Chapter Text
It was finals week at Simon's school, and Baz had expected to find him, in his flat, surrounded by a mountain of books, hands pressed over his eyes as though in denial. He had expected exhaustion, too many cups of coffee, and hours of studying.
He had not expected to find Simon fast asleep on the couch, laying on his stomach with his wings tucked in, a plate holding a half-eaten cherry scone beside him. A quick glance about the flat told him that Penelope was out, probably at the library working on a project or at the store. The flat itself looked surprisingly tidy for what he had expected finals to be, to look like, and Baz could smell dessert in the kitchen. Once he'd moved into a space with a kitchen, Simon had formed a baking habit whenever he was stressed, causing Penelope to complain about how she couldn't eat two key lime pies and a lemon tart in one day. Finals had made the compulsion only worse, and he could just glimpse a chocolate cake and the edge of a pan of brownies.
"Snow," Baz said, shaking the sleeping boy's shoulder. Simon groaned, but didn't stir. Baz picked up the plate and set it on the ground near the end of the couch. "Snow," he repeated, "you need to wake up. You have more finals tomorrow."
Simon shuddered, but his eyes stayed closed.
Baz sighed, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. "Fine," he said, and crossed his arms. "Simon."
The boy finally stirred at this, taking in a deep breath as he opened his eyes, mind still foggy with sleep. "Baz?" he asked, gaze locking on the dark-haired boy.
"Snow."
Simon blinked up at him, reaching out a hand. Baz, much to his own chagrin, caught it, drawing circles over Simon's palm. The boy, still half asleep, smiled up at him, stretching out his legs so they hung over the edge of the couch.
"Wake up," Baz said, watching as Simon's eyes shut again.
Simon groaned, but complied for just a few moments, rolling onto his side to press against the back of the couch and patting the empty space with his free hand.
Baz arched a brow. "No, you are getting up and studying for finals."
The boy didn't move.
"Simon."
He only motioned to the empty space again, tugging on his hand to pull Baz closer.
The black-haired boy sighed, pressing his free hand to his temple. He really should force Simon to study--it was for his own good, whether or not he saw it that way. He could thank Baz later when his grades turned out half-decent. But the empty space next to Simon looked so comfortable, so warm, and Bunce was out. Perhaps just a few minutes of rest would be okay, and, after all, studying wouldn't be worth much if Snow was asleep on his feet.
Crowley, he was weak.
"Fine. Five minutes break, and then back to work."
Simon made a noise of assent, and Baz lay down on the couch, facing the room. Simon wrapped his free arm about his waist, drawing him closer.
"Night," Simon murmured.
"It's well past noon, Snow, how long have you been sleeping?"
"Ten minutes?"
"Fine, we'll make this break fifteen."
Simon murmured agreement and closed his eyes, drifting easily off to sleep. The position cramped his wings, and he felt them tighten against his back, offering as much space as possible. The pointed devil's tail draped itself over his leg, falling still as Baz shifted, saying something about height difference and and his legs falling off the end of the couch.
Soon, they were both still, fast asleep. Neither had bothered to set an alarm, and fifteen minutes slipped by quickly, lengthening to thirty, and then an hour. They would have slept longer had it not been for the turning of a key in the lock and two voices chattering, one Penelope Bunce and the other Agatha Wellbelove, the first time she had visited in two years.