Snowbaz Oneshots

Float Away (Or Try and Stay)

This is just about Baz getting Simon a weighted blanket to help with his feelings of anxiousness :) 

I'm not sure if this has been done before, but it's the first thing that came to mind when I first read about Simon disliking feather-light touches last year, so here we are. This is dedicated to my own steadfast and awesome weighted blanket which I love more than life itself /hj

Read as you see fit here- warnings for mild anxiety.

Enjoy! <3

Simon POV

I don't usually have trouble sleeping, but tonight seems to be one of those nights. I'm still not entirely sure why.

I mean, yeah, okay, trouble sleeping isn't foreign to me. Since the White Chapel, and America, and Smith-Richards, and... all of that, I guess... weird dreams and mid-sleep panics have definitely happened. For both Baz and I. But this is a new type of beast that's not usual in the slightest.

Whilst he sleeps, I'm lying next to Baz, unmoving and completely awake. He's only lived here for about a month now, and I think he still sees Fiona's place as a backup plan (even though I'd literally never make him go back to that hellhole). Somehow, though, even after such a short time, it still feels like he's been here for ages, and like he's going to belong here for many more. His dark hair spread out across the pillow he claimed looks right. His fancy pyjamas in my (our) dresser looks right.

I guess a month can feel like much longer than it really is, at least for the two of us. I mean, my life has done complete one-eighties before in half that time.

Baz is a heavy sleeper, and he refuses to get up before seven a.m. on any given day, just like he did at Watford. I've never slept deep like that exactly, but tonight is especially weird. It might even be morning, considering how much time I've just spent lying here, trying to get comfortable.

It's the sheets, maybe. Don't get me wrong, I love our sheets. They're familiar, and Baz was about to die on his hill about ensuring that they were high quality, so it's not like they're unpleasant. They're just...thin. Small. I could rip them down the middle if I wanted to, or even by accident, honestly. Which is how half of the disasters I cause occur.

(That's what I do. Cause disasters.)

Maybe that's the other thing, that I can't stop fucking thinking. Anyone and everyone knows that being awake past midnight is playing a dangerous game with your brain.

(Maybe I should give my old therapist a call. Maybe.)

After a bit more twitching and worrying, I inevitably wake Baz up. I suppose I should've mentioned that he's a light sleeper when he's not right next to me- he always picks up on it when I'm up. (It could be a vampire thing, now that I think about it, something connected to his heightened senses.) (To be honest, it reminds me more of how Daphne says all mothers are ingrained with the ability to wake immediately at the sound of a baby crying.) (Not that I'm a baby- you get it.)

"Simon?" he mumbles. I can barely hear his voice, rusted with sleep, so I lean down and get closer to him. "What're you doing?"

"Trying to sleep," I answer honestly. My wings flap behind me, agitated, and Baz laughs a bit. "Sorry."

"No sorries..." He yawns. "Why can't you sleep?"

"I dunno. I just feel kinda weightless, I guess. Or not grounded."

Baz hums in thought and snuggles closer to me. He wraps his arms around my torso and arms and shifts his weight so he's half on top of me. I shift so I'm cradling him by the waist without squashing my wings.