on whatever my expression is telling her, “You broke up?!”
“No!” I run my hand through my hair and collapse onto the sofa. “Not as far as I know, anyway.”
“But you didn’t see him? Did you text him?”
She sighs as she sets her bowl on our tiny table and plops into a chair. “Honestly, the two of you.”
I don’t ask what she means because it will just end up as a lecture. Instead, I get up to shower. By the time I’m done, Penny has finished eating and is almost out the door, one hand on the knob, though she’s frowning at her phone. “His phone is off,” she says.
“What?” I ask. “How do you know?”
“I have locations turned on for both of you, but his isn’t showing.”
“You track our phones?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course.” She taps her phone against her chin as she thinks. “Could be it’s out of battery.”
“Baz never lets his phone die.”
She nods. “I have to get to class, but I’ll keep checking to see if he comes back online. Why don’t you swing by his place and make sure he’s all right?” She makes it sound simple. It should be simple. Why isn’t it simple?
For one, I almost never go to Baz’s place. I don’t know why, but via some unspoken agreement he always comes to me. Our flat—Penny’s and mine—is cozy. Baz’s is… “austere” is the word Penny used. I’d describe the vibe as “satanic monk”: sparse and dark, both in color and lighting. Well, Baz can see in the dark, so maybe he’s saving on electricity.
I have Baz’s schedule in my phone; he has class from 9:00 to 10:30, so I decide there’s no point in trying his flat anyway. Unless he’s sick? But he can’t get sick, so…
“Maybe he just turned off the tracking.” I say it aloud to our empty flat, the same way I used to think aloud in the dormitory. Baz’s plotting is one of my (few remaining) specialties. If he wants to break up with me, he’d first begin breaking all the links between us. Penny—and her ability to trace his movements—would be one of those links.
Or has he taken to going someplace he doesn’t want us to know about? I immediately think of Covent Garden. Is he seeking out other vampires? Baz hates vampires. He hates himself for being a vampire, even though it isn’t his fault. But maybe he’s having some kind of… vampire problem… that would require other vampires’ help.
No, he’d be too embarrassed. He wouldn’t tell me or Penny, and he definitely wouldn’t go asking around. His family is too well known for him to start hanging out in local vampire bars without it being noticed, and Baz is too conscious of his reputation.
The thought of Baz’s family reminds me that his aunt lives in London. Maybe he went to her? I don’t have the address or any contact info for her, though.
What is this relationship? Is it even a real relationship? I’ve been asking myself these questions more and more lately, but I don’t know how to ask the one person who can actually answer them.
And maybe my inability to ask him is the only answer I really need.