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They both suffered from nightmares. And they both knew it. Their whimpers and cries became familiar to each other, but they never mentioned it the next morning, never tried to comfort, never asked what demons the other had to fight. It wasn't really allowed to matter to either of them, was it?
Baz hated breaking tradition. And he hated caring about Simon Snow. So this was a doubly terrible scenario for him.
But he had been listening to Snow for the past two hours whine harder and louder than he ever had before, sweating, clutching the bed, silent sobs racking his body, loud sobs choked in his throat. It was too much, and too loud, and Baz couldn't go to sleep with it all going on, and it was two in the morning now, and something had to be done.
A spell, maybe, he thought, feet slipping out from sheet tangles. For dreams. Sweet dreams...? Would that work?
And he sighed, a little bitter and a little cranky, fumbling for his wand, pointing it at Simon's forehead. But Snow was moving restlessly now, and Baz was getting a bit too distracted, and without completely comprehending his actions, he suddenly found himself brushing out Simon's curls with his fingers. That's what Baz's mother had done to comfort Baz when he was young- she would run her hand along his scalp, smoothing over whatever mess was on top of his head that day, fingernails dragging across pressure points that relaxed the rest of his limbs-
He hoped Snow wouldn't wake up, because- Crowley, how terrible. How embarrassing. Baz wouldn't even know what to say- "Nope, Snow, not trying to molest your hair- just trying to get some sleep. Honestly."
It'd worked, nevertheless, and Snow didn't wake, letting his face relax long enough for Baz to whisper laced words towards him- "Sweet dreams."
Many long seconds had passed before Simon sighed, the sides of his lips tugging lightly. His body splayed out, all open and loose, unlike his usual knotted bent position he reverted to.
Baz exhaled and slid over towards his own bed. That hadn't been too bad. He debated for a while over whether simply waking Snow up would have been a better option, but eventually decided that he had made the right choice. Snow, being the infuriating human that he was, would have most likely just had another nightmare upon going back to sleep.
He really hoped he wouldn't have to do this again. A waste of magic. For Snow.
And it wasn't like he didn't have nightmares of his own.
*****
It happened the next night. Baz had been busy dreaming of fangs, and bites, and blood, and him being human again, being chased by monsters, but he was the monster,and he was chasing the humans… anyway, he'd been having that dream when a yell rudely interrupted it. He woke gasping in his own bed, fingertips clenching fistfuls of limp blankets, heartbeat beyond control. It was a while before reality (one breath in, one breath out) took hold and the background screams began coming into focus.
"Crowley," Baz muttered, and he shoved the wand out from his pocket, already annoyed. Simon was thrashing, and Baz didn't bother to be gentle this time- he just gripped the jawlines of the boy's face and shouted "Sweet dreams!", watching Simon transition fluidly into soft breaths and fluttering eyelids. Horrifyingly, Baz's stomach did a small leap, which he immediately ignored.
And he climbed under his own covers, gritting teeth at the thought of Snow drifting off softly- at the expense of his magic- while he was forced to return to the vampires. Wonderful, really. Just... Wonderful.
*****
He'd been doing it for two weeks now, and he had half a mind to tell Snow to do his own Sweet Dreams spells, but then he would have to admit to doing something nice, and that would just about kill him.
Also, Snow's magic would probably propel everyone in the castle into sleep if Simon ever tried a Sweet Dreams spell. It was just that uncontrollable and fucked up.
And...
And also, Baz- twisted, sick person that he was- liked watching him sleep. He liked watching Snow glide into comfort and relaxation. He liked seeing his magic have an effect on someone like that, he supposed. It was so seamless.
He would never admit to himself that last part, though. It sounded too much as though... Well. As though he liked helping Snow, or something.
Crowley. Maybe he did.
Only because of the magical aspect of it all, Baz reminded himself. Only because of the magic.
But even as his mind voiced those words, he winced. Why did his thoughts all sound like… excuses?
*****
One night, while Baz held Simon's shoulder gently to keep him still, before even casting the spell, Simon sighed. He turned, burying his face into Baz's wrist, breathing delicately into Baz's pulse, which was racing to incredible speeds.
He attempted to dislodge his wrist from Simon's lips, but Simon whined every time it moved, snuggling his cheek into the palm for longer and longer minutes.
Baz, somehow, bending over, all awkward and uncomfortable, began moving his fingers, brushing them softly alongside Simon's cheeks. And Simon breathed lightly, turning to the side, which allowed Baz's hand to uncomfortably escape, and Baz took the opportunity to bolt out of the room.
He couldn't sleep here tonight. He couldn't. It was... It was too weird, and he wouldn't be able to sleep with Simon's nightmares, and...
And he was afraid, for whatever reason.
Of what?
He didn't want to answer himself.
*****
"You look dead," Simon noticed the next afternoon as Baz slumped in. He launched himself onto his bed, eyes already closed. Classes had been especially terrible to go through that day.
Baz resisted the urge to bite out, menacingly, "Vampires are dead, Snow" or a "Who's fault is that?" and instead turned into his pillow.
"Where were you last night?" Simon wanted to know. "Were you feeding?"
For the past three years, Simon has had the unfortunate habit of trying to get Baz to admit he's a vampire. As if Baz would ever slip up. And he never did. And so the game continued on.
Baz said nothing.
And he could hear Simon sigh and settle back onto his bed, probably reading, and Baz could feel his stomach twist for some reason, being back in this room, and he let himself fall to darkness and shadows.
*****
He was trying to run and couldn't, he was trying to scream and couldn't- all he could do was watch and sob as the vampires sped closer to him and fight with the blurry memory of his mother.
And it was over and over and over again, the same memory of bites along his neck, the same screams, the same sobs-
And the dream shifted, slightly, and Baz's vision blurred, and he could vaguely feel someone running fingers through his hair, scratching lightly down his neck, and he nearly woke up from the feeling, from this feeling of someone holding him, but he refused to let go of this new, wonderful dream, and he sighed into someone's imaginary arms.
*****
Baz's sleep was irregular, now, and he wasn't sure if he could get sleep even if Snow wasn't a whimpering mess ten feet away. But Snow was a whimpering mess ten feet away, and Baz certainly couldn't get any sleep now, and he was debating ignoring Snow to go on down to the Woods, or maybe even sneak into the Library to study, but he couldn't quite bear to think of Snow sobbing anymore, and he rose from his bed to point his wand, gently brushing Snow's cheeks to quiet him...
And a hand flew up to meet his, clenching, intertwining fingers, and Snow sighed, and Baz knew he was in trouble. He attempted to gently pull away, but Snow gripped tight, and Baz couldn't do much else but kneel to the ground and wait patiently for his hand back.
It wasn't until after a burning three minutes of complete irritation that Baz realized Snow had stopped whimpering, and was now rubbing his thumb against Baz's palm gently. And something melted, just a little, on Baz's insides, solely because his body felt like screwing itself over, and he quietly let himself get acquainted with the rhythm of Snow’s sighs and breaths. His thought process cycled through three constant levels- panicking at the thought of Snow waking, relaxing into a more comfortable position on the floor, remembering that he and Snow were rivals.
At one point, Snow turned over, just slightly, giving Baz enough room to reluctantly wiggle his hand out of Snow's grasp and make his way to his own bed.
Before forgetting, he let a quiet "Sweet Dreams" slip from his mouth, and he curled back under his covers, feeling the ghost of Simon's fingers against his own.
*****
It was draining him. Every night. The Sweet Dreams spell, every night, would drain Baz just a little bit more, and it was starting to become a problem. It wasn't an easy magic to ignite- which is why one generally fixed nightmares with potions rather than spells. It should not be a long term solution. And it's also why Baz was getting a little more desperate to find other ways around using magic to keep Snow calm at night. Like:
- thumbs stroking Snow's hair, rubbing Snow's forehead
- letting hands hold hands for a while
- rubbing circles into Snow's back
Some nights it would work completely. On others, he would have to wake up to relax Snow once more before going to sleep, and on others still, Baz would give up and use the damn spell to keep him quiet. Two weeks went by, and Baz couldn't tell if the nightly awakenings were what was draining him, or the spell itself- either way, he knew he should yell at Snow about it, tell him to do his own spells, but he couldn't bring himself to take action. Something about the night was too sacred to talk about in the morning. Something about the way Baz acted in the dark was too humiliating to bring to light.
It fell into a sort of routine: Baz subconsciously waited for a cry to break his sleep, automatically rose and went through the calming motions for a mindless set of minutes, and then went back to bed, warily wondering if Simon'd wake for a second time. It became so routine, in fact, that one night, upon hearing the familiar scream that slashed through Baz's own nightmares, upon hearing some wrenching sobs that followed, upon Baz sleepily getting up and padding over to Simon's bed...
Upon combing his fingers through Simon's hair, Baz hadn't even noticed that this time- this one night- Snow was not asleep.
He hadn't noticed, at least, until Snow startled, a sound of surprise rising through his throat, and Baz- already rubbing circles into Snow's back, ricocheted out of his mindlessness and froze.
Snow's body continued shuddering. It seemed unable to stop. But his face, red and blotchy, even in the darkness, stilled. His eyes rose to meet Baz's, who felt unable to do anything else but continue the circles. Slow. Hesitant. Fingers shaky, now, for the first time. Baz- after fluctuating between expressions- decided on a tired, exasperated one. I was trying to get you to stop screaming, would be his excuse. So I could go to sleep. Obviously.
Snow continued shuddering, though, painfully. So incredibly painfully, even with tears drying and curious eyes resting on Baz's expression. And out of his mind, out of complete lunacy, out of near panic, Baz found himself tucking Snow's body softly into his, rubbing back muscles with both hands, random patterns tracing themselves into Snow's skin.
And Snow let him. Baz, for a split second, was afraid that he was committing some sort of "comfort assault", where he attempted to console someone against their own will, without Simon wanting him there, but then Simon's nose turned to bury itself into Baz's neck. And two hands limply grasped the sides of Baz's shirt. And he continued shuddering into the hug, as Baz whispered things he couldn't remember saying. And Simon started saying things back, started saying things into Baz's ear, random things.
Gone, all gone, the attacks, Baz could hear. It was me. It's me.
And Baz let him babble on.
It took nearly a century or two, but the wracks had managed to cease, and the trembling managed to smooth. Breathing became less erratic, and more... defeated.
Simon seemed to be in no hurry to get up from his position, curls pressed against a clammy forehead, eyes closed on Baz's collarbone, body limp.
When Baz detached Simon's curls from the sweaty surface and ran his fingers through the top of his scalp, Simon- finally- started to stir again.
"Thank you," he mumbled, eyes still closed, head starting to rise. And Baz ran fingers through his curls again, prepared to rise himself, beginning to move off the bed, when Simon's fingers tightened weakly, slightly on his shirt.
"Can you..."
Simon's words stopped abruptly in his throat, and he turned away, seemingly dismissing the subject. Baz stared at Simon, though, moving back into position on the bed, waiting, continuing to stare until Simon looked up again.
He looked thoroughly pained, thoroughly embarrassed, thoroughly apologetic.
Baz made a noise in his throat. "Snow."
It was a word of exasperation, sounding so enormously and surprisingly normal to Baz's own ears, even in this completely un-normal situation. And it made Snow laugh, and Baz's chest soared, a little, and relief seeped through into his bloodstream. He'd be okay.
"If... you could... if you can stay..." His voice was dry and croaky. He cleared it, but it did no good; the next few words were just as raspy as the ones before. "You don't have to, though. I understand."
And Baz froze here. Of course he didn't have to. He knew he didn't have to. Snow was fine. He'd be fine after this. He always was. And if not, Baz could always do a Sweet Dreams spell and have him sleep like a baby.
But...
Stay.
It would mean something. It would mean a little too much of something. It was a wrong move. Baz could already tell.
But in the secrets of the shadows, hidden from the moonlight that fell on the floor, Baz felt prepared to do something nobody else would see. He felt prepared to tuck himself into Simon's Snow's side, curl his arms around Simon Snow's waist, put a hand into Simon Snow's bronze curls. Out of comfort. Just to comfort. Just to keep the boy from having nightmares. To avoid wasting magic. All so I could sleep. A one-time thing.
All sorts of excuses floated through Baz's head, explaining why he let Simon Snow bury himself into his body. He had all types of reasons justifying why he held Simon's wrist, brushing his finger softly against the other boy's pulse. He had a whole list of arguments on why he put a hand on the small of Snow's back, why he held the Chosen One a little bit closer when Simon sighed, why he let Snow's fingers curl and clutch his t-shirt.
Baz started running out of excuses, though, when he let his own nose drop to Snow's mess of hair, inhaling all of Snow's sparks and smoke and apples and shampoo and grass and sweat smell that came along with him. And how something sighed in Baz's chest when Snow finally started to sleep, with light breaths and light smiles.
And how something flipped in Baz's stomach when he realized where exactly he was, and in what exact situation.
Yeah.
He was running out of excuses for that part.
*****
Baz didn't have nightmares that night. He could feel one start, could feel the shake, could feel the ghost of teeth starting to form and come towards him, but something brushed it all away. Something brushed the top of his head, soothingly, and his dreams turned to some vague ideas and shapes of someone holding him, stroking his hair, telling him it was okay. And it stayed there for a while, blurring with black, sending Baz deeper and deeper into the comforting arms of sleep.
*****
Baz was gone before Simon woke up that morning. He considered taking a shower, but immediately decided against it, afraid to wake his roommate. And he didn't want that to happen. He didn't want the morning to force them to look at each other. He didn't want to interact with Simon Snow in these rising hours.
When Simon woke up, the bed was empty, but indented, heavy, like it knew someone had been there even if that someone insisted they hadn't.
*****
Simon watched warily from across the classroom. It wasn't like... It wasn't like he was clinging on to Baz, or longing for him (god forbid), or anything. He just wanted to know how to act. He just wanted a leadway into... How last night was going to be treated.
Was it something? Was it anything? Were they friends now? They certainly cared about each other. At least they had one moment they shared in which they most definitely, certainly cared about each other.
A pretty gay moment, too, if Simon thought about it. Was Simon gay? Or bi, at least? It was something to consider.
Baz finally looked up, as the bell rang and the students began shuffling out of the classroom. And for a split second, a startling fear reached up to clutch Simon's chest, his pulse beating a little harder, unsure why exactly he was acting this way, wondering if Baz would smile, or give him a small nod, at the very least.
Instead, Baz curled his lip, and sneered, turning away to whisper something to Niall, who laughed. And Simon regathered himself, pulse slowing again, and nodded stiffly, turning to Penelope. So. Regular. Back to normal. Nothing happened. That's all he needed to know. Now he knew how to act. That's... All he wanted to know.
His chest felt a little bit limper than before, and he angrily ignored it, feeling a little bit better as he and Penny stopped by to grab some butter scones.
*****
Simon cried out again, and Baz's chest hammered, split into two. The night was cool and hidden and soft. Baz's mind roared at itself.
One-time thing, it reminded him. Remember?
But Simon-
Just cast a Sweet Dreams spell, then. Easy. Simple.
Waste of magic-
Then don't do it! Go back to bed!
He's screaming-
Buy some damn earmuffs!
I can't. It's night.
Wake him up!
I can't. I can't- then there's no reason for me not to... Not to comfort him.
And why exactly is that?
Maybe because I'm not a completely terrible human being after all?
You have nightmares of your own, you know.
Silence.
Baz sighed, decision made, ears pounding, mind numb, feet already rolling out of bed. He'd buy earmuffs tomorrow. For the second time, and only the second time, he would... do whatever this was with Simon Snow. Because he needed sleep. Because he didn't want to waste more magic. Because he didn't have earmuffs.
He padded over to Simon's bed, gently jostling the boy awake, who woke with the same clammy forehead as he had last night. He wasn't shuddering as violently, and it wasn't as terrible, but... Still. He was still shaking. His hands were still shaking.
Baz, without even fully comprehending his own motions, had taken Simon's hands into his own, rubbing a thumb against a palm, trying to soothe, trying to calm.
"Are you-" Simon's voice cracked a bit, with obvious restraint, clear uncertainty. And Baz's chest hurt at the sound of it, knowing that he was the reason for the uncertainty and confusion. And he kind of felt angry at Simon and himself for feeling guilty like this. Because here he was doing Simon Snow a favor, and he was feeling guilty for not doing more. When he shouldn't be. When...
Annoyance didn't suit Baz well in this situation. Because it wasn't Snow's fault for wanting comfort. It wasn't Snow's fault for making Baz guilty. He clearly was trying his best to not make Baz feel uncomfortable in any way, and failing miserably. Baz sighed, climbing gently under Snow's covers, bringing an arm up to curl around his waist.
Simon, for whatever reason, was breathing slowly, apparently trying to calm his trembling. Baz waited, feeling Simon's exhales and inhales against his arm, before tugging Snow gently down. Simon startled, and Baz let go quickly, afraid that he misread the situation, afraid that Simon didn't want Baz to hold him-
Simon cleared his throat. "You don't have to..." His voice came out a little steadier this time. "Do this for me. If it's a bother. I'm sorry for waking you-"
And Baz, exasperated and annoyed (of course he didn't have to- Baz was very well aware of what he had to do or not), muttered, "Shut up, Snow," and reattached his arm to Snow's waist, tugging down more firmly this time.
Simon inhaled quickly, wavering for just a second more before obliging, muscles immediately relaxing, arms slipping into their position around Baz's waist, thumb grazing a patch of skin that poked out from under Baz's shirt.
(Baz had shuddered. Very slightly.)
Baz brought his fingers up to the nape of Simon's neck, stroking at the bottom edges of his hair, and Simon shivered into Baz's body.
Baz's hand stilled. "Okay?"
Simon laughed, embarrassed, and Baz couldn't help but smile. And then he couldn't help but feel strangely terrified after.
"Your hand is... a little cold," Simon whispered, and before Baz could respond, there was another hand gently taking Baz's, rubbing warmth into the skin there.
Baz wordlessly intertwined fingers with fingers, starting to tuck Snow's head onto his chest.
"Sleep," he commanded gently, and rested his cheek on the top of the other boy's hair. Simon laughed softly.
Simon didn't go to sleep immediately that night. He remained breathing, frozen, eyelids occasionally fluttering. At one point, he pressed his nose a little further into Baz's chest, and Baz's breathing hitched.
Eventually, yes, it was clear that Simon's body- now relaxed, limp- was dreaming. And not bad dreams, either. Baz winced, bracing himself for the possibilities in his near future, wondering what sleep would bring him tonight.
The next thing he knew, it was morning, and he was blinking away the sleep from his eyelids, and he was vanishing from Snow's bed faster than light, and he had just barely begun to form the thought that- I had no nightmares last night.
He ignored the shower again (looks like he'll have another afternoon one) and sped down to breakfast.
He hesitated for a minute before searching through his bags for some money.
Where was one to buy earmuffs?
*****
He now had earmuffs. He had a teacher put a soundproof spell on them, just for double protection from Snow's screams.
Snow's screams. Crowley.
He screamed from his nightmares. Screamed.
A two-time thing, he heard a voice remind him, firmly.
Snow is the enemy.
You have earmuffs.
The voice stood no chance. Baz couldn't even make it to his own bed- he rinsed away the toothpaste foam burning in his mouth, left their bathroom, and climbed under Snow's covers, curling himself around a familiar waist.
Snow turned, rearranging himself so they were both facing each other. And he did something a little different tonight, too- his arms came up to wrap themselves around Baz's neck, and Baz's ribcage nearly broke in surprise. Something in his chest rocketed and flipped and swooped, and continued doing so for another restless hour before Baz's stomach settled enough to happily succumb to dreams of rustling hair and fingers and magic-
The earmuffs remained in a bag in the corner in a room.
*****
Three-time thing, he weakly promised himself in the morning light, when he slipped out to the stairs. The voice stayed silent.
He was running out of excuses.
*****
It hadn't stopped at three times.
Snow actively waited for Baz each night to come up from his studying, doing a little sigh every time he climbed into bed. Baz had practically memorized the bends and crooks of Simon's fingers. The comparison between their pulses became known- Simon's was always faster, much faster, than Baz's. And Simon had just recently realized that Baz breathed easier after someone touched the space behind his ear.
Baz was always gone before Simon woke. They would act no different throughout the day, save for Simon hesitating or staring for just a bit too long.
The nightmares, Baz protested, as his final reason why. I don't have any nightmares with him.
But why?
*****
Agatha Wellbelove was standing a little too close to Simon Snow.
Baz didn't care, of course.
It was just... It must be uncomfortable, that's all. Being Simon. And having her stand... so close.
Excuses, his mind sneered at him. His stomach recoiled, and he promptly ignored the whispers in the back of his head.
*****
It hurt Simon a little. Just a little.
It wasn't like he had any right to complain. His nightmares were gone. He clearly had a better energy and a better health than he had in a very long time. The dread of going to sleep was gone, replaced with... anticipation. The very best kind.
And Simon actually felt, in some part, good about pretending nothing happened. It was embarrassing, in a way. That someone needed to hold him and pat his fears away from him, like he was two years old. And it saved him from explaining anything to Penelope.
But there were those pangs that were still there when he brushed past Baz in the halls, with nothing but a cold sneer back. It was so different from how Baz looked in the moonlight- soft, secure, calm. Above everything and anything else.
That's not his real self, Simon argued, to push away the stinging feeling. That's not how he actually acts.
Which one, though? Which Baz was he talking about?
Simon wasn't sure.
*****
One night, after a long, long month of breathing and laughs and close bodies and hands in hair, Baz found himself in a room without Snow.
Which was odd. Snow was generally very strict about being there by at least ten. And it was eleven thirty. So.
Baz debated- just for a millisecond- prematurely climbing into Snow's bed. Because he was going to end up there anyway, when Snow came back. So... might as...
But, no, no. It was a line that Baz... It was among the collection of randomly drawn, scattered lines that Baz refused to cross. It would mean more. It was too much, somehow. And so Baz stayed back, crawling into his own (somewhat foreign) bed. He did a Clean As A Whistle spell on the sheets, settled in, and lay stiffly for an uncomfortable minute. His chest roared, his fingers twitched, and his mind attempted to ignore the empty space beside him. (Who knew empty space could be heavier than a body?)
Somehow (it seemed damn near a miracle) Baz managed to fall asleep on his own. And at first, a sort of suspended, odd, dark hum prevented him from nightmares for some mindless amount of time. Slowly, though, Baz sunk deeper and deeper into his feelings of isolation, and fear, and suffocation, and the same familiar images began to form, but the monstrous beings that normally came after Baz were chasing someone with golden curls instead, and Baz couldn't do anything but watch, sit still and watch, while Simon writhed and screamed and grew paler and paler-
"Baz. Baz. Here, here, it's okay-"
He knew who it was before he even opened his eyes; he knew he was screaming before he even stopped; he knew that something had changed before the change dramatically altered the surface of reality.
"I'll hurt you," Baz protested, pushing Snow away, violently jerking back. "I'll hurt you. I'll turn you. I can't, I can't, you can't-"
"Stop. Stop. It's okay. It's me- it's Simon..."
"No, no, get away, stop, stop-"
"Okay. Okay, yes, I'm away, I'm sorry-"
"I hurt you. God. God. I could've... in my sleep, I could've..."
"Baz. It's Simon. It's me-"
"Yes, I fucking know, hurt Simon, Simon Snow, you could've-"
"I'm fine!"
"For now. For-"
"Baz. Sh. Shhh."
And Simon took Baz's face in his hands, brushing his jawline. And he was so close- his magic and blood was too close, and Baz was so afraid, so afraid of his own mouth, so ready to tear himself away.
Baz managed to swallow, inhale, exhale. His voice was weak, and he hated himself. "I will hurt you."
Simon smiled, a little worriedly. "Not at night, you don't."
"In my sleep, I will. Or something. Accidentally. I wouldn't mean to, I would never mean to, but- I don't know. Somehow."
"You won't. It's okay. I trust you."
"I don't. I don't trust me-"
"You won't. You stopped my nightmares for- what, a month? No. Longer than that, right? Even when we weren't holding each other, they were gone. That was you, right?"
Baz closed his eyes. His stomach was twisting, and turning, stretched in too many directions- his forehead wavered between leaning away and leaning forward.
"You won't. It's okay."
And Simon pressed a kiss to Baz's forehead. It was meant to comfort, it was meant to be along the lines of "you're safe, you're okay", but as Baz stiffened, Simon realized just a little too late that this crossed. This crossed the lines, into...
Into what Simon had been avoiding, for Baz's sake. Into I like yous and I want yous. Into I miss you during the day. Into I wish we didn't have to pretend.
And Simon pulled away, a little embarrassed, trying to smooth it over by smoothing over Baz's hair, smoothing friendly brushes along Baz's biceps, smiling like he just made a joke.
It came off to Baz as a grimace.
I hurt you. Not at night, but during the day. I hurt you. Baz realized.
So… is this… all just for you to avoid nightmares? his mind questioned just before he leaned in and crossed the final lines.
No. No more excuses.
And Baz gently took Simon's face in his hands and kissed him.
*****
It all changed.
It didn't seem like much- they still held each other, they still whispered into each other's hair, they still stroked the same familiar patterns into their skin, they still pressed their hearts together as close as they could.
The only thing that seemed to change was the kissing, really. Kisses on collarbones, mouthing on jawlines, lips brushing curls- a lot more mouth became involved, but other than that, what was different?
On the surface, not much.
Internally, though, their hearts shifted from compacting into little boxes to giving their all. The stomach flips happening in Baz were now free to sweep and swoop as much as they possibly could. Simon's mind could break open, and whisper things he could've never whispered to himself before, like Aleister Crowley, I like him. I totally and utterly like him. Painfully. Entirely.
"Simon," Baz could now murmur. "Simon, Simon, Simon."
And they could care, without worrying about showing too much.
They could just show it all. Baz could kiss Simon's scars on his back worriedly, like he'd been wanting to do every night before; Simon could ask if Baz got enough blood to drink without dreading Baz freezing up in distrust; they could both intertwine legs wordlessly, hooking ankles, toes meeting other toes.
They could talk.
"I was afraid," Baz eventually admitted, at some point when their lips lost all feeling and they took the opportunity to catch their breath. "Just… of you. And of everything."
Simon's chest had swelled to three times its size. "Me too. Crowley, me too. Especially of being too clingy. And of talking to Penelope."
Baz tightened his hold on Simon's back. "Can't help with Penelope," he started. "Fucking good luck with that." (Simon laughed.) "But don't… I…"
Baz lost his words, stumbling. Which was new. Baz was the wordy one. Simon was the one the stammered.
"Cling," Baz finally said, adamantly. "Cling as much as you fucking want. I beg you. Please. Because I will be clinging as hard as I possibly can to you, and it'd be nice if you'd return the favor."
Simon smiled and kissed Baz's fingertips, who in turn kissed Snow's lips, who in turn wrapped his arms around Baz's neck to kiss a little deeper.
"You've made me fucking sappy. I hate it."
"I love it."
"Yeah. Yeah, well, me too. Kind of."
They fell asleep with unseen changes of swelling hearts and free thoughts and visible changes of marks on skin.
*****
Some more changes:
- Baz's bed, not Simon's. It was a little colder on his side of the room, for whatever reason. Which meant some serious cuddling was necessary to warm up.
- Simon woke up hesitantly to see, for the first time, Baz still in his arms.
(His heart had nearly exploded.)
- Baz got to take his time admiring Simon's face in the sunlight. Which was, of course, infuriatingly exquisite. The sun kissed his freckles. And then Baz kissed them, too.
- Baz took a shower in the morning for the first time in a month.
- "Crowley, Snow. How do I want to kiss such an idiot?" (also known as the statement in which Simon saw his moonlit and sunlit Baz collide)
- When Simon stared at Baz across the classroom, Baz stared back.
- (And smiled back. Sarcastically. And softly.)
- Simon finally had the dreaded conversation with Penelope.
- They hesitantly held hands walking down the stairwell. Nervous grins at each other and everything. Trying to ignore stares.
- At the bottom of the stairwell, Baz had turned around.
"Kiss me," Baz ordered, and Simon's eyebrows nearly tumbled off his face.
"Here?"
"No. In seven hours. Yes, here. Kiss me. Now."
"Baz, are you-"
"I'm waiting, Snow."
"You know that... everyone's watching, Baz. Teachers. Niall, Dev-"
"No excuses."
Simon felt a word come back up to protest, and instead found himself with a grin.
Couldn't argue with that.