Herbs and Spices // snowbaz

smoke

Simon's room was a mess, a mess of clothes and unresolved feelings (he would never call it Baz's room or 'our' room. Baz and Simon were not our) (How Simon felt about the lack of 'our' was the source for all of his unresolved feelings).
Everything was spewed out of his and Baz's closets, the bedspreads were thrown across the room, the floor was littered with everything that could've been stored. The air smelled like smoke, thick green smoke that radiated off of Simon's skin, waves of uncontrollable magic that pounded in the room like a separate entity. Simon had gone off, his magic overflowing around him in uncontrollable flows of power, pounding through his body and out of his too-tight skin.

"Merlin, fuck, shit," Simon spat at the mess, tears streaking down his cheeks as he picked up more clothes and flung them around the room. He hated himself, the way he was the most useless Chosen One that anyone could've chosen, the way his magic was an overflowing fucking well that he couldn't control or draw on when he needed it like every other student at Watford.

Simon lost control of his emotions, stress and pressure weighing onto every fibre of his being. Adding to the pressure he felt to put a name to what he felt about Baz, and he was a walking disaster only made better by the presence of Penny. Even being in his room made his brain turn to shit, Merlin knew why these feelings had evolved now, taking over his will to live and turning it into nothing. Baz was always there, taunting at his emotions and taunting him for being the worst Chosen One. Which he was, he knew that. "The Mage's Heir" what bullshit, he wanted no part of it, he wanted out. The tears that streamed down his cheeks in constant complaint couldn't be called tears anymore, more like valleys down every crest of his face. He couldn't compose himself before the oak door was swung open, and the silhouette of a person was standing in the lit doorway.

Baz.

One of the biggest sources of pain and distress in Simon's life, besides the fucking Insidious Humdrum. Baz was full of shadow with the light from outside illuminating the doorway around him, his face in darkness. He looked blearily around the room, before setting his piercing eyes on the destruction around him, clothing hanging from the bed canopies, the acrid stench of smoke investing his nostrils and his brain, clouding his judgement. He found Simon Snow sitting in the middle of it all, everything was strewn around him, his face streaked with tears.

"Aleister Crowley, what is this, Snow? What happened?" Baz knew what happened, he could smell it, the magic bleeding through the room.

"I lost control, I-I-I'm sorry." Simon stuttered, his throat clogged with tears, numb from the coating of sadness and despair. Simon's eyes were locked on his hands resting in his lap, the knuckles coated in dried blood from when he punched anything and everything in frustration.

"It's okay, um..." Baz's voice was soft, comforting as he stepped forward out of the door and shut it behind him, bathing the room in darkness. Baz stepped over the mess to crouch next to Simon, his hand tentatively placed onto his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Simon recoiled away from his touch, a stinging sensation of sexual tension left on his skin. "Don't. It's fine." His voice was steeled and it cut Baz better then his sword ever could.

Baz flinched away from Simon and stood up briskly. "Fine, fucking suffer then."

"Shut up Baz, you know what I mean." Simon sighed.

"I really don't think I do, Snow." Baz's jaw worked up and down as he clenched it.

"We can't just go on breaks from hating each other, I physically can't do it. We either stop fighting, or we stop with these half truces that happen every time one of us explodes beyond belief." Simon stood slowly and surveyed the room, his eyes skirting everywhere but on Baz.

Baz mumbled something beneath his breath and Simon finally laid his eyes on him, squinting angrily. "What did you say?"

"What if... I don't want to stop fighting."

"Why would you not want to stop fighting?! I don't like fighting with you!" Simon's voice raised to a scream, and his magic began to rise under his skin once more. He closed his eyes to work it back down to a simmer and opened them again to find Baz much closer to him, his pupils dilated. "It's exhausting Baz, the constant need to be angry with you. We live together for Crowley's sake, we should be able to be friends at the very least."

"Friends?" Baz's voice was suddenly an incredulous, rumble in his chest, vibrating through the room.

"Yeah, friends, or something other than enemies." Simon stepped closer to Baz, a sudden confidence blaring through his body at Baz's hooded expression, until they were only inches apart. The smoky smell that permeated the room was suddenly alluring rather than terrifying and both boy's breath hitched in their throats.

"I can probably let that happen, but only in our room. For fucks sake, if my minions see us as anything other than enemies, I'll be slaughtered." Baz laughed gently, and Simon could feel it on his skin.

"Okay," Simon held up his hand for Baz to shake it, "friends?"

Baz hesitated slightly, before enclosing the boy's hand in his, "friends."

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I was gonna make them hook up but nahhhhh I'll save that for another day