crowley: a snowbaz fanfiction

it's too late

BAZ PITCH
"Basilton,a word." I stand up and follow him, because it's not like I have the guts to say no, you fucker. Simon gives me a worried look and I return the favour. I glare at Fiona before I disappear into another overly decorated room.
As soon as the door closes, he shoves me against the wall. I don't fight it, nor do I look in his eyes.
He grabs my chin and forces eye contact. "You think you could bring any filthy swine into this household, Basilton," he says through gritted teeth. I swallow and don't dare look away from his piercing black eyes. (I got the greyish-blueish-green ones from my mother.)
"Let alone the fact that he is dead to our family," he articulates.
I clench my jaw. "Well, you see, Malcolm, I'm in love with him," I spit. I narrow my eyes at him. "Now we should get back to dinner, I reckon you're making a scene."
He slams my head into a wall and my vision clouds a little, the corners turning black. I helplessly try to free my arms and he pushes down harder. "No son of mine will disrespect me and my morals."
I laugh with the little energy I have left. "What morals," I growl, half slurring. I can't help it though, my head's throbbing.
This sends me flying into the side table next to our couch. There's a crash from the lamp, and I feel something scratchy on the back of my head. I try not to panic as I see blood on my fingers. Father looks over me as Snow comes flying in. (A little disheveled, I might say, but I suppose I can't accuse such things in this condition. Bummer.)
"You are dead to me." His voice echoes through my head. Dead to me, dead to me, dead to me. It's not new information, of course, an all I can think is you're too late.

SIMON SNOW
I park the car in the driveway, a little crooked because Baz is the better driver here, though I'd hate to admit it. I hop out and open Baz's door. He stares straight ahead with his tie undone and his messed up hair sticking to his cheeks, which I might add are puffed up a little. My heart sinks at the sight as I grab his hand to hoist him up.
I direct him inside and we go to my room. Baz, looking smaller than ever, sinks into his side: The left, always. I remember when I fell asleep on that side once and he woke me up just to tell me to scoot over. Romantic, I know.
He lays there on his stomach as I change into clean pyjamas. I give him a worried glance. It's very unlike Baz to just get in bed with his "street clothes" on. He says it's (quote) "extremely unsanitary" and scolds me whenever I do it.
I gently take his tie and his shoes off. Despite it only being 9:00, he's drifting off already. The poor thing doesn't have nearly as much sleep as he needs, and he starts uni the day after tomorrow.
"Baz," I whisper. He barely hums a response. "Don't you wanna change?"
He moans in response. I snuggle in bed next to him, (even though he's taking up more than half), and trace I love you over and over on his back. "I love you too," Baz semi-whispers shakily.