#sweet fucking tardis that was an incredible flick

[an-asuryampasya]

vikram: hitlist is so good what the fuck

also villians who care for their henchmen like family is SUCH a delicious trope :')

[multibug]

4. your voice (adrienette)

AO3

Marinette’s morning went a little like this: 

Waking up thirty minutes past her alarm—one that literally screams into her ear, Marinette skirted the line of obnoxiously late to class and tardiness doesn’t suit you, ms. dupain-cheng by busting through the classroom doors ten minutes after the bell had already rang. Her clothes were sopping wet from the rain outside and her inability to be prepared for Paris’ sporadic rainstorms. An excuse that was so incredibly untrue and fallible resided on the tip of her tongue, but her teacher had just sighed and ushered her to her seat. 

Only to notice that her seat was taken by a certain dad-hat wearing boy and the only seat open was next to Adrien. 

Naturally, her first instinct was to glare at Nino and Alya, both of whom had identical smirks in lieu of her flushed expression. Secondly, she'd decided to raise her chin high and drop into the empty seat, ignoring the stares and whispers she received from literally everyone in the room. 

Adrien nudges her with his shoulder and a small smile meant only for her, waving with one hand—mostly his pointer and middle fingers. 

“Hey,” she whispers in response, fumbling to open her bag and tug out her half-charged tablet. 

Passing of time allowed for the squeaking tendences Marinette had while she was around Adrien to fade into small, subtle stuttering over words every now and then. Though her crush on him has only amplified into something akin to love or at the very least intense infatuation, their friendship has blossomed from a weaved-tight-in-a-cocoon pupa to a fully-grown, magnificently-colored butterfly.

With adulthood around the corner, Marinette lives for the small moments with her friends and family. Her world is going to shift from being coddled to overbearing in a matter of seconds. We’re the Millers replays in her brain over and over,  no ragrets  embedded deep in the what the fuck parts of her mind. 

Marinette takes pride in the day going fairly well up until lunch, Adrien whisked away for a photo shoot before she can get a word in otherwise. He two-finger salutes them with a side-smile that’s so achingly similar to Marinette her heart aches and brain tries to scratch the itch she’s feeling.

Think Marinette, think. 

Alya, Nino, and her sit down at their usual table, spot open for Adrien in case he comes back a bit early—though they know the likelihood of that is slim to none. 

(Out of all the times they’ve held his spot, only once has he strolled in minutes prior to the final bell, in complete confusion over the lack of a body in his everyday seat. 

Nino explained it all to him and a very rare, genuine smile appeared on Adrien’s face that warmed their hearts.) 

“Quick question,” Marinette says, arms crossing over her chest as she drops her tray onto the hot to the touch table. Nino cowers slightly at her glare. “Why were you in my seat, Ninhoe? I nearly had a heart attack walking into class.” 

Nino goes to open his mouth but Alya beats him to it, smirking. “Maybe if you would’ve made it to class on time—”

“—my alarm didn’t go off—”

“—then you’d know that sunshine has laryngitis, so his only way of communicating with us is through terrible hand gestures, texts, writing, or this  stupid  text-to-speech app he downloaded.” 

Perking up as the tone of the conversation shifts ever-so-slightly, Nino sits up straighter in his seat and grins. “You should’ve heard the things that were coming out of that robot’s mouth. I mean tablet’s speaker,” he pauses, scratching his head. “Whatever it is. Look, all I know is that I haven’t laughed that hard in a hot minute.” 

“So then how did you end up in my seat?” 

This time, Nino’s expression turns sheepish as Alya laughs, hands flying about as she speaks, “Adrien’s robot voice told Nino to, and I quote, ‘Go sit with Alya before I flick you in the noggin’.” 

All Marinette can picture is a pouty Adrien pointing to the seat behind them as a cackling Nino drags himself towards her unused chair and Marinette portrays Adrien by giggling, so hard that she clutches her stomach. “Oh, oh that’s too good!” 

“It gets even better.” Nino’s grinning too wide and his eyes are lit with humor. “When we had to do the pop quiz, which you missed by the way, he tried to hand gesture to me that he needed a pen, right?” 

And, oh no, Marinette knows by the tone of Nino’s voice where this is going. 

“So I told him to use his text-to-speech since I didn’t understand him,” Mirth swims around in Nino’s eyes as he talks vividly, the calm boy Marinette’s used to suddenly gone. “So at full volume, he types into the app and it says, ‘Nino, can I please have a penis?’ I thought I was going to have a stroke.” 

“No way,” Marinette chokes out, previous giggles lackluster in comparison to her full-belly laughter over Nino’s retelling of class this morning. “This is the one time I regret being late.” 

On their way back to class after lunch, Alya whips out her phone with her wired headphones, placing one of them in Marinette’s ear. She watches as Adrien’s face reddens so quickly, so unlike his elegant, yet nonchalant stature as soon as the robotic voice is heard. (His small smile afterwards indicates he’s not actually upset, just a tad embarrassed.)

“That poor boy!” Marinette’s laughter echoes through the halls and lasts until they arrive at the classroom. 

 ~*~

“Marinette,” a very robotic voice says to her left as class ends for the day, jolting Marinette from her daydreams about defeating Hawkmoth and living a simplistic life as a fashion designer. 

Not about the pretty model with a heart of gold that tugs on her heartstrings sometimes, nope.

“Adrien?” She questions as she purses her lips together to not laugh at the robotic voice. Half of their class immediately piles out of the room once they’re dismissed, letting their conversation become a little more private. 

Pausing his typing to gauge her reaction, Adrien’s eyes flicker from his furious typing on his tablet to her face. “Alya showed you the video from earlier, didn’t she?” 

How does he know? Is he a psychic or something? “W-What do you mean? What video?” 

Adrien sends her a slightly unamused look and Marinette’s lips quirk into a grin, arm coming up to drape over the top of the bench behind him. His eyes glance at her hand, which just barely—accidentally, she swears it—grazes his shoulder. He scoots slightly closer to her so the back of his shoulder is pressed against the front of hers, eyes blinking as if to say is this okay?

Always for you, she thinks, biting her lip.

Instead of a verbal answer, Marinette lays her arm over his shoulder and allows him to settle against her body, in a half hug. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Head resting in the crook of her neck, Adrien grunts and mutters hoarsely, “Hurts.” 

“Adrien, no offense, but your voice sounds like shit. Use your app.” 

The noise he makes can barely be considered human, and Marinette squeezes his shoulder with her hand as she laughs gently. She turns her head and her lips brush the top of his hair in a fleeting kiss, Adrien stilling against her. 

Shit. “Adrien, I’m so sorry, that was crossing a line, I—” She goes to pull away from him, but he stops her immediately, reaching for the tablet and hastily typing. 

“Nooooo-o-o-o-ooooh, Marinette it’s okay. It felt really rice.” The blush that crosses Adrien’s face is so cute, so sweet, so endearing that Marinette can’t help but wrap her other arm around him and tug him closer to her. 

For the first time ever, Marinette isn’t the one embarrassing herself in front of Adrien.

Huh, that’s new. 

“Well, your hair feels really poft,” she tells him with a small giggle, his lips curling up amusedly as his green eyes meet hers.

Embarrassing himself even more, Adrien types, “Your farms are really strong. You could probably break me in half like it was muffin.”

“That’s what you choose to say? That I could break you in half like muffin?” 

She has no idea what this means for them, whether  this is something or if it’s a fleeting moment in their timeline. Whatever it is, she’s excited and ready. 

Adrien let out a small whine, jutting his lower lip out prettily. “Stop making fun of the dick kid, Mari! It’s not nice.”

“That one was on purpose, wasn’t it?” 

The smirk on Adrien’s face says it all.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Night Time in NYC

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3645

Summary: Simon has no sense of direction and ends up lost in his recent home city of New York. But a helpful stranger offers to get him home. Based on "kiss that was regretted/more than one kiss" request.

Read on AO3

AN: Once again, Theo returns with the ridiculous and cheesy snowbaz fic. This is just pure tooth rotting fluff for all your fanperson needs. Hardly any angst at all really. Just Simon and Baz being pining idiots. After writing the The Sailor and The Siren I needed to do something simple and sweet. I had a lot of fun with it, cause who doesn't love uber fluff? :)

Simon

I don’t know where I am. Which is normal, but usually harmless. I can use Google maps to find where I’m going. But my shitty phone has decided to completely die on me. I hit in a desperate attempt to revive it. And it stays a dead brick.

“Shit,” I hiss.

Godammit. I should’ve accepted Penny and Micah’s offer for a ride home. But no, I decided to be fucking noble and self sacrificing and walk back to campus.

Alone.

In New York City.

At one in the morning.

I’m an idiot.

I think I’m walking in the generally right direction. But I don’t recognise anything. I’ve been living here for a less than a month so I still get lost. Numbered streets are easy, my arse.

From the distance, in the general silence, I hear noise. Muffled, but noise. People! Somewhere open. Where I can find someone with a phone and call a cab to get home! Thank every god for all night places in New York fucking City.

Following with my ears, I head towards some low rise brick buildings. As I go down a long dark alleyway (I’m going to get stabbed), the noise gets louder, stopping in front of a metal door. Thumping electronic music comes from behind it. Must be some nightclub. Aht bright red emergency exit sign hangs over it. Normally, I’d just leave and not risk going through a bloody emergency exit. But I’m beyond desperate. So I turn the handle

Holy shit. It’s like the TARDIS, bigger on the inside. Strobing multi coloured lights fill the massive room. I’m immediately engulfed in a sea of people. They’re all milling about around me. Talking, dancing, drinking. Dear lord, is this is what a real night club is like? It’s freaky. I don’t like it.

I shove my way through the bustling people, trying to find the bar. I bump into a guy and mumble “excuse me.”

“Hey sugar,” he says, taking my wrist, “why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?”

I blink rapidly, then look behind me to make sure he’s actually talking to me. “Um, what?”

He raises an eyebrow, smile seductive and obviously trying to tempt me. “I said why don’t you take your coat off? You can’t really find a guy in that.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not here...for that.”

He lifts both brows. “Then why are you in a gay dance club?”

Oh. Oh shit...

I look around the club. It’s mostly populated by impossibly buff men in tight shirts, standing very close and obviously talking in low, seductive voices. This is definitely a gay club. Not that I have a problem with gay people. (I’ve never given much thought to my sexuality, but I’m probably not 100% straight.) It’s just very unfamiliar and a bit intimidating. I’ve never been in straight club, let alone a gay one. And being so lost and stressed out, I don’t really feel like being flirted with right now.

“I uh, I...I gotta go,” I stutter out.

I rush off towards the bar. Maybe the bartender has a mobile I can borrow. Or maybe I’ll be thrown out for not paying. That would suck. I practically crash into smooth black counter, panting slightly. Fuck, the heat of the club plus my coat is not helping my stress levels. I hang my head, breathing slowly. I could really, really use something good right now.

“Hello,” someone with a posh British accent says next to me. “How are you?”

I turn to my left, and my heart promptly stops.

He’s gorgeous. Like, supermodel gorgeous. With cheekbones sharper than Benedict Cumberbatch, shining reddish-gold skin, and eyes like a goddamn hurricane. His relatively long black hair is slicked back like some old movie vampire. But it’s a weirdly good look on him. Makes him look sexy and sort of mysterious. His black t-shirt is tight on his defined chest. Equally dark jeans hug him in all the right places. The way he leans on the bar is confident but not cocky. Just self-assured. And it’s so, so hot. (80% straight maybe.)

“H-Hi,” I stutter. “Can you help me? I’m...lost.”

He cocks a perfect eyebrow. “But now you’ve met me and found your way? How sweet and cheesy.”

“No. I mean, I’m trying to get home, and I’m really lost. Like I don’t know where I am.”

Now both brows shoot up to his stark widow’s peak. His face convulses strangely for a second, then he suddenly bursts out laughing. He doubles over holding his stomach. My blush reaches my ears.

“Nevermind,” I grumble.

I turn to leave, but a slender fingered hand grabs my shoulder. I stop, mostly from the jolt his touch sends through my system.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, laughing toned down. “How can I help?

I sigh, but still turn back to him. “I’m trying to get to Amsterdam and West 114th but my phone’s dead and I’ve never been in this area before and I’m obviously not a local and I just moved here like a month ago. So...I’m lost.”

“But, the streets are numbered.” His eyebrow furrow is so fucking cute. (Wait, no, focus Simon!)

“You’d be surprised at my ability to get turned around.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin lip. “Understood. That’s Columbia, right? I know how to get there. It’s not that far. I’ll walk you.”

“Oh! No! You don’t have to. I mean, I don’t want to ruin your night.”

He waves his hand dismisvely. “I’m bored anyway. And I don’t want to risk you getting my directions then turning to the opposite way. C’mon, I need to get my coat.”

He motions me to follow, and strangely enough, I do. We squeeze through the bustling, sweaty crowd. The man bobs and weaves like a slinky snake. His body is so lithe, it’s incredible. We end up at the actual entrance, which has a coat check. Strange Man talks to the attractive behind the counter. He’s all smooth looks and easy words. I sort of envy him.

I expect the coat guy to hand him a fine wool jacket, or some versace coat (do they make coats?) But to my utter shock, he’s handed a puffy bright green ski coat. It’s not ugly per se. Just, kind of normal. This guy looks some seductive romance novel vampire. People like that aren’t supposed to wear a coat with ripped seams that squeezes his waist to make him look like a green Michelin Man. He leaves a tip for the coat guy and signals for me to follow. I scurry up to him.

“C’mon,” he says cheerily, “let’s go.”

We walk past a very intimidating bouncer and back out into the frigid New York air. Mystery man lets out a long exhale, breath clouding in front of his face. He motions for me to follow him up the street. It’s a bit difficult to keep up with his long legs.

“So,” I say after a long stretch of silence, “do you have a name?”

He flicks his grey eyes over to me. “Yes. Would you like to hear it?”

Okay, so he’s a total smartarse. Why do I find that frustrating yet attractive? “Sure, if you feel up to it,” I deadpan.

He smirks, chuckling slightly. “I’m Baz. And you are?”

“Simon, Simon Snow.”

“Hm. Interesting name.” His tone is shows the slightest twinge of interest. It makes my heart stutter a bit. “So how did you end up accidentally wandering into a gay nightclub?”

I look at the ground sheepishly. “Uh, I was out with my friends at some karaoke place. They offered to give me a ride but their place is in the opposite direction, so I said I could go on my own. But then my phone died, so I just wandered into the closest place with people. Hence...”

“Hence the gay nightclub.”

I shrug. “Yeah. Not my smartest move.”

He shrugs too. It’s somehow more graceful than mine. “Well, you found me. So I’d say it was a pretty smart move.”

I flick my eyes over to him, just for a moment. His smile is only slight, but it’s there. I turn away again, too embarrassed to keep looking at him.

“Why were you in the club?” I ask quickly, aching to fill the even brief silence.

Baz sighs and kicks the sidewalk with his polished boot. “My stupid friend/roommate's idea. He keeps pestering me to go out and meet someone. I finally snapped and said I’d go to this club tonight if he’d stop bugging me.”

“Oh. Sorry for taking you away from it...”

He waves dismissively again, the exact same motion as earlier. “I told you, I was bored. No one there interested me. I’d much rather be home with my books.”

That catches my attention. Books? Movie vampire guy loves books? I thought he’d spend his time practicing smoldering expressions in the mirror. “You a bookworm?”

“That’s what Niall calls me. He says my library puts Oxford and Cambridge to shame.”

“What do you read?”

He sighs noncommittally. “Lots of stuff, I guess. Mostly historical texts though. I like English language development, how it evolved over time. Just a hobby though.”

Wow, what a hobby, I think immediately. He reminds me way too much of Penny. Learning weird shit just for fun. I just stick to what I’m good at, never straying from my numbers. But he tries different things. I find it just as admirable in him as I do in her. Maybe just a bit more, because I don’t find Penelope unbelievably attractive. (65% straight, tops).

We walk past a raised cement beam. Out of habit, I jump up to walk on it. (I always take an opportunity to jump around. Penny calls me a child.) Baz looks at me strangely. But I like being up here. It gives me a better view of him.

“So,” I say dragging out the vowel. “You’re English like me, right?”

He raises a brow. (He seems to be really good at that.) “Accent gave that away huh?”

I roll my eyes like Penny does.“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. Where are you from in England?”

“Hampshire, originally. You?”

“London. I came here for school.”

“I did as well. You go to Columbia, right? Or we’re walking to the wrong campus.”

I chuckle and look away nervously. “Uh, yeah. For maths.”

“Wow, impressive. That’s a tough program to get into.”

I turn back to him. His eyes are wide with genuine impressed awe, one lip corner quirked up in a smile. My cheeks feel hot. I hope I’m not too red. “T-Thanks. It's difficult but, interesting.”

"I'm glad to hear.

I reach the end of the beam and jump down, swinging around a lamp pole. I land right in front of him and stumble on a crack on the sidewalk. Suddenly, he catches me, hands clasping both my forearms. He looks at me wide eyed, now loose black strands falling in front of them. (The hair gel isn’t that strong I guess.) The sensation of his touch shoots up my nerves so quickly and intensely I nearly fall again. Before I do, I pull away, walking next to him again. Though I think we’re a little closer. Not sure if he’s moved towards me or I’ve moved towards him

“Where do you go?” I ask, voice rapid and even more nervous.

Baz bites at his lip anxiously. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

My brow pinches together, mouth turning into a confused frown. “...alright?”

He looks at the ground, like I have many times tonight. “I...go to Juilliard.”

Oh. My. God. My jaw practically hits the floor. “Holy shit!”

“You promised not to freak out,” he groans, head rolling back

“You didn’t warn me it was fucking Juilliard! Are you like, a super talented actor? Or a future Broadway dancer?” I try not to imagine Baz in a tight black leotard (it’s very difficult).

Baz chuckles, shaking his head back and forth. “Nothing that exciting, sorry. I go there for music.”

“What do you play?”

“Violin.”

Strangely, I can see it. Baz with the instrument under his chin and stretched out across his long arm. Dragging the bow across the strings, grey eyes closed in concentration, humming along to the tune...

“Simon? Hello?”

I’m snapped out my stupid day dream. Baz is looking at me very confused. I turn away, hoping to hide the blush I know is increasing on my cheeks.

“That sounds really cool, actually.”

“Really?”

“Y-Yeah, really. Violin is fucking hard.”

“Thanks. Few people say that.”

I can’t help but smile, and neither can he apparently.

He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes out, air misting through his fingers. “This city is too fucking cold,” he mutters. He reaches into his coat pockets and draws out a pair of garishly orange knitted mittens. They have large holes in them where their maker dropped stitches. Baz notices me staring at them.

“What?” He says.

“Oh, uh, just...your gloves are...interesting.”

He giggles (fucking giggles, holy shit). “Yeah, I know. My younger sister made them for me before I left. To keep me warm. She’s only 7 though, so knitting her skills aren’t exactly perfect. The sentiment is what’s important though. Wearing them reminds me of her.”

What kind of guy wears shitty mittens made by his little sister just because he misses her? A perfect one, I think. (40% straight at most.) “That’s actually quite sweet.”

“Why thank you” he chuckles. “Do you have any siblings?”

My shoulders droop. “No. I...I don’t know who my parents are. Proper little orphan Annie here.”

“Oh. I’m very sorry.”

The look of pity on his face makes my heart hurt, but not in a good way. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. I shrug all the way up to my ears. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Don’t need parents. Got my own little family now.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I sigh, catching a pole and swinging around it far too dramatically. I need to stop for a second, gather my head. Baz stops too, looking at me curiously. “I mean, I’ve got friends who are way better than whoever abandoned me. Penelope, her boyfriend, Micah, Agatha, they care about me and I care about them. And Penny says family isn’t who your related to but who you love. So they’re my family, I guess. Closest I’ve got. Don’t need blood relations.”

I lift my head up from the ground. Baz is no longer looking at me with pity. I’m not sure how he’s looking now. Something between confusion, wonder, and...maybe admiration. I hope it’s admiration. I may be projecting though.

I let go of the pole, shoving my hands in my pockets and keeping my head down. “I-I don’t know, it’s dumb.”

“No,” Baz says firmly. “I don’t think so. It makes sense.”

I look up, just slightly. His grin is soft, caring and understanding. But it’s not small and sort of hidden like before. It’s wide and obvious and meant for me. If my blush was bad before it must be raging now.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

We resume walking again. I don’t stoop as much. We stay in comfortable silence, but I sneak glances at Baz. His hair is completely loose now and falling in his face with a bit of a wave. It looks better actually. Makes him look more human, less out-of-reach gorgeous.

Just as we round a corner, I spot something familiar. A big ridiculous statue on top of a building glass building.

“Hey!” I say excitedly. “I know that thing! We’re really close.”

Baz squints at where I’m pointing, frowning in the most adorable way possible. “Ugh, I can’t see it. Hang on.”

He opens his coat and reaches into the inside pocket. To my utter astonishment, he pulls out a pair of rectangle wireframe glasses. Like that of a university professor or a librarian. Once he puts them on, he stops squinting. They rest on his long nose perfectly. And now Baz has made full transition from mysterious sexy club goer to violin playing, adorable little sister having, puffy coat wearing, language history nerd. Yet somehow, I like him even more than I did at first.

“Huh,” Baz says, “you’re right. I know it too. We just have to go through that gate across the street.” He turns to me and sees my slack mouthed expression. His brows push together adorably. “What? Is something wrong with my face?”

“Uh, no! It’s just...you wear glasses?”

He takes them off quickly. “Yeah. Well, I’m supposed to. I don’t usually though. I’m near sighted, so I can usually get away without them. They just make me look so bloody dorky.”

“I don’t think so,” I blurt out, immediately dropping my gaze to my feet. “I-I don’t think they look dorky. They look...nice. On you.”

I flick my eyes up quickly, just enough to catch the grin pulling at both sides of his lips.

“You flatter me too much,” he says in a slightly self deprecating tone.

“Only cause it’s true,” I reply quietly.

Baz spins the spectacles in his hands for a second, and instead of putting them back in his coat, he slides them up onto his forehead. Not exactly on his face but close. It’s actually quite cute. Like he’s a messy haired student. Which...I guess he is. Even if he’s a fancy Juilliard student.

Past the gate, we enter the Columbia campus. It’s beautiful, even at night. I like it. It’s greener than the rest of this glass and concrete city.

“Hey this is my building,” I say, grabbing Baz’s sleeve to stop him.

We freeze in front the lawn. Across the manicured grass is South Lawn, where they put all first year students. It’s huge and block-like and gorgeous. It reminds me of the Georgian buildings in England. Baz flips down his glasses and looks at it in awe, making a little whistle.

“Wow,” he whispers. “I’ve heard of Columbia buildings, but...wow”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Pretty neat.”

“Understatement of the century, Snow.” He puts his glasses back, looking down at me with a nervous smile. “So, I guess this is your stop.”

I shuffle my feet, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah. Should probably get up there before my ro-”

Quick as lightning, Baz leans to my left and kisses my cheek. It’s so soft and light I barely feel it. Like a cool brush of wind against my skin. But my face still goes beet red. I look up. Baz resembles a terrified deer in the headlights, eyelids completely pulled back and lips hanging open.

“I-I, uh-,” he stutters out quietly. “Sorry. That was completely inappropriate. We’ve only just met, I just, I got caught up in the moment, and I guess I just decided to go for it. But I’m sorry that was-”

“You missed.” For once, my words are clear and precise. Baz’s sinking head snaps up, looking even more terrified than before.

“W-what did you say?”

I take a step closer to him. We’re barely a foot apart. I can feel his hot nervous breath on my skin. “You missed. Try a little more to my right this time, okay?”

Red darkens his lovely cheeks like a bashful schoolboy. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I step even closer, tilting my head slightly to the side. “Seriously.”

He leans down, eyes fluttering shut. I stand on my toes, and we meet halfway.

His lips are soft and cool, lightly pressed against mine. It’s probably the most chaste kiss I’ve ever experienced. Yet I can feel it in every nerve in my body. Baz’s hand brushes against mine, and I move to hold it firmly. His other cups my cheek, thumb tracing over the skin. Our lips part slightly and slot together. And it just feels too right.

I pull back, as does Baz. I don’t want to get myself too worked up on a first date. (Is this a first date? Fuck if I know.) His eyes open only halfway. And his cheeks are so red they’d put Disney princesses to shame. I grin at him, and he grins back. I hold my open hand in front of him.

“Gimme your mobile,” I say. He raises an eyebrow. I sigh exasperatedly. “Look, I’d give you mine to put your number in, but as I mentioned before, it’s dead. So give me your’s so you can contact me again. That’s what you want right?”

His brow falls and his mouth forms an “o” shape. “Yeah, yeah of course.” He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a pristine white iPhone. Once unlocked, he hands it to me. “Here”

I giggle at his background. (It’s a violin pun). Quickly, I enter in my number under “Directionless Moron”, then give it to him. He throws his head back laughing at the contact name.

“Call me,” I say. “Or text me. Just...something me.”

Baz chuckles. “Don’t worry, I will. I definitely want to see you again.”

My grin threatens to split my face in half. I squeeze his hand. “Same here. Goodnight for now, Baz.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

I walk off down the lawn. Just as I reach the door, I take one last look back. Baz is still standing there. He’s got his glasses on. I realise it’s so he can see me get into the building. To make sure I’m okay, or maybe just watch me. I give one last wave. He waves back. I practically skip the rest of my way to my room.

Man, what an incredible night.

AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Tbh Baz in glasses is my aesthetic so that's they it keeps showing up in my AUs. Honestly he'd look so good in them. Anyway, this was a lot of fun and I hope you all liked it :D