Snowbaz Fanfic

Insomnia (Part One)

Simon

Sometimes I wonder if Baz has insomnia. He is almost never asleep when I go to bed and he is always up when I wake up. He's awake when I get up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.

Crowley, he's even awake all night after we have had a long day of nothing but squabbling and tussling. 

Even right now, he tosses and turns in his bed, his eyes wide open.

I searched up the symptoms once, from one of my care-home supervisors' phones. She didn't even notice I had slipped it out of her dress pocket.

And yes, I know that the internet is not the best place to look up disorders- I don't want to be paranoid about Baz having cancer or something of the kind, but...

I was desperate.

I couldn't find much, but... some of it adds up. I even made notes to tally later.

This was probably the most organized work I had ever done.

I watch as his eyes slowly shut- then jerk open again, staring right back at me.

"What do you want, Snow?" His face shows nothing but mild disgust.

I choose not to reply- and to not break eye contact either.

"You might want to say something before this gets weird." He doesn't try to look away even once.

After several moments of heated staring and face contortions due to pure hatred (severe hatred), I look away. I hear some muffled noises and before I can see what is even happening, Baz's hand is turning the doorknob to leave.

"Baz," my unfinished sentence hangs in the air between us.

"What?" He looks at me through a side eye over his shoulder.

"Why don't you sleep, like, ever?"

"None of your bloody business, Simon." He raged outside without another glance.

First name... he used my first name. Maybe this really was none of my business. Merlin, no wonder he wants to kill me.

I slide out of my bed and walk over to his. I know I shouldn't, but I throw over his covers to see- papers.

Loads of papers.

I pick up the first few and turn them over.

Letters to his aunt, to his siblings, one to his dad- and a whole stack addressed only to his mother. All of them were dated from our first year of Watford till now, our sixth. 

They were stained and sort of wrinkly, some even moist. Was he crying over these?

Every letter began as if he actually was planning on sending them. Dear this, dear that. But of course, why would he send them- I mean, it's Baz after all.

It was all so heartfelt and emotional and personal- I should not be invading his privacy like this.

Besides the letters there were pictures. He looked so innocent in them- it was almost misleading. After going through about all of them (each being of him and his mother), I find one last letter with a picture folded inside it.

I pull out the picture to see- myself?

It was me, in our fourth year at Watford. The picture was crinkled and old, my face almost blurry, clicked as though the photographer was in a hurry- or was trying not to get caught.

Why would he have my picture?  Because he's plotting, there you go, Simon- PROOF. 

No. No. No. Why did he have my picture among all this stuff?

It can't be- no.

I flip open the letter in a hopeless attempt to prove myself wrong, only to read-

Dear Simon,

*** 

Continued in the next part!! 

Hope this was an interesting read and a catchy cliff hanger ✌🏼