i call this one 'puffy simon'

College AU part 2

(part one)


SIMON

“I need coffee again.”

Their walk had ended where the night started, back in their dorm with a pile of French worksheets between them.

“You’re glasses are crooked.” Baz said dully.

Simon pushed them up with his index finger and set Baz with a hard stare. Three years of being roommates and he hadn’t quite figured him out. He knew somethings, though. Like that Baz  loved poetry, probably wrote his own (and it was probably brilliant), he was literally good at everything (particularly sarcasm and giving mixed signals), and Simon was convinced he owed him a thousand quid for coffee by now.

Simon stifled a yawn. “I want to sleep.”

“What’s stopping you?” Baz looked up from a notebook he was scribbling in. His dark hair fell in a silky curtain around his face. Simon realized that he had really nice cheekbones.

“French grammar.” Simon nudged a few papers aside with his foot absentmindedly and huffed. “I might as well give up on film and change my major to French.”

“We can just finish it in the morning,” Baz mumbled. He rose to his feet and stretched.

Simon nodded and climbed into bed, taking a moment to pull his glasses off and setting them neatly on the nightstand. He reached over and turned the lamp off.

A slant of moonlight fell into their room from their window, highlighting the work scattered between their beds in a soft glow. Simon couldn’t help but think about how close they really were, and how easy it would be to push their beds together.

“Hey, Snow.”

“What?

“You almost look cute without your glasses on.”

[2:04am] PENNY. MAYDAY.

[Penny, 2:13am] Jesus Christ, Simon. I have a chemistry test tomorrow.

[2:14am] BAZ KIND OF CALLED ME CUTE AND I CAN’T SLEEP.

[Penny, 2:17] I’m blocking you, goodnight.

BAZ

Simon looked exhausted the next day.

There was music blasting from the room when Baz got back, his hands heavy with crates of beer. It almost sounded like Taylor Swift.

In your wildest dreams

It was Taylor Swift.

Baz precariously balanced the beer in the crook of one arm and unlocked the door. He wasn’t expecting to find a puffy eyed, sobbing mess-of-a-roommate lying on the floor surrounded by a gross mix of crumpled tissues and tearstained papers.

“Crowley, what the hell, Snow?” Baz screamed over the music, letting the beer tumble into his bed.

Simon sat up and dragged a hand down  his face while drawing in a shaky breath. “Sorry.” Taylor Swift’s voice abruptly cut off.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” Simon sniffled. He had a tissue stuck to his cheek, and Baz reached out to pluck it off before tossing it aside with a scowl. “I just figured out I have a D in my film class. French has been taking up too much of my time.”

“Do you want to be drunk?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You do now.”

“That’s against campus policy,” Simon mumbled.

Baz pulled a beer from the case and held it out to Simon, who grabbed it eagerly. “There’s a lot I do that’s against campus policy. Like smoke.”

SIMON

“Remember when you called me cute?” Simon’s voice was slurred and he pointed at Baz with the mouth of his (fourth) beer.

“I didn’t call you cute, I said you were almost cute, and that’s only without your glasses.”

They were sitting on the tiny square of floor between the beds, legs tangled together, cheeks rosy, and lips turned into lopsided grins.

“What’s wrong with my glasses?” Simon’s eyebrows furrowed together and he struggled to keep a straight face.

“They make it harder to see your eyes.” Baz tipped his beer up and took a long drink. “They remind me of the sky.”

“Baz, read me some poetry,” Simon blurted.

“What?”

“Read me poetry. I like your voice.” He giggled. “Don’t tell me the pretentious English major doesn’t have a thousand different poems memorized.”

Baz set his beer on the floor and cleared his throat before breaking into a fit of laughter. “I only know poems about love.”

“Tell me one.”

“Love is more thicker than forget

More thinner than recall

More seldom than a wave is wet

More frequent than to fail.”

Baz recited it perfectly. It was his favorite, reminding him of nothing other than blue eyes and bronze curls.

“Love is less always than to win

Less never than alive

Less bigger than the least begin

Less littler than forgive.”

He was suddenly aware of how close they were, of how close Simon was. Something was drawing them nearer, and then their lips brushed, and they were kissing.

Finally.

“We were drunk,” Simon said idly. His eyes were cast on his notebook.

“I know.”

“We kissed.”

“I know.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?”

Baz ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “No, I don’t.”

Simon glanced up from his work and looked at Baz. His cheeks were flushed. “Does it count though? We were drunk, Baz.”

Baz bit his lip. Did it count? It sure as hell felt like it counted. “Let’s try again”

SIMON

Baz’s lips were soft.

BAZ

They pulled apart, and this time there was no drunken laughter following. There were only sheepish smiles and hot cheeks.

“It counted.”


(The poem that Baz recited is called ‘love is more thicker than forget’ by E.E Cummings)