Snowbaz one shots!

Snow and Mistletoe

The first snow of the season came unexpectedly, blanketing Watford in a soft, shimmering coat of white. It wasn't heavy enough to close classes but just enough to turn the world into a magical winter wonderland.

Simon loved the snow, always had. There was something about the way it coated everything in white that felt like starting over, like the world was being wrapped up in a fresh layer of possibility. Today, though, he was too busy to enjoy it. The air was cold and crisp as he rushed across the school courtyard, scarf flapping in the wind, determined to get back to the dorm before Baz did.

Baz had been acting strange lately. Well, stranger than usual. More brooding, more distant, and Simon was determined to get to the bottom of it. He was going to ask him point-blank. Corner him if he had to.

But as Simon hurried into their room, he was greeted not by an empty dorm, but by Baz sitting on the edge of his bed, looking almost... lost. He was staring down at something in his hands, something Simon couldn't quite make out from the doorway.

Baz looked up, startled. His stormy eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Snow?"

Simon ignored the usual jab, his eyes flicking down to the small object in Baz's hands. "What's that?"

Baz quickly shoved whatever it was into his pocket. "Nothing that concerns you," he muttered, but Simon could see the faintest hint of red creeping up Baz's pale cheeks.

Simon crossed the room, undeterred. He was close enough now to see the mistletoe Baz had hastily hidden.

"Is that... mistletoe?" Simon asked, his eyes widening.

Baz groaned, running a hand through his sleek, dark hair. "Yes, fine, Snow. It's mistletoe. Happy now? Can you go away and let me wallow in peace?"

"Wallow in peace?" Simon echoed, tilting his head in confusion. "Why would you—"

Baz's expression turned more exasperated. "It's for my mum's grave, alright? She used to... she liked mistletoe." His voice wavered, the smallest crack appearing in his usual icy demeanor. Simon had never heard Baz speak so softly, like the words were something fragile that might break if he said them too loudly.

"Oh," Simon said, suddenly feeling a bit like a wrecking ball in a glass shop. "I—I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, you never asked."

The silence between them stretched out, a quiet tension hanging in the air. Simon didn't know what to say, but he knew he couldn't just leave it at that. Baz's eyes had gone glassy, like he was somewhere else entirely. Simon took a step forward.

"I... I think it's nice that you do that for her," Simon said softly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loudly, Baz would shut down again. "The mistletoe, I mean. It's sweet."

Baz blinked, the iciness in his gaze melting just a little. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to sneer at Simon or just ignore him entirely. But instead, he sighed and turned his gaze out the window, where the snow was still falling softly.

"It's stupid," Baz muttered. "She's not there anymore. I just... I don't know why I still do it."

"It's not stupid," Simon insisted. Without really thinking, he reached out and touched Baz's arm. It wasn't much, just a brush of fingers against wool, but Baz flinched slightly, like Simon's touch was something he couldn't quite believe.

Simon let his hand drop. "It's... it's nice to remember the people we've lost," he said quietly. "In whatever way we can."

For a moment, Baz just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, the corners of his lips lifted into the smallest, most reluctant of smiles. "Sometimes, Snow, you actually surprise me."

Simon grinned back, relief flooding him. He took a step closer, feeling bolder now that Baz wasn't looking at him like he wanted to hex him into oblivion. "I know. It's one of my many talents."

Baz rolled his eyes, but there was no real venom in it. Simon watched him, watched the way Baz's eyes softened ever so slightly, and he felt his heart squeeze in his chest.

Before he knew what he was doing, Simon reached into Baz's pocket, pulling out the small sprig of mistletoe. Baz's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't move to stop him.

"What are you—" Baz began, but Simon was already leaning in.

The kiss was soft and tentative, like a snowflake landing on the tip of your nose. Simon felt Baz go still for a moment, as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening. Then, Baz's hands found their way to Simon's shoulders, gripping him like he was afraid Simon might vanish if he let go.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathing hard. Simon's cheeks were flushed pink, and Baz's usual smirk was nowhere to be seen.

"Snow," Baz said, his voice low and rough. "You're an idiot."

Simon just grinned, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. "Yeah, but you kissed me back."

Baz let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He glanced down at the mistletoe still in Simon's hand. "Suppose you won't let me forget that either."

"Not a chance," Simon said, and this time, when Baz leaned in to kiss him, Simon met him halfway.

Outside, the snow kept falling, gentle and quiet, blanketing the world in white. But inside, in the warmth of their tiny dorm room, it felt like the start of something new.