And the BIGGEST shout-out to my support and beta, @baz-n-simon (:
Baz is a sharp bloke, and I don’t mean because of his fangs. He’s smart and studious, values his education, and takes classes at Uni every weekday. He comes over most days, but only after he studies, and he only stays the night when he doesn’t have class the next morning. Which is why I think it’s strange that this morning, a Tuesday, I wake up to find him sleeping peacefully next to me.
“Baz,” I say, rather loudly. I nudge him in the arm, and his skin feels like icicles.
He doesn’t move. If I were anyone else, I would think that he’s dead. Which, I guess, he is. Dead, I mean. Or undead. Or both.
“Baz,” I say again, quieter. “Wake up.” I push him on his shoulder this time. More icicles.
“Hn…” He stirs and groans, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Wha’s it, Simon?”
Baz’s voice in the morning is always deep and raspy, and he calls me Simon instead of Snow. It was like this even when we were at Watford. And I realize that it’s always been something that I liked.
“Don’t you have class, Baz?” I ask, softer than before.
He peeks one eye open, but immediately scrunches it closed it when the sunlight hits him, and he pulls the blanket over his head.
He rolls over to face me and pulls the blanket down just below his eyes.
“I said, I’m skipping.” And then he pulls the blanket right back up again.
I smile. Baz is also very grumpy in the morning, but less like a bridge troll and more like a five-year old child pouting.
“What about your classes?” I try to pull the blanket away from his face, but he holds onto it. “Don’t you have a test today? Won’t you fail?”
He snorts and pulls part of the blanket away from his face, only leaving one eye covered. “I never fail.”
I laugh. “You look like a pirate.”
He smiles briefly, then frowns, and pulls the blanket back over his face again. “I just want to go back to sleep, Snow.”
I roll my eyes and swing my legs off the bed. When I start to get up, I’m startled briefly by Baz’s icy grip around my wrist.
“Where are you going?” His eyes are peeking out from the blanket again.
“You said you wanted to sleep?”
He lets go of my wrist and pats the spot on the bed where I was laying. “Stay.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
He pats the bed again. “Let’s stay in bed for a few more hours.”
I grin. “The Baz Pitch? Wanting to cuddle?”
Baz furrows his eyebrows and hides his face again. “Nevermind,” he says grumpily, pushing his icy hand at my arm. “Go away.”
I laugh and grab his hand. It’s soft, even with his cold skin.
“I’m going to find a snack,” I say. “And then I’ll come back to bed.”
Baz just groans and rolls over.
When I come back from the kitchen, Baz is already asleep again. The curtains are closed, and his head is peeking out from the blanket. And he’s hogging the entire thing.
I crawl across the bed next to him. I try tugging part of the blanket away, but Baz has a death grip.
“Baz.” I touch his arm gently. “Will you let go of the blanket?”
He shifts slightly and mumbles. “…when I get my cuddles, Snow.”
Why did Simon Snow have to fuck up so outrageously every. damn. time.
Baz should’ve been mad. Baz was mad, initially. Simon Snow had, in a fit of rage, thrown himself out of a fucking window.
To be fair, Simon was still learning to adjust to a Normal life, meaning he forgot sometimes about the perks of having magick. This was different, though. This was Simon-doesn’t-care-about-his-own-life-enough-to-stay-safe.
When Baz got home to see him just lying on their lawn, bruised from the fall, it was clear what had happened. He was angry, but his anger was quickly overtaken by concern.
“Simon, why did you do this?” Baz asked his boyfriend, crouching on the ground next to him. To his not-quite-surprise, Simon began to cry.
“Baz, I just… I wanted to surprise you! It is Valentine’s Day, after all. Then I started thinking about things you’ve done for me - as inspiration, I guess - and suddenly I just felt so fucking useless! You’ve done so much for me and all I do is just sit here and accept it!” Simon spilled out everything, tears running down his face at an angle since he was still lying in the grass, sprawled on his back.
“Simon, love,” Baz began, his voice gentle.
“-And then I broke a mug. I broke your mug, Baz.” Simon explained as if it were the worst thing in the world. Baz nearly laughed.
“You-you threw yourself out a window because you broke a mug?” Baz was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Well, yeah…” Simon admitted, rather dejectedly.
“Simon,” Baz said in a serious tone, taking his hand. “You could’ve died. I don’t care how many mugs you break, you can’t just go and die on me!” He squeezed Simon’s hand to make sure he was listening before continuing. “Simon, look at me. Do not ever do that to me again. Got it?” Simon nodded meekly. “Okay, then let’s get you inside. You’re a mess, Snow!”
“I’m always a mess.”
“You’re my mess.”
“Okay, who are you and what the hell did you do with Baz?” Simon asked, swatting his shoulder playfully.
“Okay, okay. But seriously, you need some ice on this shit. I surprised you didn’t break anything.”
“Okay.” Simon sighed. He really did fuck up Valentine’s Day, but at least he was still spending it with Baz.
“This was a bad idea,” Ginny says, staring apprehensively out the taxi window.
Beside her, Mike catches the driver’s eye in the rear view, glances at Ginny, then looks back. “Hey, man, would you mind giving us a few minutes? Keep the meter running; we just need a little time.” The guy shrugs and exits the car, goes to lean against the hood and begins thumbing through his phone.
Mike turns his attention back to Ginny, who hasn’t taken her eyes off the house that sits beyond the curb. “Talk to me, Gin.” He takes her hand and presses it between his in an effort to calm the tremor that’s begun to run through her.
After a while, Ginny turns to him, eyes bright with unshed tears, and expels a tremulous breath. “What if we just went back to San Diego? I can make up some excuse. She’s used to them by now, and I’ll figure out how to make it up to her before the-“ She pauses before she can complete her sentence, and her eyes grow ever wider and more frantic as her breathing gets rapid. Mike places his hands on her shoulders and runs his palms up and down Ginny’s arms.
“Breathe for me, babe, it’s okay. Breathe, Ginny. Breathe with me.” Mike fixes her with a steady gaze, and together they slowly breathe in and out for several moments. Once her panic subsides, Mike pulls Ginny in close and brushes her hair from her face, wipes the tears that sneak out from the corners of her eyes. “Okay, Gin. If you want to, we can go. We can leave right now. But do you want to put this off? Your mom and Kevin are getting married in three months. And you’ve been really clear about wanting to talk to her before the wedding day.”
“I know. And I do. It’s just…” Ginny pauses again and steals a look out the window. “Knowing that I’ll walk through that door and see them together again in the house - my family’shouse. It just brings it all back.” She buries her face in Mike’s chest and tightens her hold on him. Mike feels more than hears her say, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Baker.” His use of her last name gets her attention, and she lifts her head. “You can do anything. And I’m here for you no matter what. You wanna get the hell out of here, we’ll ask this guy to take us anywhere you want to go. You want to scream at your mom and Kevin for three hours, I’ll stand beside you or fuck off to the backyard. I can take him out for beers so you can finally talk to your mom about the affair in private. Whatever you want to do, however you want to do it, I’m in. You call the play, Rook.”
Once he finishes, Ginny takes another long look at the house. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Mike huffs a laugh, “Which scenario we going with, Gin?”
“The third one. You take him for beers while Mom and I talk. But I reserve the right to scream at him later. And you don’t be like, overly friendly to him. He makes my mom happy, but I’m not completely sold yet.”
“Fair enough,” Mike agrees. He moves to exit the car, but Ginny holds him back. She reaches up to pull him into a deep kiss.
Releasing his lips, but resting her forehead against his, she says, “Thanks, Old Man. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Mike gives her a few quick pecks, and they sit leaning against one another for a few more beats. Then, with a quick tug to his beard, Ginny turns away and pushes open her door.
Mike climbs out on his side and meets the cabbie at the trunk. He tips him extra for his trouble, then grabs his and Ginny’s bags. Joining her at the edge of the driveway, he takes her hand and raises it to place a quick kiss to her palm. Ginny looks at him, teeth worrying her lower lip, doubts still playing in her eyes.
“Hey, I’m with you, okay?” He finishes with a short nod, “Always.”
Ginny answers with a nod of her own, squeezes his hand, and leads him up to the house.