Fluffy Simbaz Drabbles

Kitchen Nightmares

Simon

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Bleep bleep bleep!

I groaned, not wanting to get up yet. Drowsily, I slammed my hand down in odd directions until the forsaken alarm clock finally stopped. Why did we even need an alarm clock? So what if I miss my whole life! That's what night time is for; making crazy memories to fulfill for the ones you miss when you don't wake up on time.

Lazily, I turned to lay on my back, focusing on the green ceiling. Each bump in it made me feel like I was in a hammock, rocking back and forth, back and forth. I had almost drifted back to sleep when my stomach rumbled.

"Seriously?" I asked, turning to glare at my stomach.

Give my scones! My stomach asked.

"Ugh, you're such a pain when you want scones," I mumbled. I threw my blankets aside with a mighty swoosh and pull myself out of the bed. My feet squeaked as I dragged them against the hard wood floor.

Sniffling broke me from my sleepy daze. I moved closer to the kitchen, leaning over to see what was happening.

The breath was sucked out of me.

Baz was leaning over the counter, the front of his wrist covering his eyes. A tear streaked down his pale cheeks, like a stream of cracked glass. In his other hand, a knife dangled out at an odd angle, the sharp edge dangerously close to his other wrist. What if...

I rushed to his side, panic engulfing my chest.

"Baz." I rushed through the word, too demanding, too sloppy. My muscles started shaking. I clenched my hands into fists, the imagine of Baz's cut skin trying to crack me open-

"Simon?" Baz asked. He peered up at me, seeming perfectly normal. His voice didn't shake, nor was he bleeding. Granted, he could just not have enough blood in him to bleed, but the sight of his uninjured arm filled me with relief.

"Oh Crowley," I breathed. "For fuck's sake, I thought you were cutting yourself!" Panic and relief seemed to keep my tongue moving. "And jeez I didn't know what to expect, you covered in blood, and your arm in blood and you'd be crying and broken and-"

Baz interrupted me with an unusually intimate gesture: A hug. He gingerly wrapped his arms around me, holding me in a warm embrace. Slowly, my heart rate returned back to normal.

"Baz," I asked, squeezing him back. "Why were you crying?"

"Oh," he answered, laughing softly. I felt it resonate within me, feeling almost like a healing spell. "I was just cutting onions for lunch preparation, love, nothing to fret over."

I pulled back.

"Onions!?" I asked, dismayed at my reaction. Baz just chuckled upon seeing my face. He readjusted the onion knife and continued dicing the onion.

"Yes love," he replied. "They give my pork brisket a dazzling taste."

I facepalmed. An onion.

A nervous laughter escaped my lungs. "An onion," I repeated, dazed. "And here I thought you were cutting yourself!" Baz gently leaned over to kiss my cheek. I was surprised by the gesture, but it was rather comforting.

"Now darling," he told me, a smile on his face, "Let's get you some real breakfast, shall we?"

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