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December has something of a bittersweet flavour to it.
Bitter is in the weather, falling snow and fussy winds rattling against the castle’s windows at night. Sweet is in the way Baz’s gaze will follow Simon, and his cold hands will stuff themselves under Simon’s cloak, ‘round his hips and dipped into the fuzzy texture of his jumper.
He’s always softer, come winter; full of lingering touches on Simon’s arms and back, and full of excuses to lean in and share Simon’s space - one fine-boned hand resting casually on Simon’s thigh as he peers at Simon’s homework over his shoulder, all but brushing their cheeks together.
If asked, Baz will either evade the question or argue that it’s all about stealing warmth and helping the short, boring days pass.
Simon knows that’s not the reason; it has more to do with making up for the time they’ll lose during winter break, stuck with their families and apart from each other. Because, much as he can deny it, Baz has the heart of a sappy old man - and Simon loves it.
Which is why he makes extra sure to be there when Baz’s team is practicing, sitting in the cold with a groaning Penny, all huddled in their hats and scarves and gloves; watching for the moment Baz’s eyes will find him, and crinkle with that charming grin of his.
They turn their trips to Hogsmeade into pocket-sized dates, sneaking in and out of candy shops and pubs, sharing star-shaped glow-in-your-mouth chocolates and tasting butterbeer on each other’s lips when nobody’s looking.
They share glances across Hogwarts’ crowded hallways in between classes, the ghost of laughter gleaming so clearly in Baz’s grey eyes, it makes Simon ache to kiss him.
They write their essays together, down in the Great Hall, perched snugly side by side on the bench, surrounded by the enticing scent of vanilla and cocoa and cinnamon rising from overflowing plates of cookies. When Baz changes theirs into steaming scones with a flick of his wand, Simon thanks him with a quick, sticky kiss on his exposed neck, and then sit back to savour Baz’s half-hearted grumbling.
What Simon likes best, though, is when Baz kisses him on the Stairways; when he stands one step beneath Simon and lets him be the taller one for a change, and cups his hand at the back of Simon’s head, pulling him in as the staircase shuffles; when the world is spinning and Baz’s mouth is hot and pliant and his clever tongue weaves spells on Simon, and Simon can’t tell left from right anymore.
On the last day, they sneak out to the inner courtyard while everyone’s busy having breakfast, and tuck themselves away in a sheltered corner behind the pillars. The stone is cold through Simon’s cloak, the air bears the clean scent of snow and fir, and Baz’s arms are sheer warmth around him.
His dark hair feels like silk between Simon’s bare fingers, his scarf a sweet tingle against Simon’s chin when they kiss.
“You must write me every day,” Baz demands, only half-serious, the tip of his nose pink and ice-cold against Simon’s.
“Poor Cherry,” Simon giggles, picturing his tiny owl carrying envelops twice her size in her dainty talons, “she’s doomed. And she’ll spend more time with you than with me! Make sure you feed her properly.”
“Butter sticks, was it?” Baz teases, trailing his hands down to the small of Simon’s back, tickling him.
“And sausage rolls,” Simon laughs, wiggling helplessly in Baz’s grasp.
That’s when Baz burrows his face in the crook of Simon’s neck, nuzzling tender skin and soft curls and yellow bits of scarf. His arms wrap a little more tightly around Simon, his lips cold and whisper-soft when they graze Simon’s skin.
“I’m taking you home with me,” he announces, muffled by a few layers of wool. Simon hums in response, curling into him, tilting his head back to perch his chin on Baz’s shoulder.
“Okay,” Simon murmurs, nodding quietly in his boyfriend’s embrace, Baz’s hair a steady tickle against his cheek. Maybe next year they’ll do that. Maybe Simon will be the one to whisk Baz away, after all. Until then, he can soak up this warmth blossoming between them, and Baz’s citrus scent clinging to his own skin after he leaves.