Snowbaz one shots!

Fireside confessions

The fire in the Grim mansion's sitting room crackled softly, casting long shadows across the dark wood paneling and filling the air with the scent of pine logs burning. The room was enormous, but tonight it felt cozy with the glow of the fire and the heavy, quiet snowfall outside. The windows were frosted over, turning the world beyond into a blur of white.

Simon didn't quite know how he'd ended up here—sitting on the plush velvet couch in Baz's childhood home, of all places. It had been an invitation that came out of nowhere. Well, more like a reluctant offer made by Baz at the last minute before the holiday break. Simon had been caught off guard, and before he knew it, he had said yes.

Now, here he was, in a room that looked like something out of a Victorian novel, wondering if he'd made a terrible mistake.

Baz was sitting across from him in one of those high-backed armchairs that looked more like a throne. He was dressed in black, as usual, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked completely at ease, sipping from a glass of deep red wine, his eyes half-lidded as he stared into the flames.

Simon, meanwhile, was gripping his mug of hot chocolate like it was a lifeline. The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable. After everything they'd been through in the last few months, it was almost nice to have a moment of peace.

Simon cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Your house is... really fancy," he said, immediately regretting how dumb that sounded.

Baz's mouth twitched, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Yes, Snow, it's called 'old money.' Try not to be too impressed."

Simon rolled his eyes. "I'm not impressed. It's just... different."

Baz leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "From what? The Wavering Woods?"

Simon bit his lip, trying not to let Baz's words get under his skin. But there was no real bite in Baz's voice this time. In fact, he seemed almost... relaxed. Simon decided to push his luck.

"I mean, you're here all alone, aren't you? It's kind of... sad," Simon said, softer this time.

Baz's eyes flicked over to Simon, sharp and assessing. For a moment, Simon thought he'd gone too far, but then Baz let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "It's better than the alternative," Baz said. "At least here, it's quiet."

"Yeah, but... don't you ever get lonely?" Simon asked before he could stop himself.

Baz stared at him, his expression going carefully blank. "I don't expect you to understand, Snow."

Simon set down his mug and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Try me," he said, his voice more earnest than he intended. He wasn't trying to pry, really. He was just... curious.

For a long moment, Baz just looked at him, as if weighing whether or not Simon was worth opening up to. The firelight danced in his gray eyes, making them look warmer than usual. Finally, Baz let out a quiet sigh.

"I grew up in this house, but it never really felt like home," Baz said, his voice so low Simon had to lean closer to hear him. "My mother... she was the heart of it. When she died, it was like the whole place went cold. I stayed here with my aunt and the staff, but it wasn't the same."

Simon didn't know what to say to that. He knew Baz's mother had died when he was young, but it was different hearing it like this, in the dark quiet of Baz's ancestral home, where every corner seemed to hold a ghost.

"I'm sorry," Simon said, and he meant it.

Baz gave a small shrug, looking away. "Don't be. It's old news."

They fell silent again, but this time it was heavier. Simon couldn't help but wonder if Baz had ever had this kind of conversation with anyone before. It was strange, this quiet vulnerability between them. Like they were two sides of the same broken mirror.

"You know," Simon said, trying to lighten the mood, "I think this might be the first time we've talked without trying to hex each other."

Baz let out a surprised laugh, a sound Simon wasn't sure he'd ever heard before. "That's only because my wand is out of reach," he teased, his eyes flicking to where his wand lay on the side table.

Simon grinned. "Guess I'm safe for now, then."

Baz rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Instead, he leaned forward, setting his glass of wine on the table with a soft clink. "Why did you come here, Snow? Really?"

Simon's grin faded. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the fraying hem of his jumper. "I don't know. You... you asked me to."

Baz's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't exactly beg you to spend your holiday with me, did I?"

"No," Simon admitted, feeling a bit foolish. "But you didn't have to ask at all."

Baz was quiet for a moment, studying Simon like he was a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Finally, he sighed. "I suppose I didn't want to spend Christmas alone."

Simon's heart did a strange flip at that. He knew what it was like to feel alone, even when he was surrounded by people. It was a different kind of loneliness, and it ached in ways that were hard to put into words.

"Well," Simon said, trying to sound casual, "I didn't really want to spend it alone either."

Baz's eyes softened, just a little. "So, we're both pathetic, then," he said, but there was no venom behind the words. If anything, it sounded almost like... understanding.

"Yeah," Simon said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I guess we are."

For a while, they just sat there, listening to the crackle of the fire and the gentle sound of snow tapping against the windowpanes. It wasn't a perfect truce, but it was something.

And in that moment, Simon thought that maybe, just maybe, they were starting to figure out how to fit into each other's lives in ways that weren't about fighting or rivalry. Maybe they could be more. Or at least something else entirely.

As the fire burned low, Baz shifted in his chair, looking over at Simon with a ghost of a smile. "You're an idiot, Snow."

Simon's grin was brighter this time, warmer. "Yeah, but you invited me into your house, so what does that make you?"

Baz rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue.

Instead, he just said, "A fool, clearly," and poured them both another glass of wine.

And for the first time in a long while, the Grim mansion didn't feel quite so cold.