Snowbaz one shots!

Please don't leave me

The hospital room was too bright. The kind of sterile, artificial light that made everything feel unreal, like a scene painted on a canvas. Simon hated it. He hated the smell of antiseptic that stung his nose, the soft beeping of the heart monitor, and the thin, scratchy sheets covering Baz's too-still form. He hated the world for putting them here.

Simon stood by the bed, his fingers gripping the cold metal railing so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, and he hadn't slept in days. Not since Baz had collapsed during what was supposed to be a simple job—something to keep them busy, to keep them together, to make Simon feel like he still had a purpose. But it had gone wrong, horribly wrong, and now Baz was lying in this bed, his skin pale as moonlight, his breaths shallow.

The doctors had told him there was nothing more they could do. They didn't know what kind of magic had hit Baz, only that it was corrosive, devouring him from the inside out. Simon had screamed at them, begged them to try harder, to do something, anything—but in the end, all they could give him was a hollow apology.

So now it was just Simon and Baz, alone in this room that felt more like a tomb. Baz's once brilliant eyes were closed, his lashes dark smudges against his too-pale skin. His sharp cheekbones were sunken, his lips cracked and dry. He looked like a ghost of himself, and it was killing Simon to see him like this.

Simon wanted to scream, to punch a hole through the wall, to rip the universe apart if it meant finding a way to save Baz. But there was nothing he could do. He was powerless, and that was the worst part. After years of being the Chosen One, after all the battles and monsters he had faced, Simon Snow couldn't save the one person he loved the most.

The tears came, unbidden, hot and angry as they streaked down his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to cry. He was supposed to be strong, to be Baz's hero. But now he was just a broken boy in a room that reeked of death.

Simon leaned over the bed, his forehead resting against the cool sheets by Baz's side. He didn't know if Baz could hear him—he hadn't woken up in days—but he spoke anyway, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Baz... please," Simon begged, his words choked and raw. "Please don't leave me. I can't... I don't know how to do this without you."

He reached out, taking Baz's cold hand in his own. It felt wrong. Baz's hands were always warm, always so full of life. Simon pressed his lips to Baz's knuckles, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could will his magic into Baz's body, as if he could bring him back through sheer force of will. But the only magic Simon had left was the kind that tore things apart. And Baz... Baz needed healing, not destruction.

A soft, weak cough broke the silence, and Simon's eyes flew open. Baz's eyes fluttered, just barely, a ghost of their usual sharpness peeking through. He looked up at Simon, his gaze unfocused, but there. For a moment, Simon's heart surged with hope.

"Baz," Simon gasped, his voice breaking. "You're awake. I... I thought... I was so scared."

Baz's lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but it was faint, too faint. "Snow... you look like hell," he whispered, his voice rasping, barely audible.

Simon let out a wet, broken laugh, more a sob than anything. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly a picture of health yourself, Pitch," he said, his voice trembling. He tried to smile, but it faltered, the tears falling faster now. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I couldn't—"

"Don't," Baz interrupted, his eyes hardening, if only for a moment. "Don't you dare blame yourself."

Simon's breath hitched. He wanted to argue, to tell Baz that it was his fault—that if he had been just a little bit faster, if he had been smarter, if he hadn't let his guard down, then maybe Baz wouldn't be lying here, slipping away. But Baz's grip on his hand, weak as it was, was enough to keep him silent.

Baz's eyes softened again, his gaze lingering on Simon's face like he was trying to memorize it. "Simon," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "You... you have to let me go."

"No," Simon said, shaking his head furiously. "No, I'm not letting you go. I can't... I can't lose you, Baz. Not now. Not ever."

But Baz just looked at him, that same resigned, heart-wrenchingly gentle expression in his eyes. "You've always been so stubborn," he murmured, his voice fading with each word. "I love that about you, you know."

Simon's heart shattered into a million pieces. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Baz's, their breaths mingling, Simon's tears dripping onto Baz's face. "Please," Simon whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, Baz. Just hold on a little longer. We'll find a way. I'll find a way."

But even as he said it, Simon could feel the truth in the air, the way it seemed to settle around them like a heavy shroud. Baz's strength was slipping away. His grip on Simon's hand loosened, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

"I love you, Simon," Baz said, his eyes fluttering closed again, his voice so soft Simon had to strain to hear it. "I... I always will."

And then, with one last, shuddering breath, Baz's hand went limp in Simon's grasp. The heart monitor let out a long, piercing beep, and the light in Baz's eyes faded to nothing.

"No," Simon whispered, his voice cracking as he clung to Baz's hand, shaking him as if he could wake him up. "No, no, no, please. Come back, Baz. Don't leave me. You can't leave me."

But there was no response. No flicker of movement, no sound except for the relentless beeping of the machine. Simon collapsed beside the bed, his sobs wracking his entire body. He pressed his face into Baz's chest, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there.

The world blurred into a haze of grief and pain, the kind that left him hollow and broken. Baz was gone. The one person who had ever truly seen him, who had loved him despite all his flaws, was gone, and there was nothing Simon could do to bring him back.

Simon stayed like that, clutching Baz's lifeless form, long after the doctors came to gently pry him away, long after the sun had set and the cold of night had seeped into his bones. He stayed there because he didn't know how to leave, because if he let go, if he walked out of that room, it would mean admitting that Baz was really gone.

And Simon didn't know how to live in a world where Baz wasn't.