#v much inviting you to use your backpack as a pillow and lie down for a little while

[rabbitrah]

POV: It's a cool spring day and you are lying down on a very lovely rock.

[mageicalwishes]

A Smashing Summer - Chapter 2

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 2/?

Words: 4,269

Simon

“Who is it?” Baz calls, pulling the door ajar. 

“Uh …  Me?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “You told me to be here at eight sharp. So … here I am?”

“If I told you to be here at eight sharp, then you’re three minutes late. But, I highly doubt that I did - I don’t know anybody called 'Me', and I don’t invite strangers over.”

“Come on, Baz,” I whine. “Don’t be a prat! You  know  who it is. It’s me …  Simon!”

He stalls, and for a moment I think his shenanigans are over - But then, he’s pushing the door closed, the latch clicking into place loudly. “Nope, sorry,” he sings, pushing open the letterbox so I can hear him properly. “Doesn’t ring any bells,” 

Peeved, I hammer my fist against the door.

“Baz! Come on! It’s me!  Simon. Simon Snow!” 

I pause, awaiting another snide response. But, all I’m met with is silence. I’m pretty sure he’s still there, though. I don’t think that he’d actually leave me like that. I mean ... I know that I egged his house, but dragging me all the way out here,  just  to slam the door in my face, would be a bit harsh. Baz may be slightly prickly, but he’s not actually  mean   (Well … I don’t think so, anyway). 

“Seriously, Baz! You know me! It’s Simon Snow,” I continue. “You know … The egg guy?”

The door swings open suddenly, revealing him to me - Leaning against the door, a wicked grin spread across his face. 

“Oh, of course! You should have just said so! ... How  is my favourite juvenile delinquent doing?” 

“Twat,” I grumble, unimpressed. “I’m not a juvenile delinquent.”

He laughs, bright and effusive. 

“I know, I know. I’m just winding you up - Don’t worry,” he smiles, stepping aside to allow me in. “Come on in. Father is at work, so you don’t have to worry about him jumping you.”

If the outside of Baz’s house was intimidating, the inside is positively terrifying - All dark wood, and gilded, antique furniture. It’s a bit gaudy, to be honest - More of a show of wealth than a home. But, it’s still far nicer than anything I’ve ever had, so I can’t really criticise. 

“Stop gawping, Snow,” He scolds. “You look ridiculous.” 

“Sorry,” I drone, my voice heavy with sarcasm. “I'm just not used to creepy, Gothic mansions. You know …  Most people avoid the 'Dracula’s lair ' aesthetic. It’s terribly outdated.”

“Shut up, you dolt,” he snickers, the tip of his nose scrunching up slightly. “It’s not even Gothic. It’s Victorian.” 

“Whatever! Just … Is there a tap I can use? I should probably get on with it. I brought a bucket … And some soap. I just need some water.” 

He smirks, raising an elegant brow in question. 

He has nice eyebrows - Dark, and sharply arched. Not a hair out of place. He must wax them, or something - Because there’s no way they could be that perfect naturally. 

“You’re not very observant are you, Snow?” He asks, amused. 

“Huh? What are you on about?” 

“The door,” He drawls - Acting as though that clarifies his meaning perfectly (Which it definitely doesn't). “The one you knocked, like, five minutes ago?” 

Lost, I stare at him blankly, throwing my hands out in question - Helplessly confused. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

“Seriously? You didn’t notice the lack of Egg?” 

Oh.

“What?” I bark, outraged. “Who cleaned it off?” 

He shrugs, nonchalantly. “I did. Obviously.” 

“What?” I repeat, my voice absurdly small. “I told you I’d do it. Did you not believe me? I told you, you could trust me - I wouldn’t lie.” 

I don’t really know why I’m protesting. I mean, it’s not like I really wanted to spend my Saturday scrubbing away dried Egg. He’s done me a favour really - Although, it certainly doesn’t feel that way. 

“No, it’s not that. I knew you’d come back,” he reassures, his tone sincere. “But, Father wasn’t exactly chuffed about waiting until today - Apparently dried eggs are incredibly difficult to remove. So … I cleaned it up last night. There’s no need for you to have a meltdown, though. It wasn’t a problem.” 

“But … I was supposed to make it up to you,” I murmur, picking at the sleeve of my hoodie. 

“I know. It’s okay, though. Seriously. I’m really not that bothered.”

I tug a hand through my curls in frustration (I should probably stop doing that, to be honest. Penny says I’ll end up bald otherwise. But … Old habits are hard to break).

“When?” 

“When, what?” He asks, clearly confused. 

“When did you clean it up? Like - What time?” 

He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe … Nine-ish? Why does that matter?” 

“If you did it at nine - Why didn’t you just tell me when we were texting, then?” 

  ————————————————————————————

Baz

Oh. Shit. How the hell am I supposed to reasonably explain that? 

‘Oh, sorry. My life is just so irreparably dull that you’re the most exciting thing to happen to me all Summer. So, I just really wanted to see you again - Even without the valid excuse of making you clean up the mess you made‘  - Yeah, because that’s not at all creepy. 

I shrug, coolly - Building up a facade of indifference. “It must’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “That makes sense.” 

“Yeah,” I breathe, unsure of what else to say. 

Could I invite him to stay? Or would that be too much? I mean, he didn’t come here to ‘hang out’ -  He came here under the pretence of scrubbing the bloody egg off of our front door. He'd probably just be freaked out if I did. 

Nervously, I trace the pad of my thumb against my ring (I hardly take it off, nowadays. It was my mother’s, once. A simple, silver band. Elegant - Just like she used to be). 

Luckily for me, before I have to face the humiliation of speaking, Snow is stammering out another sentence. 

“Well … We could, you know. I mean, hang out or something? I did say I’d make it up to you. So ... We could go to the cinema, or something? I have money in my bag.” 

“Sure. I suppose I don’t really have anything better to do.” I quip, suppressing a smile. 

“Wicked,” he says, beaming up at me, his blue eyes shining. 

“I have to get changed first though.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with that?” He questions, gesturing towards my chest. 

“These are my tennis whites, Snow,” I deadpan. “I’m not going into town dressed like this. I’m not an animal.”

He guffaws loudly, clutching onto his stomach. “But … It’s just a polo and shorts! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There definitely is.”

“You’re so weird,” he laughs, poking my arm lightly. 

“Sure. I’m the weird one,” I mock. “Just follow me, okay? I’ll get changed in the en-suite. And, you can just wait in my room. It won’t take long.” 

————————————————————————————

Simon

Baz’s room is certainly striking.

It’s as gaudily overdone as the entrance hall - With the same dark walls, and unnecessarily ornate furniture (I mean, he’s got a proper, curtained four-poster bed, for Christ’s sakes!). But, his room has way more personality - Every flat surface littered with papers and well-worn books, and an assortment of silver photo frames lining the top of his dresser.

“Hey, Baz?” I call, sliding my hands over the silk of his bed sheets, absentmindedly. “Can you hear me?”

“Obviously,” He rumbles. “I’m only on the other side of a door.” 

“Oh right, yeah. Cool … Can I ask you something?” 

“I suppose so,” he sighs (Although, I’m pretty sure he’s not actually annoyed). “But, I reserve the right to refuse to answer, if it’s a stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid! I was only going to ask how old you are?” 

“Wow. You’re right - That’s not stupid ... However, it is exceedingly boring.” He jeers. 

“Don’t be a dick!” I growl. “Just answer the question”

“Seventeen. I’m in Lower Sixth."

“Oh nice, same.”

“Yes- I know. You said yesterday.”

“Oh yeah ... When’s your birthday?” 

“Seriously? Why? Are you going to buy me a present?” 

“Yes, seriously!” I cry, lobbing a pillow at the door.

He yelps, surprised. And, I can’t help the splutter of laughter that erupts out of me. 

“Jesus Christ! There's no need to throw a tantrum. It’s in February. The twenty-fourth, if you want to be exact about it.”

“Fair enough. You’re older than me, then. Mine’s the twenty-first of June.”

“Oh well,” he purrs. “I’ll be sure to send you a card next year.”

“Oh wow. That’s very generous of you,” I sneer, pulling my backpack open, and grabbing my packet of scones. “Imma put a scone on your bedside cabinet, okay? It’s for you to try later on." 

He doesn’t answer, so I just assume he’s alright with it.

“Baz!” I whine, flopping down against his bed. “I thought you said you were just getting changed. How long does it take to change your bloody top!”

He tuts loudly, clearly underwhelmed by my level of patience.

“Just wait, you Git. I’ll be out in a minute. You know what they say, Snow … You can’t rush perfection.” 

 He definitely takes longer than a minute, but soon enough the bathroom lock clicks, and he’s stepping back into the room.

I sit up quickly, desperately trying to scrape the scone crumbs off of his bedding. And then, I freeze - Utterly dumbfounded by the sight of him. Oh no. 

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen proper clothing before?” He taunts, the smirk audible in his voice. 

I stare at him, wordlessly - Slack-jawed and wide-eyed. I probably look slightly insane, but I’m powerless to stop myself. He looks ...  Otherworldly. 

His hair has been pulled back into a loose bun - A few strands left hanging free, expertly framing the sharp edges of his face. His polo has been swapped out for a boxy, white shirt - Adorned with embroidered bumblebees, and only partially buttoned. The deep V of the neckline, exposing the bronze expanse of his chest - Teasing me with a view of the alluring groove of his collarbone. The shorts, too, have been upgraded. White polyester having been replaced by tight, black denim. And, as if all of that wasn’t enough, his nails have been painted a deep shade of maroon.

He’s a vision. Tall, dark, and handsome - The perfect cliche. 

“What,” he asks again insistently, his voice weak with insecurity. “Seriously? Is - Is it too much, or something?”

He stomps over to the mirror, staring at his reflection blankly, and tugging at the bottom of his shirt. 

“No!,” I snap, perhaps a little too urgently. “No. It’s fine. I mean - It’s good. You look good. I was just - I was just admiring your shirt. It’s nice. Proper fancy, like.”

“Right,” he drawls, his eyebrows drawn in suspicion. “Well … You shouldn’t stare at people. It’s rude.” 

I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly, my face flooding with heat. 

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Sorry about that.” 

“Yes. Well … Come on then, Snow. Enough gawking! We haven’t got all day, you know”

 ————————————————————————————

Baz

The drive to the cinema is painfully awkward - The two of us sitting side-by-side in complete silence. I flick on the radio, attempting to alleviate the crushing weight of the quiet that hangs between us. It doesn’t really work, though. 

He’s definitely sulking. Although, I don’t know whether it’s because of all the weirdness in my bedroom, or because I refused to walk into town. I will admit that, he didn’t seem all that thrilled with my justification that you can’t risk breaking into a sweat when you’re wearing a six-hundred pound Gucci shirt - Just grumbling on about how I was a "High-maintenance, twat". 

He quickly cheers up when we reach the cinema’s kiosk, though - Dashing about scooping sweets into his Pick-And-Mix bag, and beaming over at me as he orders the largest carton of popcorn available. 

“Sweet tooth, Snow?” I tease. 

“Uh huh. Definitely … Do you want anything? I brought enough money for the both of us.”

“Maybe just some Revels,” I shrug. 

“Oh God! Yuck! You’re one of those people,” he complains, grimacing. “Gonna be honest with you Baz, I don't think we can be friends anymore.”

“Oh, piss off,” I scoff. “What’s wrong with Revels?”

“Everything but the Malteasers and Minstrels is what is wrong with bloody Revels! The rest of the flavours are just offensive. I mean, what kind of psychopath wants to eat Coffee and Orange Cream … And don’t even get me started on the fucking Raisins!”

“Uh, I believe I'm the kind of 'psychopath' you're referring to” I snap, swatting at him, jokingly. “They’re sublime! Your palette is clearly just too unrefined to appreciate them.” 

He coughs out a mirthless laugh.

“Whatever. Enjoy your shitty chocolates, Loser. Don’t say I didn’t try to save you from your own poor choices!” 

————————————————————————————

Simon

“Are you seeing this, Snow? How fucking inconsiderate is she?” he hisses, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “I mean, why come to the cinema, if all you want to do is sit on bloody Snapchat? Literally, what is the point?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, glancing over at him - His brow creased, and his lips pushed into a grumpy pout.

“It’s only the adverts, Baz. Chill. I’m sure she’ll turn it off when the movie starts.”

‘Well, that’s not really good enough. The adverts are a key part of the cinema experience! I really don’t see why they should be ruined, just because she wants to send some useless selfie.” 

“You stress too much,” I whisper, shrugging as I shovel a fistful of popcorn into my mouth. “It ain't so bad.” 

He snarls over at me, shoving a hand against my shoulder. “That is vile! Don't talk with your mouth full, Idiot. Seriously - Who raised you? Did they teach you nothing about manners?” 

I don’t answer. Choosing instead, to make a show of chewing with my mouth open, in retaliation - Earning myself an icy glare. 

“Barbarian,” he gruffs. 

 When the lights dim further, I beam over at him, excitedly.

To my surprise, he’s already looking over at me - His signature eyebrow raise in place, but a soft, shy smile dancing across his lips. Caught, he quickly averts his gaze, shuffling in his seat nervously. 

“It’s time!” I murmur, pushing my leg out slightly, and pressing our knees together. 

“I know. I have been to the cinema before.” 

“Whatever,” I snipe. “I just hope you don’t get too scared. Living in a haunted mansion, I imagine this may hit uncomfortably close to home, for you”

“Hmmm. Somehow, I think I’ll manage …  I’m a big boy, you know.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Tyrannus,” I tease, drawing out each letter of his name. 

He bashes his knee against mine, forcefully - Clearly unimpressed with my little joke. 

“Don’t worry though,” I continue. “If you do get too scared, you can always cuddle up to me. I’ll keep you safe.” 

‘Just shut it, Snow,” he sighs, rubbing a hand against his brow bone in frustration. “I will hurt you if need be.” 

I muffle a giggle with my hand, but I oblige - Biting my tongue, and turning my attention back to the movie screen. 

————————————————————————————

Squinting against the bright lights, we step outside the screen room - The disorienting feeling of being plunged back into reality, making my head whirl uncomfortably. 

“Did you like it?” I ask, chucking my rubbish into the bin as I talk. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes stupidly. “Yeah. It was good. Thank you for the ticket - And the invite, of course. You’ll be glad to know that you can now consider your debt to me, repaid.” 

I chuckle halfheartedly, bitterly disappointed.

If I'm being honest, I don’t really want my debt to be repaid - It’s the only reason I was allowed to hang out with him, in the first place. I suppose I could just egg his house again - Although, I doubt he would be as lenient with me the second time around. 

Dissatisfied, I decide to try and drag the day out as much as possible (It’s only midday, so I have ages until I need to get back). 

“I’m starving!” I complain, clutching at my stomach dramatically. “Are you hungry?

“I could eat,” he shrugs, smirking amusedly. 

“Perfect! I know a great pizza place. It’s only like … Five minutes away.”

“Go on then, Snow. Lead the way.”

Grinning over at him, I grab his hand, weaving our fingers together unthinkingly. His are slimmer than mine, long and elegant where mine are short and stubby, but we fit together perfectly - The feel of his palm pressed against mine, causing my stomach to flip strangely.

When I realise what I’ve done, I pause - Loosening my grip on his hand, so that he can drop it if he wants. But, to my delight, he doesn’t - Instead opting to give it a light squeeze. 

“Carry on, then” he drawls, his voice flat with boredom (Although, his cheeks are dusted a light shade of red, so I think he’s just putting it on to be a prat). “There’s really no reason to stand here all day.”

And with that, I start to walk - Bounding off towards the diner, pulling him along behind me.

————————————————————————————

Baz

I scowl down at the plate, completely off-put.

“This looks foul, Snow. It’s practically soaked in oil! You don’t actually expect me to eat that, do you?” 

He swallows showily, gulping down his bite of pizza. 

“Come on, Baz,” he whines, tilting his head to the side pleadingly. “Don’t be a snob! I know it looks a little gross, but it's really delicious. Trust me. Just have a bite - It won’t kill you!”

Hesitantly, I raise a slice up to my lips, and take a minuscule bite. When the flavour hits me, I groan embarrassingly - Unable to control myself.

As much as I hate to admit it, he was right - It’s infuriatingly delicious. 

“Aha!” he yells, sticking out his hand, and jabbing a finger at my face. “I told you! Isn’t it so great?” 

“Alright, alright,” I chuckle. “There's no need to make a scene. I will admit that it’s fairly pleasant - As far as pizzas go, anyway”

“Nah. Piss off. It’s great, and you know it!”

I quirk my brow, swatting his hand away from my face. 

“Me and the boys come here after college sometimes,” he continues, biting into the pizza sloppily. “I know the owner, and everything. Sometimes he gives me free wedges … It’s a pretty sweet deal.”

“I see. And who are these boys, you speak of?” I laugh. 

“Josh and Nathan. We all go to Brockenhurst, but we live together too, so we’re pretty close. We’re practically brothers at this point!”

“Oh nice. Do you have your own flat or something?” I ask, confused. 

“Oh no. Not yet, anyway. We will do it soon. But, right now, we’re living in a kid’s home. Murdoch House? I don’t know if you know it.”

Shit. I’m such a twat.

“No. I don’t,” I sigh, twisting my hands together, ashamed. “I’m sorry, though. I didn’t realise. Some of the stuff I’ve said … If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have. I mean, if I touched a nerve or anything, I really am sincerely sorry. I’d never mean to actually hurt you - I just like taunting people. It’s my way.” 

“Baz,” he chortles, the sides of his eyes scrunching up sweetly. “There’s no need to get all serious, you Numpty. It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t. It’s chill, seriously. I've lived in homes my whole life, so I’m not really bothered. Not anymore, anyway. It’s just - People tend to go all awkward when I tell them, so I try not to bring it up”. 

I puff out a breath, relieved. 

“Okay. Well, good. Thank you for telling me, though. And, don’t worry, I won’t 'go all awkward' on you. That would be below me.”

He hums, smiling across at me, his cheeks stuffed with pizza. He looks like a hamster - And really, it should look ridiculous, but somehow, on him, it’s stupidly endearing. 

“Do you like it there, though?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t really know much about living in care - Only what I saw on Tracy Beaker as a kid. And, I’m not sure that’s exactly the most accurate account.”

“Not far off, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s mostly good. I mean, the kids are alright. And the staff at this place are nice - You can tell they like, properly care, you know? The rules are kind of strict, though - Which is annoying. And the food is abysmal … That’s probably the worst thing about it, to be honest . They’re pretty underfunded, so they have to just bulk buy the cheapest shit they can find … Leads to some interesting culinary creations.” 

I shake my head in disbelief. 

“Of course that’s what you care about, you absolute disaster!” 

“What?” He calls, outraged. “I’m a growing boy, Baz - I need sustenance! Delicious, well-seasoned sustenance.”

“You’ll have to come over to mine for dinner sometime, then,” I smile. “My step-mother is a pretty amazing cook - So, I’m sure she could make something you'd enjoy. We’ll have to wait until Father is away, though. I doubt he’d appreciate me inviting the hooligan that egged his house over for dinner.”

“Seriously?” He asks, his tone achingly hopeful. 

“Yeah. Why not?” I answer, schooling my voice into an indifferent drone. “My family are convinced that I have no friends besides my cousin and his mate, so it would be satisfying to prove them wrong.” 

“Oh well, cool,” he mumbles, his freckled cheeks flushing a light rose. “I’d like that.” 

 ————————————————————————————

We stayed, sat together in that grotty little diner for hours after that (Right up until Snow’s phone started blaring out an alarm - Signalling the approach of his of measly eight P.M curfew). We didn’t really talk about anything important - Mostly sticking to inane chatter about school and football. But, that hardly matters. It was still good. It was so, so good. 

I lean against the Jag’s bonnet, starting over at him silently. 

“Well,” He sighs, kicking his foot against the pavement childishly. “I suppose this is a good night then?”

“I suppose so,” I mumble, desperately trying to prevent the disappointment welling up within my chest from seeping into my voice. “It's probably best to avoid triggering a search party.” 

“Yeah - But … You’ll text me, yeah? I mean, I’ll text you, obviously. But you will answer won’t you?” 

“Of course.” I answer plainly. “You know where I live, remember? Ignoring you is meaningless - You could just stalk me into submission.” 

“Oh haha. Very funny, Dickhead,” He groans. “But seriously … I’ll hold you to that.” 

“I hope you do, Snow,” I say, simpering meekly. 

“Oh don’t you worry, Pitch. I will.”

With that, he flashes me a soft smile, waving me goodbye, before turning and trudging down the driveway. “Make sure your phone’s volume is up! I’d hate for you to miss my fantastic texts!” He calls, pulling the gate closed  behind him with an ear-aching screech. And then, he’s gone. 

————————————————————————————

SS (23:47): Tonight was fun :) We should hang out again soon

ME (23:47): Definitely. 

SS (23:48): Aha yes!

SS (23:48): You’re paying next time tho. 

ME (23:49): If you insist, Snow. 

SS (23:50): I defo do! 

SS (23:50): Oh, also ... Speaking of insisting 

SS (23:50): You should call me Simon. You don't have to keep referring to me by my surname, you know?

SS (23:50): I call you Baz. So, I reckon it's only fair! 

ME (23:52): I'll consider it, Snow. I make no promises, though!

SS (23:52): You're well mean! :(((((((

SS (23:52): Imma make you call me Simon one day! Whether you like it or not!

ME (23:53): I'd love to see you try. Pitches are not easily swayed! 

SS (23:54): Pftttt! Whatever! 

SS (23:54): Say what you like - I'm still gonna get you to call me it! 

SS (23:54): I've got a plan!

SS (23:55): And it's defo going to work!

SS (23:55): I gtg to bed now tho. My phone’s gonna get confiscated if I keep this up. 

SS (23: 55): So ... G’night Baz. I'll talk to you tomorrow :) 

SS (23:55): Don’t let the ghosties get you! 

ME (23:56): You’re ridiculous. 

ME (23:56): Goodnight, Snow. Talk to you then.  

————————————————————————————

ME (1:19): Good Morning, Snow. I know you're asleep right now, but I thought that you'd like to know that I ate the scone you left me. You were absolutely right ... It was delicious. So, thank you for leaving me one - With your insatiable appetite, I can only imagine how difficult that must've been for you. 

ME (1:20): You'll definitely need to bring me some more, at some point. I'll make more concrete plans with you at a more reasonable hour, though. I seriously need to sleep.