Snowbaz one shots!

Hunger

Simon Snow was trying his best to ignore it.

The gnawing feeling in his stomach had become so familiar, he hardly noticed it anymore. But today, it wasn't just the usual hunger—it was something else, something that kept creeping into his thoughts every time he glanced at Baz.

Baz was sitting across from him, as he always did when they ate together. But Simon realized, as he pushed his fork around the plate of scrambled eggs, that Baz hadn't touched his own food.

At first, Simon thought maybe Baz was just preoccupied with something—maybe he was brooding, or distracted by the latest mystery they were tangled in, or just waiting for Simon to finish so he could rush off and continue with his vampire business. But then the minutes ticked by, and Baz's plate remained untouched. Simon's eyes kept drifting back to it, and to the pale, delicate hand Baz had resting on the edge of the table, fingers curled ever so slightly, but unmoving.

Simon shoved a bite of his own food into his mouth, trying to focus. But the sight of Baz's untouched plate gnawed at him, eating away at his concentration. He hadn't seen Baz eat much lately. When they'd been running from numpties, fighting the forces of evil, it had been easy to ignore. Everyone was too focused on staying alive, too wired with adrenaline to worry about anything as trivial as food.

But now, with the immediate danger behind them—at least for the time being—Simon realized that something felt off. Baz had never been the type to eat much, but this was different. This was... nothing.

"Baz," Simon said slowly, trying to keep his voice casual, like he wasn't feeling the weight of his concern. "You gonna eat that?"

Baz glanced up from his drink, his eyes briefly flickering to the plate before returning to Simon. There was a subtle tension in his jaw, a stiff movement of his lips as though he were forcing a smile that didn't quite make it. "I'm not hungry," Baz replied, his tone flat.

Simon blinked, surprised. "Not hungry? You always—"

"Not today," Baz interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though Simon had asked an intrusive question.

Simon's chest tightened. He'd been so used to Baz's walls, his unapproachable demeanor, that he often missed the little signs—like now—that something was wrong. Normally, Baz would've been halfway through his plate by now, and maybe he'd even be teasing Simon for shoveling down his food like a starving wolf. But today, there was none of that. No sarcastic remarks, no smug looks. Just silence. And that silence made Simon uneasy.

"Baz," Simon said again, softer this time, the concern in his voice impossible to hide. "What's going on?"

Baz's eyes flicked away, briefly scanning the room as if he could find an escape from the question. But there was nowhere to hide in this cramped, dimly lit flat. Simon was close, watching him too closely for Baz to avoid it. He could see the muscles in Baz's neck tighten, his lips pressing together in that way that always made Simon think Baz was holding something back.

"It's nothing," Baz muttered, his voice just a little too low. "I'm fine."

Simon didn't buy it. "You're really not hungry, or are you just not eating because... because you don't want me to worry about you?"

Baz's eyes shot to his, and for a split second, Simon saw something flicker there—a hint of vulnerability that Baz was quick to smother. It was gone before Simon could hold onto it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Snow," Baz snapped, but there was no heat behind the words. "I don't need you fussing over me."

"I'm not fussing," Simon said, his heart twisting. "I'm just... I'm just worried, okay?"

Baz sat back in his chair, his posture stiff, and for a long moment, he didn't say anything. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy between them. Simon's stomach churned, not from hunger, but from the helplessness that seemed to settle in his chest every time he looked at Baz like this—so withdrawn, so distant.

"Baz, you're not fine," Simon said, his voice softer this time. "I know you. And I can tell when something's wrong."

Baz shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting to the window, as though the world outside could offer him some form of escape. "It's nothing," he repeated, but Simon saw the tension in the way his fingers clenched against the edge of the table, the sharp edge of his fingernails digging into the wood. "Just a... passing thing."

Simon shook his head, unwilling to let it go. "It's not nothing. You haven't eaten properly in days. And you know I can tell when you're lying."

Baz's jaw clenched, and his gaze flicked to Simon, sharp and unreadable. He took a breath, and for a moment, Simon thought Baz might say something biting, something to shut him down. But instead, Baz spoke quietly, in a tone so unlike his usual self.

"I don't want to eat," Baz said. "I don't feel like I deserve it."

Simon froze, the words hanging in the air, so foreign, so raw that they took a moment to register. Baz's usual confidence, his biting sarcasm, his deflective humor—all of it fell away, leaving behind something Simon hadn't expected: vulnerability.

"Baz," Simon whispered, his heart breaking for him. "That's not true."

Baz met his eyes then, his gaze dark and conflicted. "I've done... I've done terrible things, Simon," he said, the words soft but heavy with meaning. "I don't feel like I deserve anything good right now."

Simon's breath caught in his throat. He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved closer to Baz. "You don't get to decide what you deserve, Baz," Simon said, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not the sum of your mistakes. You're you. And you deserve to be treated well. You deserve... food. And love. And everything good that comes your way."

For a moment, Baz didn't respond, his eyes searching Simon's face as though trying to find some kind of lie, some reason to dismiss what Simon was saying. But Simon held his gaze, unflinching.

Finally, Baz exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "You're being ridiculous," he muttered, but it was less harsh than usual, and there was a softness in his voice that made Simon feel like he'd cracked through one of Baz's many walls, just for a moment.

"Maybe," Simon said with a small smile. "But I'm also being serious. So... eat something. Please."

Baz hesitated, then picked up his fork, stabbing at his food as though testing the idea. For a long moment, nothing more was said. The silence between them was different now, softer, filled with understanding instead of tension.

And as Baz finally took the first bite of his eggs, Simon's heart gave a small, relieved flutter. There was still so much for them to work through, so much unspoken, but Simon knew, in that moment, that they were figuring it out—one bite at a time.