Snowbaz one shots!

A new kind of magic

Simon Snow wasn't sure if he would ever get used to how quiet life could be.

He stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge as if it might provide the answers to life's greatest mysteries. His hair was damp, sticking up in odd directions from his shower, and he was only half-dressed, his T-shirt hanging loose over his pajama pants.

"Anything interesting in there, or are you trying to hypnotize the lettuce?" Baz drawled from the doorway.

Simon turned, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. Baz was leaning against the frame, his dark hair falling in elegant waves that Simon would swear took him an hour to perfect (Baz insisted it was just genetics). He was already dressed, of course, in a crisp, dark green sweater that made his eyes look like moss after rain.

"You're up early," Simon said, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought vampires were supposed to be, you know... night owls."

Baz rolled his eyes but pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room with that effortless grace Simon envied. "You've been staring at the contents of the fridge for at least ten minutes," Baz said, leaning over Simon's shoulder to peer inside. "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know," Simon admitted. "Breakfast, I guess."

Baz made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "Breakfast doesn't magically appear, Snow. You have to actually decide what you want."

"Yeah, yeah," Simon muttered, but there was no bite to his words. He stepped back and let Baz take over, watching as his boyfriend methodically pulled out eggs, bread, and a carton of orange juice. It was funny, Simon thought, how domestic they'd become. A year ago, he couldn't have imagined this—him and Baz, living together in Baz's flat in London, just trying to figure out how to exist without all the world-ending threats hanging over their heads.

Baz set the pan on the stove, turning on the heat with a flick of his wand. Magic still came so easily to him, and Simon couldn't help the pang of envy that followed. But it was less sharp these days, more of a dull ache. He was getting used to it—the lack of magic, the feeling of being normal.

"Are you going to help or just stand there gawking at me?" Baz asked, raising an eyebrow.

Simon blinked. "Uh, what can I do?"

Baz's lips quirked up in that half-smile that always made Simon's heart skip a beat. "Toast, Snow. Think you can manage that?"

Simon huffed but moved to grab the bread. He was still clumsy with the toaster, but at least it didn't burst into flames like it had the first time he'd tried using it. Baz had laughed so hard he'd nearly fallen over.

As they worked side by side, a comfortable silence settled between them. The sizzle of eggs frying filled the kitchen, the scent of butter and salt warming the air. Simon couldn't help but steal glances at Baz, who was focused on flipping the eggs with a practiced flick of his wrist.

"How do you do that?" Simon asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Baz didn't look up from the pan.

"Make everything look so... easy," Simon said, fidgeting with the corner of the bread bag. "You know, the cooking, the magic, the... everything."

Baz turned to look at him, his expression softening in that way that always made Simon's chest feel tight. "I don't," he said simply. "I'm just good at pretending."

Simon's brows furrowed. "You're pretending right now?"

Baz shrugged, turning back to the stove. "Sometimes. I still have no idea what I'm doing, Snow. But I've had a lot of practice making it look like I do."

Simon was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. It was easy to forget that Baz had his own struggles, his own fears. Baz was always so... poised, like he had it all figured out. But the truth was, they were both trying to figure out how to live this new life together.

"I think you're doing a pretty good job," Simon said softly, feeling his cheeks warm as the words left his mouth.

Baz turned, a surprised look in his eyes, and for a moment, Simon thought he'd said the wrong thing. But then Baz's face softened, and he reached out, his fingers curling around Simon's wrist. The touch was warm and grounding, like an anchor.

"Thanks," Baz said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And for the record, I think you're doing a pretty good job, too."

Simon's throat tightened. He wasn't used to this—the softness, the openness. For so long, their lives had been battles and secrets and bloodshed. It was strange to think they could just... exist like this, in the quiet moments between.

"Breakfast is going to burn," Simon said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

Baz chuckled, releasing Simon's wrist to turn back to the stove. "Yes, well, you're distracting."

"Me?" Simon let out a laugh. "You're the one who's, like, stupidly good at everything."

Baz didn't respond, but Simon could see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck. The realization that he could still fluster Baz made something bloom in Simon's chest—a feeling that was light and hopeful and entirely new.

When they finally sat down to eat, the sun had risen higher, casting a golden glow through the kitchen windows. The food was simple but perfect, and Simon couldn't help but sigh in contentment as he took his first bite of the perfectly scrambled eggs.

Baz watched him with a soft, amused smile. "You eat like you haven't seen food in days."

"I'm just appreciating your hard work," Simon shot back, grinning around his fork.

They ate in companionable silence, the morning stretching out before them like a promise. For once, there was no immediate danger, no monsters lurking in the shadows, no battles to fight. Just the two of them, sitting together, sharing a meal in the quiet of their flat.

When they finished, Baz leaned back in his chair, watching Simon with that intense, focused gaze that always made Simon feel like he was the only person in the world. "What do you want to do today?" Baz asked.

Simon shrugged, feeling strangely shy under Baz's scrutiny. "I dunno. Whatever you want."

Baz's lips curved into a soft smile. "I'm not asking what I want, Snow. I'm asking you."

Simon blinked, taken aback by the question. For so long, his life had been about reacting, about doing whatever needed to be done to survive. No one had ever really asked him what he wanted.

"Maybe..." Simon hesitated, but when he looked into Baz's eyes, he found the courage to say it. "Maybe we could just... stay in today. Watch a movie or something. Just... be together."

Baz's smile widened, and he reached across the table to take Simon's hand. "That sounds perfect."

And for once, Simon believed it.