Snowbaz Oneshots

I Think I'm Home (And You're Here With Me)

Hey all! This was something I really enjoyed writing, and oddly enough, it felt like a very new thing for me to write- I feel like I broke ground regarding how I understand these characters, which was cool. I hope you like it as much as me!

Sappy-ness aside, let's talk timeline: I'd wager this takes place, like... the November before Snow for Christmas? I can't remember if this *technically* already happened in AWTWB... and I honestly don't have the energy to get into the nitty-gritty details lolll, so this is mostly for the vibes <3

Read as you see fit here- warnings for implied anxiety/PTSD. Happy ending guaranteed!

Enjoy <3

Baz

Even from outside the front door, I can hear the clanging and banging.

Simon must be doing dinner.

I smile inwardly- I am hungry, and tired from class, and cold from the fight through the snow I had to go through to get in here. A not-so quiet night in sounds lovely.

I re-shoulder my bag and knock. I can't make it out clearly, but Simon must call me in, because the door to his apartment swings open when I twist the handle.

As predicted, Simon is up against the kitchen counter, simultaneously wrangling with a pot on the stove and the door of the oven. It smells like pasta and roasted potatoes. (I'm unsurprised; starch is Simon's favourite thing, aside from sugar.) (I'll have to get involved at this rate. Luckily for Snow, I have four younger siblings and know how to properly cook green beans so that they no longer taste green.)

Simon's back is to me, so I walk up next to him and place my hand on his shoulder. "Evening, love."

He startles, and I'm momentarily concerned- he hasn't jumped at my touch in weeks, and I thought cooking meant he had a decent day- but then he smiles and kisses my cheek. "Sorry. I just didn't hear you knock or come in. How was your day?"

He keeps talking, bringing up the presentation he knew I had today and asking if I want to help with dinner, but his words are blurring and fizzing out in my head. I press my thumb to my temple, trying to zone back in. He didn't hear me knock.

I glance back at the door. It's sitting there innocently, as doors tend to do, as if it didn't just break my brain.

He didn't hear me knock.

"Baz?" Eyes on his food, Simon pinches my waist as he stirs the pot. "You there?"

"It let me in."

"What?"

"The door," I explain. "You didn't hear me, you didn't let me in. The door did."

"Well, yeah." He shrugs, still focussed on the noodles. "You live here."

Simon

When I turn around to grab the cheese grater, Baz's eyes are welling up. Shit.

I think I've missed a trick here. I don't usually miss things with Baz. He's a lot more open around me these days, so between his expressions, his body language, and the tell-tale lines he employs when he's deflecting, I pride myself on being able to decipher his emotional puzzle. I guess I'm off my game today. I was making pasta and then he just started crying.

I set my stuff down and walk over to him, resting my palm on his cheek. "Hey, why're you crying? Is something wrong?" I pause, thinking over what he said. "I thought, I mean... I thought you liked living here."

He huffs and wipes his eye with his sleeve. "Simon. Of course I like living here. I just didn't think I did until, like, two minutes ago."

"But all your stuff is unpacked in our room."