Snowbaz one shots!

The first time

It was a rainy afternoon in London. The kind of day that felt like the world was a little too soft around the edges. The skies were thick with clouds, casting the city in a muted gray light, and the soft hum of raindrops against the window filled the silence of the flat.

Simon was sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, a book open but forgotten in his lap. His thoughts kept drifting to the way Baz had looked at him earlier that morning—like he wanted to say something but didn't know how to say it.

Not that Simon was complaining. The past few months had been an adjustment for both of them. After all the chaos, the fighting, the near-death experiences, they'd found a new rhythm. They had their moments of peace—moments where Simon could feel the shift between them, the quiet understanding that had been growing ever since they stopped fighting side by side and started simply being together.

Baz was at the kitchen counter, his dark hair tousled, his sharp features softened by the warmth of the flat. He was making tea, or at least pretending to. The kettle had been sitting on the stove for a good ten minutes now, and Baz hadn't even noticed it was boiling.

Simon smiled to himself. It was moments like this—when everything felt still and simple—that made him feel grounded. Like they didn't have to be anyone else, didn't have to be anything other than Simon and Baz, together in their little world.

"What's the point of making tea if you're not going to drink it?" Simon asked, his voice light, teasing.

Baz glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. "You're one to talk. I've seen you leave half-eaten sandwiches in the fridge for days."

"I'm just saving them for later," Simon said with a shrug, but then his smile faded a little. "You okay?"

Baz's eyes flicked away, an almost imperceptible shift in his posture. "Fine."

Simon didn't believe him. He never did. He had spent too many years deciphering Baz's every mood, reading the small things Baz didn't say aloud. The way he kept his distance when he was worried, the way his hands would twitch, the way he would always say "I'm fine" when he wasn't.

He stood up from the couch, the book forgotten, and walked toward Baz. Without a word, Simon placed his hand on Baz's arm, the touch soft but steady.

"Baz," Simon said gently, his voice just above a whisper. "What's going on?"

Baz stiffened, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at Simon's hand. For a second, it seemed like he might pull away, but instead, he just stood there, frozen. The kettle's shrill whistle filled the silence, and Baz finally moved to turn it off.

"I'm fine," Baz said again, but this time, Simon could hear the cracks in his voice.

"You're not," Simon insisted. "You're not fine, and you don't have to pretend you are. Not with me."

Baz's eyes flashed up to meet Simon's, something vulnerable in them that Simon wasn't used to seeing. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt full of unspoken things—things Simon had wanted to say, things Baz had wanted to say but hadn't found the words for.

"Do you ever think," Baz began, his voice low, almost hesitant, "about how much we've been through?"

Simon nodded slowly. "All the time."

"I don't know if I can keep up," Baz continued, his voice barely more than a murmur. "I don't know if I can... if I'm capable of—"

"Baz," Simon cut him off, his voice a little firmer. He stepped closer, his hand still resting on Baz's arm. "Stop. Whatever it is you're thinking, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

Baz's throat tightened, and he swallowed, clearly wrestling with something inside himself. His eyes flickered to Simon's hand on his arm, then to Simon's face. There was a depth to his gaze now, like he was seeing Simon in a way he hadn't before—no walls, no masks, just Simon, raw and real.

"I know you're not," Baz said quietly. "I don't deserve you."

Simon shook his head. "That's not true. You deserve everything."

Baz's lips parted, and for a moment, Simon thought Baz might say something else. But instead, Baz just stood there, his eyes searching Simon's face as if trying to understand what Simon was trying to say with all the silent weight of his words.

"I don't deserve you," Baz repeated, his voice almost breaking.

And then Simon did something he hadn't planned on doing. He stepped closer, reaching up to cup Baz's face gently in his hands. He felt the warmth of Baz's skin, the slight roughness of his stubble, and the steady breath that Baz took as their eyes locked.

"Yes, you do," Simon whispered. "You deserve everything. You deserve..."

He trailed off, his heart thudding in his chest, but it was as if the moment was pulling the words from him, pushing him forward. He took a deep breath, his words coming with a steadiness he hadn't expected.

"I love you, Baz."

The words were out before Simon even realized what he had said, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. Baz stood still in his arms, his dark eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat. The words hung in the air between them, fragile and beautiful in their simplicity.

Simon's pulse raced as he waited for Baz to respond, but the silence stretched on. Had he said the wrong thing? Had he ruined everything?

And then Baz did something that made Simon's chest tighten in a way he hadn't expected. He reached out, his hands trembling just slightly, and cupped Simon's face with a tenderness that made Simon's breath catch.

"I love you too," Baz whispered, his voice soft but so certain it left no room for doubt.

Simon's heart soared, a warmth spreading through his chest that made him feel lighter than he had in years. He closed the space between them, pressing his forehead gently against Baz's, feeling the steady rhythm of Baz's breath mingling with his own.

"I love you," Simon repeated, just to hear it again, to make sure it was real.

Baz's lips curled into a soft smile, his hands gently pulling Simon closer. "You're an idiot," Baz said affectionately, his voice thick with emotion. "But I love you too, Snow. More than I can put into words."

And in that moment, the world felt like it had finally settled into place. No more pretending, no more walls. Just Simon and Baz, standing together, saying the things they had both needed to hear.

"I love you," Simon said again, just for the sheer joy of saying it.

"I know," Baz replied with a grin, his thumb brushing gently against Simon's cheek. "I know."

And for once, it was enough to just be. To let the words hang between them like a promise—a promise that no matter what, they were in this together.