I spent the ride home trying to convince everyone to go away and leave Agatha and me with some time alone, but Baz stubbornly refused. Everyone did, actually.

Shep said he'd been promised board games. Who follows up a trip to a haunted house with a cozy dorm room board game night? Penelope Bunce apparently, and by extension Shep. And me and Agatha. Even Baz followed us back and made motions to join in. It is his room, I guess. But he could have gone to spend time with his real friends. I tried to suggest that, but I'm shit enough with words that somehow I bollocksed it up.

"Coming back with us, Baz?"

"To my own room?" He arched an eyebrow. "I rather thought I would, yes."

"You don't have to, I mean… I know we made a big mess in there with Shep's costumes, and you don't like messes. We'd not be offended if you wanted to clear out until it was back up to your standards."

"That's… thoughtful of you," he'd said. Damn. I was trying for subtle, not kind. I've already successfully ticked "Impress Agatha by being nice to Baz off my list," thank you very much.

At least I managed to take a seat next to Agatha on the floor where Penny has an array of games laid out: a Ouija board, Tarot cards, little scraps of paper and pencils.

"Ugh," I say.

Baz snorts.

"What?" Penny asks. "What's wrong with a little more Halloween fun?" She plunks a bowl of candy down in the middle of the floor and hands me a mug of spiced cider. I see everyone else already has one. Baz is sipping his carefully around his fake vampure teeth. It's a whole production.

"Sorry," I say, tearing my eyes away. "This just… wasn't what I had in mind." I'm talking about the whole group games thing, but Shep sits down on my other side and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"That's all right, mate, we can play something else. I have a detective game in mind where one person goes out of the room and everyone else decides on a rule. Then the first person comes back in and has to figure it out by asking questions."

That sounds even worse, honestly, but it's given me an idea.

"Okay," I say. "That. Let's do that."

"So," Penny says, "who's going to leave the room to be the sleuth?"

"Agatha and I will go," I say, standing up and pulling the door open before anyone can object.

"It's a one person job, Simon," Shep says.

"Yeah, well, everyone knows I'm incredibly thick, right Baz?" He raises his eyebrows. "I probably couldn't manage it on my own." Penny's looking skeptical, Shep, confused. Agatha, despite seeming baffled, stands up readily enough to follow me. Baz's face, which I can't help seeing it as I close the door - it's directly in my line of sight -is unreadable.

Once the door clicks shut I gather all of my courage and look into Agatha's eyes. She looks gently curious. Non-threatening. I can do this.

"Agatha." I fumble for my words. "I— Can you—. I wanted to talk to you about— about what happened earlier."

She smiles at me, a real, genuine smile. None of the sly looks and smirking she was aiming at Baz earlier. Thank. Fucking. God. She knows it was me. She must, yeah? She'd not be so happy at the mention of something "happening" earlier if she didn't right? Unless she wants me to congratulate her on making a move with Baz? No. That would be all sorts of messed up.

I wait a beat, hoping she'll say something to get the conversation actually started. To clear this all up, so I don't have to. She just smiles a bit more and widens her eyes at me in a "go ahead," gesture.

I reckon I'm on my own then.

"About the, erm, the hand-holding?"

She smiles wider and nods. Okay then. This is extremely awkward. I really thought she'd have said something by now, but the smiling is good, right?

"Well?" I say. "What do you think?"

"I think it's wonderful." She lowers her voice and leans in, conspiratorial. "I've been wondering if that was going to happen sooner or later. I'm so honored that you've chosen me."

"Oh, well. That's good, then." Relief is flooding through me. This is going better than I anticipated. Though honored is a bit odd? That doesn't sound like very even ground for starting a relationship. But I haven't had a serious relationship before this, so what do I know?

I reach out towards her. Maybe we can hold hands again. Maybe we can do more than hold hands. It'll take them a few minutes to get the game sorted. We've got time.

She clasps my hand and brings it up in front of her chest. Not touching it—her chest, I mean. She's just holding my hand in both of hers in front of her in midair. Her hands feel different now that I'm not caught up in the darkness and tension of the haunted house. Slimmer, smoother, I must have imagined the calluses on the tips of her fingers.

"Simon, I want you to know that I'm here for you. I'll keep this private if that's what you want and if not, you have my full support."

"What—"

She interrupts. "Like I said, I'm honored that you've come to me to talk about this, but how does he feel about it? What did he say when you talked to him?"

I feel suddenly like my brain has dropped out from between my ears. There's a whooshing silence where my thoughts used to be. All I can hear is Agatha's voice saying, "…how does he feel… when you talked to him…" ringing in my ears.

Slowly, I pull my hand out of hers. "Him? Agatha? Him who?"

"Him. Baz. What did he say?" She gasps. "Oh! Did you come directly to me?"

"Yes," I say slowly. "I did come directly to you. Because I wanted to talk to you about you holding my hand? In the haunted house?"

"Oh." Agatha's eyes widen. "Simon, you weren't holding hands with me. You were holding hands with Baz. You didn't know?"

I gape at her, speechless.

"Wait here," she says. "I'll go get him."

I grab for her but she's already beyond my reach, holding the door open, big smile on her face, voice bright.

"I've decided I don't want to do this anymore. Baz, come take my place."

She turns back to wink at me before stepping into the room. Complaints sound from inside, about how they'll have to start all over again, about how Agatha can't just change the rules. There's a bit of a commotion by the door and Baz practically stumbles out—I'm pretty sure Agatha pushed him—and stops short just outside, his black and crimson cape swirls around his hips for a moment before settling.

We both just stand there. It's very quiet in Agatha's wake. And very awkward.

The loud complaints from within the room die down and then it's absolutely silent. If he were a real vampire I bet he'd be able to hear my heart thumping a mile a minute in my chest.

Agatha's voice sounds again, loud suddenly. "Hang on a quick sec."

Then she slips out the door and into the hall, closing it behind her with a snap.

"Baz, Simon thought he was holding my hand in the haunted house. Simon," she enunciates the next five words very carefully. "Baz knew it was you."

Then she's gone. Bomb dropped.

If the silence seemed intense before, well… it was nothing compared to this.

Baz is pale. Gripping the doorframe. He's clearly trying to draw himself up to an imposing sneer, but without his usual luck. He's more off center than I've ever seen him.

"I thought you knew it was me," he says. "I assumed it was a momentary lapse of judgement on your part. Fear induced panic, and whatnot." He lets go of the doorframe and tips his chin into the air. He finally looks bored and aloof, but it's too late. I've seen through the armor. I never realized before that it was armor.

I shouldn't leave him hanging like this. I should say something.

I don't. I'm struggling to make sense of what I'm hearing. He thought I knew I was holding his hand. He thought I was afraid in the dark, and he—my roommate who hates me and takes every opportunity to be an arse—held my hand. Instead of mocking me he squeezed it, gently, when the next frightening thing came along. He was nice.

Maybe, he never actually hated me.

He's just standing there now, rubbing his hand up and down along the side of his unnecessarily posh trousers. I reckon he's waiting for me to say something and here I am just gaping at his long legs.

The silence stretches until finally he takes a breath and turns towards the stairs. "I'll spend the evening in Dev and Niall's room. I don't want to…" He gestures towards our door, shakes his head and starts walking away. "You should have a good time with your friends."

Normally, if he said something like that there'd be sarcastic bite to his voice. Friends, what friends? But now it's quiet and low. He just sounds defeated.

I panic.

"The violin!" I yell, as his foot clicks onto the edge of top step.

It's completely moronic. I'm completely moronic. But it makes him stop. He turns his head over his shoulder to look back at me, confused.

"The calluses," I say. "On your hand. I— I thought they were from riding. I thought it was Agatha's because of the calluses."

"Riders wear gloves to avoid getting calluses." He turns back and takes a step down.

"Yours are from playing the violin!" I'm getting frantic.

"Well spotted, Snow."

Another step.

"Baz, please come back."

He stops, two steps below me—shorter, for a change (I didn't realize I had followed him to the stairs)—and turns so we're face to face.

"Why?"

"Because—" I stop. Why do I want him back?

"I don't know."

He huffs and begins to turn again. I reach out and grab his arm, making him stumble and take a step forward, one step up. Towards me. We're practically eye to eye now.

"I don't know," I repeat, "but… it was nice, when I was holding your hand. I kept thinking, 'I don't want this to end.' It felt, I don't know… comforting? And I don't feel all that different about it now, knowing it was you."

He clears his throat and I realize I've been looking down, rubbing the back of my head with the hand that's not grasping his bicep.

I drop my hand to my side—not the one holding him, I don't trust him not to run away—and look up.

I've never noticed before how many colours are in his eyes. If you'd asked me a day ago, I'd have said they were a deep green—I have paid attention to his eyes a bit before this, I suppose. But from here, eight inches away, there are flecks of grey and amber and slate blue. They're beautiful. He's beautiful.

"You're beautiful." I say it out loud. This is already the most embarrassing conversation of my life. I'm going to have to go to the student affairs office tomorrow and ask for a new room assignment anyway so why not just say everything that comes into my head? Brilliant plan, Simon.

I thought Baz was already as tense as he gets, but somehow at my words, his whole body manages to become even more rigid, and a strand of silky black hair falls into his eyes. I reach out without thinking and tuck it back behind his ear.

I'm barely breathing. We're in a bubble of time and space that seems frozen. Maybe Penelope figured out how to use that gaudy ring to cast a magic spell after all. Something has surely stopped time.

Baz takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. It smells of mint and chocolate apple cider. I don't think he's really been breathing either.

"Simon?" he begins. "Simon, what are you saying?"

"I don't know."

Slowly, he says, "Should I go, or not?"

"No. Definitely don't go. Will you stay here? Please"

"Here, as in, playing games in our room with your friends?"

"Maybe. Yeah. Yes. That." He begins to pull his sleeve out of my grip. "But also— first… here, right here. On the stairs. With me."

I lean in, minutely, and relax my grip on his arm. I don't think he's about to run away any more. I slowly slide my hand up to his shoulder, letting my fingers fall behind his back, pulling him towards me. He finishes closing the distance and my eyes fall shut instinctively as our lips meet, and then…

"Ouch! Fuck!" I jump back.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Baz is saying. He pulls the fake fangs—the extremely realistically sharp fake fangs—out of his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I got used to them. I forgot they were there." He's flushed and practically vibrating.

I laugh. "I did too. No worries though, yeah? Come here."

Baz doesn't move, so I grab the edges of his cape and pull until he's forced to take a step up into my space on the landing. Now he's towering over me slightly. I can feel a grin stretching my face as I reach around the back of his neck and run my fingers through the soft, short hairs there, pulling him down to me. This time our lips meet with nothing in the way.

It's tentative at first. I've never kissed anyone. I don't know if he has. If I had to guess I'd say probably not; I don't get the sense he knows quite what he's doing either. But I don't care one single bit. Everything is soft and warm and intoxicating. I pull his bottom lip into my mouth and he shivers and presses his body in closer to mine.

By the time Agatha opens the door to see what's taking us so long, one of his arms is clasping me tightly around the waist and he's holding my my hand gently in his (just like in the haunted house - but this time with his thumb tracing stomach-melting circles across my palm) and I've completely forgotten what it's like not to be kissing him.

"Change of plan," Agatha says as steps back into the room. "Who knows a good three person game?"