Choosing the Worst Chosen One

simon x butter

it is a canonical fact that Simon loves butter. I, as someone with an ounce of common sense, am not a fan. but Simon is, so here we go, guys. a Simon x Butter chapter.

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Baz's POV  (3rd omn)

Baz hates waking up alone. It reminds him, specifically, of a time when he'd wake up to see Simon on the other side of their shared dormroom at Watford's, sleeping as far from Baz as he could. A time where Baz would wake, wishing for Simon to sleep beside him so hard that it would make him physically sick.

The moonlight streaming in from the window tells Baz that it's late in the night and at least four hours from sunrise. He rolls over, feeling cold all over. Simon isn't beside him, and the space where he usually sleeps is empty. Baz curls up in the sheets, curling in on himself. It's fine, he thinks. He's in the bathroom, or getting a drink. He wouldn't just leave, Baz.

Snap out of it.

He rolls over again, squeezing his eyes shut.

You don't know that.

The thought flashes in his brain, only for a second, but it echoes through him.

Baz, stop. He's not just going to leave you. You love him, and he loves you.

He rolls back over, staring at the space where Simon had always been every morning and every late night that Baz would wake to the same nightmare.

"Does he?" Baz whispers into the cold room.

He sits up straight, despite the protests of his tired body, and kicks his legs over the side of the bed. There aren't any lights on in the bedroom, but Baz can see, walking silently and nervously to the door. The floor is so cold Baz's feet immediately go numb.

He checks the bathroom in Simon's bedroom. Nothing. Panic bubbles on the surface, but Baz tampers it down. Even though it's the bathroom he would most likely use, it didn't mean that he wasn't in the house, or in the other bathroom.

Baz pushes through the door into the hallway. Nothing. The closet in the hallway is empty too, though that much would've been obvious to someone who wasn't taken over by sheer panic. 

The second bathroom is empty. So is Penelope's room, and the living room.

Something thick and hot rises in Baz's throat. He pushes it down, pattering lightly into the last room in the house. It's dark, and empty, and all hope is extinguished from his mind, replaced by a tide of panic and sorrow and loss and pain that beats, beats, beats, hard and forceful and threatening, taking him over and drowning him and-

Something moves in the shadows, and Baz chokes on the lump in his throat. Simon's gold colored hair flashes in the patch of moonlight that falls gracefully down through the kitchen window. A spoon in hand, he looks back at Baz, eyes wide and shocked.

"I swear it's not what it looks like," Simon rushes.

"What?" Baz asks, breathless.

"I said it's . . . are you crying?"

Baz swipes at the hot streaks running down his face. "No. Yes. Bad dream."

The spoon leaves Simon's lips. "Baz-"

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just a bit shaken," He lies.

"You're a horrible liar, Pitch,"

"I know," Baz breathes.

"C'mere," Simon says, gesturing for Baz. Baz carefully approaches Simon, who envelopes him in his arms. Baz leans into Simon, who staggers but stays standing under Baz's weight; he holds him closer, tighter, gripping Baz's shaking shoulders.

When the trembling stops, Baz pulls back, leaning in to nuzzle into Simon's neck. He breathes in the smell of Simon's shampoo, nosing into the hair at the base of his neck. He keeps his fingers tangled in Simon's soft curls, pressing his chest into Simon's.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"For what?" Simon asks, quiet even though he doesn't have to be.

"For staying." It's barely a whisper.

"What?"

Baz sighs. "For not leaving me, Simon."

Simon pushes on Baz's chest, looking him in the eye. He doesn't ask, doesn't try to get an answer from him, just holds Baz's cold cheek in his hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Pitch. I'm here for good, and there's no getting rid of me."

Baz laughs in relief, his forehead on Simon's. They sway, standing against each other. Simon kisses Baz, soft and gentle. There's something weird about the way Simon's lips feel, but Baz doesn't care. He laughs again, breaking away, his head falling onto Simon's shoulder. He smiles against his skin, inhales, breathing in the moment, licking his buttery lips-

His what?

"Are you eating butter?" He asks abruptly.

"What?" Simon squeaks.

"You're eating butter. I can taste it." Baz looks up, then at the spoon in Simon's hand. Simon shrugs, sheepishly. "That is disgusting, Snow. Utterly disgusting. You've got to be kidding me."

"What? I woke up and really wanted some butter."

"Oh Merlin, please tell me you did not."

Simon forces down a smile.

Baz grabs Simon's face and kisses his buttery lips. "You are so weird, Snow. So weird."

this was a really old chapter. like, super old. this was the first one shot I wrote when I started this book in 2018 0-0
crazy right. hope you enjoyed!

- Zander