Work Text:
Baz
Simon Snow’s eyes are blue. The understatement of the century, I know. But it’s strange. They are not a deep blue from the Mediterranean Sea nor are they an icy blue from the pole. They are just blue. A normal, ordinary blue. Then the question is: why am I so infatuated with them? Is it because his eyes remind me of the sky on a sunny day that this cursed existence I live denies me of? Is it because the universe is intelligent and figured out that the only way to contrast his warm skin and golden hair was with the cool colour of his eyes (and that it loves to torment me with it)? Is it because his eyes are so big and wondrous that they are just begging to be stared at? Is it just because I am in love with Simon Snow and everything else about him?
Yes. It’s always a yes when it comes him.
Even before my true feelings for him begun to surface, I was infatuated. Just because as a kid, his eyes seem to reflect the sunny sky, while my own captured the drabness of a cloudy one. I was fascinated. And then as fifth grade rolled around, so did my feelings amplify.
Nowadays, I am able to enjoy my fill of Snow’s windows to the soul without his knowledge.
Unlike Snow, I am able to catch glances without being caught by him. I’d like to think I’ve become an expert of sorts. It’s mostly when he’s distracted by something that is not me, like when he is waving his sword around or eating one of those forsaken sour cherry scones that he loads up with butter. With the sword, he has that determined look in his eye. With a slight squint and his eyebrows furrowed. It’s a real hero look. A look that no one could help but swoon over. There are glimpses where he messes up his little routine and the whole hero persona drops, his eyes widen and his eyebrows, still knitted, raise to the top of his forehead. It’s wholesome and it’s only for me (I am completely delusional.)
With the scones on the other hand, it’s a sight to behold. When they happen to be served at the dining hall, he just stares at those things like they are a miracle to behold and when he gets his hands on them? Don’t get me started. His eyes grow hungry and wanting in a way that makes my throat go dry. And then as he bites into the soft pastry, his eyebrows knit together and his eyes soften as he enjoys his beloved scone in bliss. Sometimes, I like to imagine him staring at me like does those scones and watching him devour me alive (have I not already stated how disturbed I am?)
Additional looks that have caught my eye, unfortunately, are the ones he gives Wellbelove. The way his eyes squint when he laughs with her. The way his eyes narrow when he makes most likely makes a suggestive comment her way. The way he looks down at her with such warmth and softness in his eyes like she’s his forever. Like she’s his and no one else’s. Like they are each other’s end goal. It’s unfortunate that I notice. Not because of him, no, never. It’s unfortunate because I know it’ll never happen to me. He will never look at me the way he looks at her, as much as my aching heart wants it. Not only because he is painfully straight, but because he is meant to kill me at the end. I can’t wait for that look. What will it be? Satisfaction? Pain? Triumph? Despair? What will his eyes look like when I kiss him goodbye as his sword plunges my undead heart?
Unfortunately for me, those glimpses are incredibly rare. With Snow’s eyes being on me almost 24/7 that is. Those looks certainly don’t go unnoticed either, they are etched into my mind. They are good material for whenever I need, in a lack of better words, motivation to release myself (I am aware that I need help.)
It can’t be helped. Just the way he stares at me during a football match. I always love to put up a show for him and watch his face twist and react to new techniques and tricks I have learnt. The way he glares at me across the dining hall as he bites down on his meal, thinking I’m plotting something. The way his face intensifies when I play into those fantasies of his and sneer back at him. I can’t help it, this one-sided rivalry of ours the only attention he seems to give me and I love it. Any attention from Simon Snow is good enough for me and it’s the best I’m ever going to get.
There are so many of his looks I love. The way his eyes follow me as I walk into our room, like I am the most important thing at that point in time. The way his eyes widen and stare at me as I spout Greek anecdotes to Professor Minos after class ends. The way he stares on with curiosity as he follows me into the catacombs. I am not quite certain how but he is obliviously unaware that I know he is there. It’s all part of the silly game we like to play.
There is one look that I will never get over. The way he looks at me when we lay down in our respective beds. In those moments, when he thinks that I can’t see him, there is a certain something to it that I can’t place. Tenderness? Understanding? I’m probably just being delusional. But the way he looks directly at me with those eyes, I can’t help but fall into my own fantasies. Fantasies of what if we never had to fight. What if we weren’t basically representatives of two opposing sides? What if we could ever share a domestic life with each other? What if Simon ever thought that I was worth something to him?
My fantasies and daydreams are filled with those blue eyes. Those normal, ordinary eyes. Those eyes that I can’t seem to get enough of, no matter how ordinary they seem. As I close my eyes, I see them once more. They have etched themselves into the inside of my eyelids. I see them as my dream Simon lays next to me, staring at me with the type of warmth that he radiates whenever he goes off. It’s unbearable but oh, how I love it. Yes, Simon. Burn me. Undress me. Defile me with your piercing stares. At least here, I am able to indulge myself in it. I dare to look again. My eyes go directly to his. They are like magnets and I’m unable to tear my eyes away.
It seems like I am hypnotised quite easily. All it takes is a tender look from Simon Snow from my daydreams and/or fantasies. Yeah, tell that to all my non-existent enemies and rivals. See what they do with that information.
He’s taken my heart without knowing and now I must pay the price. The price? Him in my thoughts for the rest of my sad existence. Thanks, Simon. Thanks for screwing me over.
Oh, but I can’t lie.
I can’t and will never get tired of those eyes of his. No matter how ordinary they may seem.
