Chamber by Chamber // Snowbaz

Sour Cherry Scones

OTP Prompt #33: Simon has some in depth thoughts of a scone. No plot. Just some scone-loving Simon.

~ This was such an odd request to fill. But oddly kind of fun? Here it is for @Bubblequeen728! Also- I was wondering how some of you guys found this fic! A few of my friends were asking. So if y'all could do a quick comment about how you found this, that'd be great! Enjoy! ~

I mean, they're just right there. Not too far from me- just on the other side of the dining hall. I've not had much food in weeks, and it's the first day back to Watford... I'll limit myself to ten. No. Maybe fifteen? Twenty. Twenty has to be the max. (I can feel myself bloody salivate at just the very thought of them- I could smell them from across campus, I swear to Crowley.) Penny says I might be a bit obsessed. But how couldn't I be?

They're so... Merlin, I don't even know how to describe them. They're crumbly, fluffy and light, but also a little dense. They taste like magic. Better than magic. They fall apart right on your tongue, but they don't leave too many crumbs when you're just holding them. Smelling them is almost right sexual. (It's not, I swear. But... almost is. Baz says I've got a scone fetish. Wouldn't he like to know.) They smell tart, but not so tart it makes your eyes water. (Just your mouth.) They also smell sweet, but again, not so sweet that it makes you feel like you'll get cavities.

The taste is something else entirely. (Don't even get me started on the way they feel; so crumbly... almost greasy... golden... I'm rambling.) They taste almost like they smell. (Which is bloody heavenly.) They're slightly flaky, and Pritchard sometimes coats them with some sort of chunky sugar which only adds to the texture in your mouth. It tastes buttery and sweet and tart. It tastes like happiness and love and-

And oh Merlin, when you put butter on them... don't even get me bloody started. I think they may be the thing I miss most about Watford when I'm gone. Now that I'm back, here in the dining hall, they're all that I can think about. (I think I may be drooling a bit- but who can blame me?)

I'm still lost in my daydreams about the scones that when I feel a sharp nudge in my side, I jump. "Si? You've been standing here for like three minutes. And what is-" She inspects me like a mum and wipes my chin with her sleeve. "Drool? Simon, what on Earth were you thinking about?"

I feel bad when I make a beeline straight to the scones while she's still talking, but not too bad. They're scones, for fuck's sake. When I bite into them, I have to close my eyes just to savor them. (And I never savor food. Baz has called me a plow more than once. The tosser.)

Sour cherry scones.

(Sometimes I dream about them.)