Snowbaz one shots!

Future self

It was a late autumn evening at Watford, the air crisp and tinged with the scent of fallen leaves. The students had mostly retreated to their dorms, leaving the school grounds bathed in the golden light of sunset. Simon Snow was walking along the edge of the enchanted forest, wings folded tight against his back. His breath hung in the air, a mist of exhaustion. Watford had always been a place of magic and chaos for him, but now, in this moment, it just felt... hollow.

Baz Pitch trailed a few steps behind him, his presence a constant, comforting shadow. Simon could feel Baz's eyes on him, their unspoken tension hanging in the air like a thread stretched to its breaking point. It had been a tough year—a tough several years, if he was being honest. They were still figuring things out, patching themselves together with bits of love and broken trust.

"Snow, you're going to freeze your arse off if you stay out here," Baz called out, his voice cutting through the silence. Simon turned his head, but before he could respond, there was a sudden rush of wind, a strange crackle of magic in the air, and the world around them seemed to twist and shift.

The trees bent and shimmered, their leaves morphing into shapes that didn't quite belong. The air was thick with magic, and the ground beneath their feet seemed to ripple. Simon's eyes widened as he glanced at Baz, who was already reaching for his wand, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

But before either of them could react, the air seemed to split open in front of them, revealing two figures stepping out from what looked like a rift in reality. Simon and Baz stared, dumbstruck, as they came face-to-face with... themselves.

The other Simon Snow looked older, his shoulders heavier as if weighed down by the years, though his eyes held a softer light. His wings were folded neatly behind him, no longer a reluctant burden but an integrated part of who he was. Beside him stood another Baz Pitch, his dark hair slightly longer, the lines on his face more pronounced but softened with something Simon couldn't quite place—peace, perhaps?

For a moment, neither pair spoke. It was like looking into a mirror that showed not just reflections but alternate lives. The older Baz was the first to break the silence, his voice low and steady. "Well, this is... unexpected."

Simon—the younger one, from this timeline—narrowed his eyes, still trying to process what he was seeing. "What the hell is this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Are you some sort of changelings? Is this another one of your schemes, Baz?"

The older Simon let out a soft laugh, the sound almost wistful. "No," he said, shaking his head. "We're not here to mess with you. We... didn't expect this either. We were just... somewhere else, and then suddenly, we were here."

The younger Baz's eyes flickered with suspicion, but there was also something else in his gaze—recognition, perhaps. He studied his older self, noting the subtle changes: the relaxed set of his shoulders, the softness in his eyes when he looked at the other Simon. It was like seeing a version of himself he didn't quite believe could exist.

"What happened to you?" the younger Baz asked, unable to keep the edge of bitterness from his voice. "Why do you look like... that?"

The older Baz gave a faint smile. "Like I'm not carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore?" He shrugged, his gaze flicking to his Simon, who met it with a fond, reassuring look. "We figured it out. Eventually."

The younger Simon's brow furrowed. "Figured what out?"

The older Simon stepped forward, his wings rustling gently as he moved. "How to stop running," he said quietly. "How to stop fighting... everything. Including each other."

The younger Simon and Baz exchanged glances. The younger Simon's wings twitched restlessly, and the younger Baz clenched his jaw. For so long, their relationship had been a tug-of-war between love and fear, between wanting to be close and being terrified of what that meant.

The older Baz watched them, his expression softening. "I know it's hard," he said, his voice gentle in a way that surprised his younger self. "We fought for so long... But once we stopped trying to be what we thought the other needed, once we stopped trying to fix what we thought was broken—"

"We just let ourselves be," the older Simon finished, stepping closer to his Baz and lacing their fingers together. The simple, casual intimacy of the gesture sent a pang through the younger Simon's heart.

"You say it like it's easy," the younger Baz said, his voice tight. "Like all it takes is deciding to be happy."

The older Baz's smile was tinged with sadness. "No, it's not easy," he admitted. "It's one of the hardest things we've ever done. But it's worth it, Baz. He's worth it." He nodded toward his Simon, who looked back at him with a quiet, unwavering affection that made the younger Simon look away, his chest tightening.

The wind had picked up, the magical rift between their worlds starting to shimmer again as if it were preparing to close. The older Simon glanced at it, then back at their younger counterparts. "We don't have much time," he said softly. "But if we can give you one piece of advice..."

"Don't let the past keep you from seeing what you have right now," the older Baz said, his eyes boring into his younger self's. "You have time. More than we thought we did. Don't waste it."

The younger Baz swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to Simon. He saw the exhaustion in those blue eyes, the way Simon's wings hunched like they were carrying too much weight. But he also saw the way Simon's gaze softened whenever it landed on him, even now, even after everything.

The older Simon and Baz started to move back toward the rift, their hands still entwined. The younger Simon felt a sudden panic rise in his chest, a fear of losing this glimpse into what could be. "Wait!" he called out. "How... how did you get there? How did you figure it out?"

The older Simon paused, looking back at him with a sad, knowing smile. "We stopped being afraid of what we'd lose," he said. "And started being grateful for what we had."

And with that, the rift shimmered one last time and closed, leaving Simon and Baz standing alone in the clearing once more. The wind had died down, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves in the air.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Simon let out a shaky breath, turning to face Baz. "Do you think...?" he started, but the words seemed too heavy to finish.

Baz stared at the spot where their older selves had vanished. "I don't know," he said quietly, his voice almost breaking. "But I want to try."

Simon nodded slowly, his eyes searching Baz's for something solid to hold onto. "Me too," he whispered.

In the fading light of Watford, with the wind settling around them, they stood there together, closer than they'd been in a long time, holding on to the fragile, precious hope that maybe—just maybe—they could find their way to the happiness they had glimpsed.