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It was a small mistake in the crappy computer, nothing drastic or irreparable. In fact, if no one had spoken out about it, it probably would have faded into obscurity forever. Two names among countless others of the crowded group home; both sharing the name “Simon” with a last initial of “S” and were put into the system as such. So when they were separately relocated into a new foster home, it wasn’t called to anyone's attention that such a switch had been made. What had it mattered anyway? The two would be moved again soon and it wasn’t as if the problem would have any lasting errors. Well, or so they thought. Technology had no way to determine whether a person was “Normal” or not. They were all Normal weren’t they? And off they went, bearing the wrong destiny.

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Simon wasn’t average. Though normal in appearance with bronze curls cut into whatever style was easiest to maintain and worn clothing purchased at various thrift stores, he was anything but.

Discovered at a young age, Simon found that he was particularly adept at the manipulation of the laws of physics using simple everyday phrases.

A watched pot never boils!” was said to warm up his shower one morning after forgetting to pay his heating bill.

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands! ” to cheer up a grumpy customer during rush hour. Minor things, really, used for convenience and boredom. Of course there were some instances of more serious uses, such as when he was about to be mugged in a back alley on the way home from work one evening, and the “ I’m a little tied up right now! ” came impulsively. Simon didn’t stick around to see the outcome and had drunkenly stumbled out of the shady hole in the wall in his attempt to escape. It hadn't mattered much that he didn't see the result, though. The echoing crack of bones gave enough answer to what had happened anyway. So, no, Simon was not normal, but he lived his life as well as the next gent and kept to a strict schedule of work, magic, then social life (however lacking), and his job at their local bakery, Sweet Eats, was popular enough to provide an adequate income for the freshly eighteen year-old. It helped that most of the customers that Simon served were kind elderly women who were just looking for someone to listen to them,  though there has been the occasional dickface to walk in once in awhile.

Which brings us to the current situation. The prettiest boy that Simon had ever seen had just waltzed in, slammed two hundred pounds onto the counter and demanded that they cater for a party that was less than ten hours away.

“Excuse me?” Simon asked dumbly. The other at least had the decency to look somewhat apologetic.

“Our previous catering service had encountered some… issues, so it seems we had to resort to” He glanced around “...here.” Simon ground his teeth together; the clear disdain this asshole customer showed for his bakery made Simon’s blood boil red hot.

“Right. So, you expect us to make enough food to feed your pompous arse using this? ” He waved the bills for emphasis.

“Don't be an idiot. That's merely down payment.” A singular eyebrow was raised at the end of the statement and Simon bit down harder, shoving the money into a drawer beneath the counter, and in the same movement, snatching a paper menu with check marks along the sides.

“ Just mark down whatever you want to order, then bring it up to the front.” He ran a hand down his face tiredly, the encounter thoroughly draining him. “And do it quickly; you didn't exactly leave us enough time to prepare,” he mumbled.

Simon’s apparent agitation served only to amuse the customer further. He turned away, walking to one of the far tables to write down and for a while, the only sounds were the hum of the AC and scribbling of a cheap pen, before the crinkle of paper alerted Simon to his customer dropping off his order and walking out, the jingle of the door following him.

Simon walked over to the sheet left on the counter and skimmed all the options he picked, mostly complicated French-sounding treats with the occasional crowd pleaser thrown in. Typical. Looking further up, printed legibly in elegant script, was his name: Tyrannus Bastilion Grimm-Pitch. Of course he would have such a posh sounding name.

Turning around in a huff, Simon marched towards the kitchen, double checking to insure its emptiness, before clearly saying, “ Okay girls, now let's get in formation! ” And watching as the ingredients scrambled to line up. It was over a long period of time that Simon learned to both control his magic and also realize that iconic song lyrics worked well as spells (Beyónce and Britney Spears being particularly effective), so he spent many evenings reading up on pop culture, and with a flick of his wrist, toss of his hair and a powerful shout of “ You better work bitch! ” He was ready to go.

If not witnessed before, Simon’s magic was a thing of beauty. Flour flew through the air into mixers, eggs began cracking and in the eye of the sugary hurricane, Simon moved. He twirled and jumped and long limbs reached every which way, an unheard song played in his mind and was left oblivious to the familiar sound of jingling bells signaling the arrival of a customer.

“Hello? I just realized that I never gave you an address?” the familiar low tones that rang out were firmly ignored, “Is it okay to walk… back… here… Oh.” Simon spun around in a whirl and all that floated around him fell with a thump. He felt his heart simultaneously speed up and stop, the blood draining from his face

Simon sputtered “I know what you're gonna say and this is not what it looks like.”

“So you mean to tell me that you're not using your magic to help with your job? It's not that big of a deal, just be glad another magician walked in instead of a Normal” Tyrannus was calm as he said this, but it served only to make Simon more confused.

“Another… are you saying that there are more people who can do this stuff? It's not just me?” He gaped at the other. A perfect black brow was raised in judgement.

“You're joking right?” Tyrannus asked incredulously, “you can’t seriously tell me that you have never encountered another magician before.” Simon didn't speak, only kept looking towards Bastillon as if his entire reality was breaking apart, which he supposed it was.

“Merlin and Morgana how have you survived this long?” There were many horrors to be faced when born a magician and if the bakers magic was as potent as it felt, then it was a wonder that he hasn't been chopped to bits by now. “Just… hold on a moment, let me think.”

Bas felt conflicted. On one hand, he had no desire whatsoever to have to walk Simon (the name was on his tag) through all the nuances in the world of magic, but on the other, his conscience refused to abandon this person when he had just shifted his entire life previous. He sighed.

“Well there's no helping it now” He raised a well-concealed wand and intoned, “ Clean as a whistle ” to sweep all the noticeable mess away and turned to the person next to him.

“You say that you have no clue about magicians yet here you are, spelling like a lunatic. Who taught you then?” His voice took on a serious tone, no longer the mocking timbre it had been.

“I.. no one. I just learned. What do you mean taught? Do you guys have teachers for this? Why haven’t I heard about anyone with magic before? Is there-”

“Shut up, please. We’ll talk about this later, for now just finish up the food and then we’ll talk.” Bastiles patience worn out and this conversation could wait, his horderves however, could not. This was the third bakery he had went to since his original cancelled on him, and the only one so far that accepted the order. He was not in the mood to go searching again.

“Excuse me?!? Is that what you're thinking about? How could you possibly care about something like food right now??” This asshole’s priorities were way off target.

“We can always talk about your revelation, for now Let’s Get  to Work. ” The words in Simon's mouth dried up, Tyrannus magic felt different somehow, more dry and hot than his own. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant though and while the rapid motion of ingredients started again, Simon mulled over what it meant for himself and what would happen next.

Chapter Text

What normally took several hours of work was cut down to an afternoon. Simon did his best to concentrate on the task at hand instead of the multitude of questions swirling in his mind, but every time he caught a glimpse of dark hair in his peripheral, he was reminded once more.

Simon had always known that magic was real, it was nearly impossible not to come to this conclusion when he had grown up with it- but to hear that there was an entire hidden community that possessed the same abilities as him? It would take some getting used to, to say the least.

Simon glanced over to the boy in question and choked on a laugh. Basil's entire upper body was thinly coated in a layer of flour, along with pink cookie icing painting his cheek. His brow was furrowed in concentration as his magic gently folded a lump of dough and Simon could feel it all the way across the kitchen. It was hot and demanding, similar to the sensation of sitting just too close to a bond fire. He took a moment to bask in a power that wasn’t his own. It felt strange, but not in a bad way. Almost like the sensation of experiencing a new food for the first time.

Ridiculously, Simons train of thought was brought to the first time he tried boba in milk tea. At first the gooey texture mixed with the sweetness of the cream overpowered his senses, but gradually, he’d grown to like the flavour. Even now just thinking about it brought saliva to his tongue and he swallowed, distinctly aware of the rumbling in his gut. Simon weighed the options quickly and moved to face the other boy,

“Hey, do you want to take a break and grab a bite to eat really quick? I promise it won’t take long.” For a moment, Simon worried that Basilton would ignore him and continue to work, but he lowered his wand a moment later.

“Alright. I’m sure you have questions.” Simon nodded and opened his mouth, but was cut off before he had the chance to speak “You have three.”

“Wha… how is that fair??”

“It’s not. Two more.” Simon sputtered “Tic tok. Hurry up.” Bas was enjoying this thoroughly, but Simon didn’t need to know that.

“Just… give me time to think.” The indignant tone was gone and replaced with a vulnerability that Bas didn’t want to read into, there was a dragging pause between the two as the shorter gathered his thoughts.

“Okay. Two.” Bas nodded, “How come i’ve never heard of other people with magic before?”

“We keep well hidden. If you weren’t raised around it you would have no idea it existed at all.” That much was obvious, yet Simon found himself absentmindedly agreeing anyway.

He felt a question burning on his tongue, and an intense desire for an answer, but it was too much too fast. He didn’t want this almost-stranger to listen to it. Instead, Simon resorted to his usual avoidance tactic; humor.

“Does that make Harry Potter a true story then?” He tried giving his voice an airy cadence, but all Basil did was give him a look of pity and indulgently answered,

“No, we’re quite a bit different from the book, but I will admit that it’s popularity gave us new spells to work with.” Simon felt himself smile in response. Bas looked down at his shirt and made a weak attempt to dust himself off before quickly giving up and recasting clean as a whistle.

“You mentioned getting food somewhere?” Simon’s smile grew wider as the topic shifted to the subject of eating.

“There’s this amazing Thai place right down the street, you have to try their curry.” Bas had to hold back a grin of his own as he watched the other boy light up. He didn’t actually like Thai food all that much but Simon didn’t need to know that. They moved beside one another out of the bakery, Simon taking a moment to flip the sign to “closed” and locking the door.

The actual walk in itself is filled with a warm silence that both boys made no move to fill; the air around them was cool despite spring creeping closer and the sky was bright and clear. Regardless of Bas’s original hesitations, the little hole in the wall restaurant was quaint. A small fountain stood in the entrance, with each booth scattered about having an embroidered pillow in the seat. It was fairly empty inside and they seated themselves, a waiter coming from the back a few seconds later. Once his gaze found them his eyes flashed with recognition and Bas felt himself tense.

“If it isn’t our one-man bank account, welcome back! Do you want your usual?” Simon felt his face burn in embarrassment and buried it into his hands, unable to cover the red tips of his ears.

“Yes please, can you double it though?” For the first time since walking in did the employee look at Bas and as soon as he did, did a double take. Bastiles hand crept towards his wand. He didn’t think he knew the stranger but when having the last name “Pitch” you couldn’t be sure. It turned out that there wasn’t anything to worry about as their server flashed a blinding smile and turned back to Simon, “Look at you! No more weekends alone in here, huh?” If it was possible, Simon’s face burned even brighter,

“Elliot, this is Basilton. He’s an acquaintance .” The waiter- Elliot, let out what could only be a sigh of disappointment.

“And here I thought that you’d finally gotten over me.”

“We were never dating!” Simons skin resembles an overly-ripe tomato. The twos banter was interrupted by a poorly-disguised laugh from Baz,

“As much fun as I’m having right now, we’re in a bit of a rush, so lunch?”

The two had the sense to look sheepish, Elliot finished jotting down Simon’s order and headed to the kitchens.