WHO: Jeremy Dearborn & Barnaby Snell. WHAT: Dicussing Baz's future without The Pitch. WHEN: Tonight, 10 February. WHERE: A pub in Tinworth.
“...so yeah, I have the show in the morning, but then I’m yours for the rest of the day.” Baz met Jeremy’s eyes across the rim of his raised glass, settling back into the booth. They were in a relatively quiet Tinworth pub, their conversation occasionally punctuated by nearby ripples of laughter and clinking glasses. His mouth tightened into a thoughtful little frown after a moment of reflection. “I would taken the entire day off, but it is the last week. I want to go out with a bang and all that.”
He gazed intently at Jeremy. His face looked untroubled in the pub’s mellow lighting, but it had only been two weeks since — the incident. Hopefully, a nice Valentine’s Day would be a nice distraction. “Still,” Baz continued, “it’ll be good to have a day that’s just focused on, you know, us.”
“That’s fine. I mean, what’s really so great about a random Wednesday in February anyway?” Jeremy said lightly, offering a smile that was convincing for the most part. The lighting helped. “I want you to, I don’t know, make the most of your show while you can. I’m sorry about it.” He was sorry about a lot of things. ‘Sorry’ was a word that was starting to lose its meaning.
Baz folded his arms and sighed. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault. It’s all on Malfoy.” He held his drink to his lips and sipped slowly, savoring the burn of the alcohol. It was hard to imagine his life without The Pitch in it — it had been a constant in his life for the past three years.
“At least you’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” he added, a smile overcoming the uneasy look on his face.
“You’ll find something else to do. And this won’t be forever anyway. Quidditch will be back.” At some point. Probably. It was hard to imagine that it wouldn’t, even if Jeremy wasn’t sure how hopeful he was particularly feeling. He tried to offer a comforting smile anyway.
“Not that I’m not pretty into the idea of seeing more of you. Often. Preferably undressed.”
Baz’s response was a peal of low, delighted laughter as he leaned forward, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his chin against a balled fist. “That can definitely happen,” he replied with a wink. “But I should probably look into a proper job, too. Do you think I’d make a good Welcome Witch at St Mungo’s?”
Jeremy pressed his lips together with a low hum as his eyes narrowed in consideration. “Well, hooking up with the Welcome Witch has always been on my bucket list, so that’d help me out a lot. Plus I guess you’ve got a nice enough smile which is pretty much that job’s only requirement.”
His finger lazily drew lines in the condensation of his pint glass as he thought about it. “You’d be bored out of your mind.”
“Maybe. But—” Baz turned up the voltage of his grin. “Tell me more about my smile.”
“I said it was nice enough, didn’t I? This need to have your ego stroked is a real problem you know,” Jeremy teased, trying to hold back a laugh but failing immediately.
“How is it a problem?” Baz asked, smile never faltering as he reached for his glass. “That’s why I keep you around, you know.” His smile took on a provocative edge as he dramatically whispered, “For stroking.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jeremy leaned forward, hands clasping around his glass. “And here I thought you kept me around for my charming personality and striking good looks. If a hand’s all you’re after, you’ve two of them.” He paused. “Though you might want to get some practice in first.”
“Well, I do have this free time now…” But Baz’s good humor faded as he remembered the upcoming end of his employment. With a melodramatic groan, he pushed his glass aside and laid his head atop his folded arms. His words were half-muffled by the sleeve of his jumper as he said, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be the presenter for winged horse races.”
“Please don’t. I only have it in me to pretend to care about one boring sport. I can’t fake caring about winged horse races too.” Sighing slightly, Jeremy reached over, a hand giving Baz’s elbow a squeeze. “What would you want to do? It’s not like you haven’t been dissatisfied sometimes. Have you ever thought about anything else you might want to do?”
“I used to want to write for the Prophet,” Baz grumbled, not bothering to lift his head up. “But even that would be about Quidditch, and I wouldn’t want to work for Narcissa Malfoy for all the money in the world.” He angled his head so his eyes peeked out just above the top of his arm. “Maybe I should look into exotic dancing.”
There was nothing funny about it, but Jeremy couldn’t stop himself from laughing just a little, which he tried to muffle by taking a gulp of his pint. It didn’t really work. “You’re going to turn me into someone who gets jealous if you take up exotic dancing, and I don’t really want to be the jealous type, babe. Don’t do that to me. And don’t work for the Prophet because I still feel like burning it down. Maybe the Quidditch museum needs someone to hang out in storage and wank all over their artifacts. You’d be great at that.”
Baz immediately perked up at the last suggestion, a tentative smile creeping across his face as he lifted his head. “Yeah? That’s not a bad idea…” He already spent a great deal of time fawning over the artifacts at the museum — it had never occurred to him that he could turn his love affair with the Museum of Quidditch into a paying endeavor. “I’d get to examine the medieval broomsticks. Oh, maybe I’d be able to get my hands on Gertie Keddle’s diary, not that I’m familiar with Saxon, but I could learn. And—”
“—yeah, yeah, yeah, babe. Super horny for Gertie Keddle’s diary. Got it,” Jeremy interrupted with a grin. “It’s just a thought, but it might be worth looking into. You’re great though, you know? There’s going to be something. And if I can help at all, I will.” He looked at Baz, catching his gaze.
A wild, fond smile spread across Baz’s face. His eyes were locked onto Jeremy’s as he reached for his glass, draining the rest of his rum and coke. Then, still grinning, he slid out of the booth and insinuated himself on Jeremy’s side of the table, motioning for him to slide over. “You’re great, too. And we’re going to be okay, you know?” He reached for Jeremy’s hand. “This year’s off to a shit start, but it’s going to to get better.”
Jeremy stiffened slightly, just for a second. Just for a second before the moment passed and he could squeeze Baz’s hand and entwine their fingers and look at him with a smile that he meant. Because he did mean it as he leaned into him, glad to be close. “I dunno,” he said, before his smile twisted into something more teasing. “I mean I guess right now’s okay.”
“Just okay?” Baz asked in a low voice, raising an eyebrow before he pulled Jeremy in for a lingering kiss.
“Yeah, just okay,” Jeremy reaffirmed when they broke apart, though it wasn’t the least bit convincing. “I might need you to do that again if you’re going to convince me of anything else.”
Baz made a considering noise as he inched closer, smiling against Jeremy’s mouth. He reached up to wrap a hand around Jeremy’s neck, his fingers toying with the ends of his hair. “I think I can do that,” he murmured, just before he closed the distance between them.