Herbs and Spices // snowbaz

inner city shenanigans (au): aka simon and baz get drunk and lay on the grass

Head on shoulder, head on head, bodies pressed against each other under the harsh fluorescent lights of the tram stop. Cars drive past, sleepy drivers behind the wheels, hands grasping their wheels too tight as they tried to not rush home, to fight back their desire to speed through the dark streets (the practically empty streets, void of everything that existed in them in waking hours.) Everyone was rushing, time was in a free-fall like it always is in the early hours of the morning; everything seems faster, seems simultaneously more urgent and less urgent. 

Your body was spinning, lazy circles in the dark sky. Okay, so you weren't really spinning, but god alcohol can make it feel like you are. Everything was spinning, everything felt sedated and warm, the clothes that stuck to you like syrup; comforting in the cold night air. You hadn't sat like this with another person, maybe ever, leaning against him, eyes sealed shut, the warm embrace feeling like everything you could want — even if he wasn't. You knew better, he had a girlfriend, has a girlfriend; but the wine was spinning around your mind, clouding your judgment, you didn't really care either way and anyway nothing had happened. (Nothing would happen.)

But your tram was coming, and he walked you to the stop, and you both sat down, and somehow you were laying your head on his shoulder and he was laying his head on yours, and it felt right. Maybe you were tired, maybe he was, maybe you were drunk (you were definitely drunk), maybe he was drunk (again, no doubts about that), and you knew it wouldn't go anywhere, but god your stomach was in knots with the want you felt. You could feel desire racing through your veins, even as your breathing slowed, as sleep wound its fingers around you and started to reel you in.

And then your tram arrived, and with it a fleeting goodbye, a whirl of limbs as you both stood, and you said something — some farewell, but fucked if you remember what it was.

**********
 Baz woke up the next morning, sticky with sickness and the ever-pressing sadness that came with a hangover (not that he'd been hungover that much, or like, ever, but he imagined it would always come with this terrible dark cloud hanging over him.) 

It also didn't help that he'd seen Snow last night. God, Simon Snow. They didn't even run in the same circles but somehow they always ended up at the same places, at the same time, and he couldn't stop his heart from beating so wildly, his blood from pumping so loudly he feared Snow would hear it (sometimes he thought he could.) And last night wasn't any different; Baz had gone out, gotten way too drunk and seen Snow. Had talked to Snow, had lain down on the grass with Snow, his head on Snow's chest and their hands clasped together (Baz couldn't remember anything that they had talked about besides how big the fucking universe was, and how soft and comforting Simon's fingers had been intertwined with his, how nicely his thumb had stroked the back of his hand.)

'Snap out of it Basil, what are you thinking. Not only is he so ridiculously straight, but he has a bloody girlfriend!' 
Agatha was a vision, she was all streaming locks of white-gold hair and glowing skin and shining teeth. Baz couldn't even hate her, not really, she was too lovely. And her and Snow were a perfect couple. 

But last night, last night was, it was something else. Baz had fallen asleep on Simon's shoulder after Simon had walked him to his tram stop - they had lain there together, and before that had lain on the grass together, all curled up and tucked away from the world.

"What's your biggest fear?" 

"I didn't know you got so deep when you drank, Snow. Do you always get this existential and brooding when you drink, because I should get you drunk more often." Baz flirted mercilessly, his eyes looking through his lashes to Simon's pensive face. Simon was staring up at the dark sky, and Baz longed to reach his hand up and rub away the other boy's frown.