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I’m enjoying my Thursday night when I get a phone call.
On the first ring, I ignore it in favor of watching my movie and munching on popcorn. On the second ring, I do the same, although my eyes do linger on my phone in annoyance. It's late; who could possibly be calling now?
When the third ring comes, I sigh, and give in. Shifting my blanket and the popcorn, I halfheartedly reach over for my Samsung.
When I look at the caller I.D., I’m surprised to see that Simon is calling me. Surprised, of course, because tonight is supposed to be his date night. (As his flatmate, I know that he and Baz don’t have correlating schedules with university.) Thursday happens to be the only day in which neither of them have a class to worry about in the morning, so they usually leave the house. I don't mind, though; I typically study or watch a few guilty pleasures, depending on my mood. It's nice.
Wondering what Simon has gotten himself into now, I make the last effort to grab the phone. Once I gather it, I finally answer the call. “Simon?”
“Hi, Penny,” Simon says, his voice muffled, albeit with a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
“Why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your boyfriend?”
On the other end, I hear Simon sputter. “Yeah, but— Uh, I sort of need your help.”
"Help?"
"Yes, Penny," he mutters. "You know what I said."
I hum. "Fine," I sit up on my couch, surrendering my blanket to the floor. “I was in the middle of watching a movie, but I guess I could help.”
“Thanks. Well, uh, I-I need you to pick me— I mean us up.”
“Pick you up?" I wonder aloud. I’m confused, and relay that to him. “Doesn’t Baz have a car?”
There’s a few moments of silence. Then, “Y-yeah, but he didn’t drive it.”
I hear a faint voice from the other end, this one more posh and proper. Baz. “He drove the fucking clunker.”
“Oh,” I mumble, shaking my head before using a more stern tone. “Simon.”
Simon’s weak voice comes through. “Yes?”
“You drove the Spirit? That rustbucket?" I ask, incredulous. There’s more silence, which gives me confirmation I needed. “Really, Simon?”
"I thought it would be romantic."
In response, I let out a small puff of laughter, unable to hold it in. "Oh my— Well, where are you?" I ask once I catch my breath. "I'll pick you up."
“Um, you know that Lutheran church? The one a few miles from the flat?”
My eyebrows raise in question. “Yes?”
“Well, we’re there. In the parking lot.”
I hum. “That’s interesting.”
Oh dear. (My sweet, sweet Simon.) “All right,” I say while trying to locate my Volvo’s keys. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
--- --- ---
As I pull my Volvo into the parking lot, I try my best to take in the situation.
It's miserable outside. It's dark, and a bit wet with a dreary breeze. It's a tad foggy, too, and I can hardly make out a green, car-shaped oddity standing out against the darkness.
I continue towards the car, waiting for the beams of my own to highlight the situation; the situation, I soon find out, that includes my roommate and his boyfriend. They're distracted, pressing each other against the car as I approach.
Before I bring the car to a halt, though, the two startle against one another, presumably realizing that they're not alone. (They're such careless morons. I love them.) They break apart, turning ever-so-slightly towards my car.
Bringing the car to a stop, I turn off the motor, opening and shutting my door as I walk over to Baz and Simon for further inspection.
They're looking at me with a pair of expressions—Baz, with his small, smug smirk; and Simon, with a cheeky, embarrassed frown.
Taking in their disheveled states, I can figure why Simon looks so embarrassed. Simon's shirt is askew, though he's now trying to do his best to smooth it out. (It's not working.) His hair is even more crazed than usual, too, and in the faint light, I can make out a few marks on his collarbone. The main culprit seems to be Baz—the culprit of both the marks on Simon's neck and the most guilty of the two, that is.
I think this, well, because as sarcastic as he is, Baz usually sports his smirk when he's up to something—or "plotting," as Simon would say. As if he can read my mind, Baz's grin is almost feral, driving the point the home. However, he doesn't look much better than his boyfriend. Rumpled clothes, slightly flushed face, typically tame locks a mess around his face; it's a whole scene. (Everything is a whole scene with Baz, but that's besides the point.)
Leave it to me to get into this mess, I guess.
Clearing my throat, I try and make conversation. "Boys."
Baz, ever the sarcastic one, bites back. "How do you do, Bunce?"
I spare him a glare in favor of rolling my eyes in a scoff. "Can you explain the situation, please?"
Baz sighs. "Well," he starts, glancing at Simon, "this nightmare decided he wanted to pay for gas. He insisted on driving his bloody car, and I humored him." Baz pauses, angling himself towards the man of the hour. "Would you like to explain further, my dear?"
Simon blushes. "Fuck you," he grumbles. I notice this ignites a mischievous grin from Baz, but I don't mention it. After a moment, Simon speaks up again, "Um…. Well, I guess my car's unreliable—"
"Gee, you think?" I cut in, my voice oozing in sarcasm.
He glares at me as he carries on, "And it sort of broke down on the way back. Just died."
I move to respond, but Baz beats me to it. "And because we're holy, Simon decided to pull into a church parking lot."
Grunting, Simon turns on his heel to face Baz. "Where should I have parked, then?" He waves his hands around. "It's the only safe place from here to the flat, y'know."
Baz snorts. "You passed a few gas stations and banks, Snow."
Simon glares once more, this time directing his attention on his boyfriend rather than me. "I believe you were the one who recommended we stop here."
Baz smiles as he shrugs. "I was simply making sure we could get the best out of the situation." A beat passes before Simon punches him in the arm, causing Baz to cackle evilly.
I groan. “Are you guys done?” I say, exasperated. “I have a movie to watch.”
“What about my fucking car?” Simon questions.
“It’s not far from the flat, Simon. It’s too cold to fiddle around with cables.”
“We’re just going to leave it here, then? Someone might steal it.”
Baz scoffs. “Snow, no one wants this car,” he says, waving his hand in the general direction of the car. “It can’t even go 20 minutes without dying. It might as well be useless.”
Simon frowns at him. “I bought it with my own money, though,” he grumbles, clearly annoyed with the pair of us. “Took a few months’ worth of baking.”
“And I don’t know why you bought it, honestly. You hardly drive it.”
“I wanted to.” Simon shrugs. “I like driving.”
“You’re a terrible driver,” Baz informs. “Every time I ride with you, you cause the gears to groan.”
“You taught me.”
“I obviously didn't teach you well enough.”
Simon looks meek, perhaps annoyed. Grumbling, he says, “Stop being a dick.”
Baz’s face softens before it erupts into a cheeky smile. "You love that though." Gently grabbing Simon by the shoulders, Baz begins to lead his boyfriend towards the back of my car. “And besides, I can make it up to you.”
I raise my eyebrows, finally ending my silence. “You’ll ‘make it up’ to him? Not in my backseat, you’re not.”
“Relax, Bunce,” Baz replies, “we’re not vulgar. We’ll do it in bed.”
I roll my eyes, taking in Baz’s comment before I notice his word choice. “You’re not ‘vulgar,' Baz?” I question, raising my eyebrows. “You and Simon just shagged in a bloody parking lot.”
Pushing an increasingly flushed Simon into the car, Baz speaks. “I’ll have you know that we were not fucking in a parking lot.”
I glance down. “Your fly is unzipped.” Simon begrudgingly confirms my observation, and Baz looks down at himself before quickly adjusting his jeans.
Once he finishes, he insists, “We just snogged." He glances at Simon with a small, sneaky grin. "Simon just got handsy.”
Before Baz can shut the car door, Simon rushes to add, “You were on board with it, and you know it.”
“And you, my dear, are delirious,” Baz retorts, and shuts the door.
Clapping his hands together, he looks at me. “Are we ready to go?”
Humming in confirmation, I start for my own door. “You should be nicer, you know.”
His face softens again. “It’s my thing, Bunce. Or our thing, rather.”
“What is? Having fun in parking lots?”
He blinks before rolling his eyes dramatically. “No. Banter.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Sometimes you’re a bit hard on him,” I say. Flashing him with my own mischievous grin, I continue. “Just give him a good time in bed tonight, yeah?”
Ignoring the complaints from Baz, I open my door, settling into my seat as I hear Baz continue to grumble. As he sits in the back seat beside Simon, however, he doesn't reply back to me. Good.
As I drive home, I revel in my victory over Baz. It doesn’t happen too often, but it’s fun to see him speechless for an entire car ride. It takes a lot to shut up Baz Pitch, after all.
--- --- ---
When I get home, I head straight for the main room, settling in to watch my movie as the boys “sneakily” head off to Simon’s bedroom.
I’m soon reminded that Simon likes it when Baz doesn’t shut up. I guess Baz did “make it up” to Simon, then.
Shaking my head, I grumble. “Those boys. Honestly."
But as I turn up my movie, I can’t help but let out a happy smile for them. They deserve it.