Chapter Text
“How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?”
- Doc Luben
There’s something familiar about the man across the bar.
He’s sitting on one of the tables, one hand pressed to his brow bone and the other nursing a glass of scotch. Simon can’t quite see him through the dim purple lights of the bar but he knows there’s something about the soft dark waves framing the man’s face and the long slender fingers tapping rhythmically on the glass that urges Simon to go over to him.
He moves to get closer just as the man gets up to his feet, swaying slightly. He’s had quite a lot to drink, Simon notes and feels glad that he himself elected to not start getting to the alcoholic drinks till 8 PM. The man takes another step towards the bar area, most likely to get himself another drink, but tumbles half-way, falling right into Simon’s arms.
A blush creeps up both of their cheeks. Simon hasn’t been close to anyone like this since Agatha left for California without even saying goodbye, and it isn’t til now that Simon realizes that he misses this. Misses having someone to hold, having warmth radiate from his body to somebody else’s. The man’s body is unnaturally cold and Simon finds comfort in the notion that his presence gets to warm him up.
The man blushes because he’s drunk and he’s already a bit flushed anyway, but also because there’s something very, very familiar about how Simon smells that makes his cheeks heat up without his knowledge. Their eyes meet and the lightbulb clicks on in his head. “Snow?” he asks incredulously, his words clear despite his blood’s alcohol content.
Simon squints stepping to the side to bring them to a brighter area so he can look at his face clearly. He recognizes the voice though it’s deeper than he remembers but it still takes a moment for his brain to catch up.
“Baz?” he squints some more, shifting his grip as Baz moves to rest his head against Simon’s shoulder. He’s a few inches taller than Simon is but that doesn’t stop him. “What are you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve, you should be with your family,” Simon tries, frowning as Baz chuckles dryly into his shoulder.
“Fuck, I need another drink,” he mutters, moving off of Simon with another chuckle. Simon keeps his grip, strong but not harsh, and shakes his head.
“You’ve already had too much,” he says, trying hard to be stern. Baz only pouts and crashes his head onto Simon’s shoulder once more, mumbling petulant complaints into the fabric. The Baz he used to know, the one from school, would have probably pushed him away and gotten what he wanted. But this Baz, this softer version of him, doesn’t. Simon is surprised, but then he thinks about how all his other school friends changed over the years and figures that he should have expected something like this.
But still, never had he thought that he would have Baz Pitch, king of the football field, rich boy extraordinaire, second in all of his classes (Penelope beat him out), and his terrible roommate whining, “Snow, I’m just tipsy,” while resting comfortably in Simon’s arms.
Simon feels a smile tug at his lips. He looks down onto Baz’s head for the first time in his life (he’s always been taller than Simon, the bastard) and begins to maneuver them towards one of the tables to the back of the bar so they can be more comfortable and have more light.
He isn’t looking behind him, just blindly walking as he tries to make sure his arms around Baz don’t loosen, so it’s only a matter of time before the two bump into someone else.
It’s a man with tawny hair and blue eyes, almost like Simon. Of course, he’s a bit shorter, and slightly more lanky, and his eyes are a darker shade of blue, but still, Simon feels like he’s staring at a distorted sort of reflection, a mirror from another world.
He is quick to stutter out an apology but the vibrations crawling up his chest makes Baz lift his head and blink up to the light. “Stop talking, Snow,” he mumbles with a pout, but freezes in an instant as he spots who Simon is talking to.
The man’s eyes widen. “Baz?” he asks, and Baz blanches. He pulls away from Simon who misses the touch but returns to be at his side, intertwining their fingers. Simon smiles.
Baz turns to Simon, trying to stay composed despite his drunkenness. “Simon, can we leave, please?” he asks softly, squeezing his hand.
The faux-Simon smiles in a vicious sort of way actual Simon could never have brought himself to smile. “So, this is Simon Snow...” he tilts his head in a way that makes it seem like he’s sizing up his prey, his previous shock seeming to have dissipated. “Seems like you have a type too, huh Basil?”
Baz grits his teeth, and squeezes Simon’s hand harder. Their eyes meet and Simon nods, pulling Baz away past faux-Simon, shoving him harsher than probably appropriate and escaping to the streets.
Their hands are still clasped together as they look around, the streets of Manchester lit up by the active nightlife of the younger people of the city. The streetlights are shining, and as Simon watches Baz washed in a soft orange glow, he smiles softly. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says slowly, squeezing Baz’s hand, half to reassure him, and half to ensure that their hands stay together just like that.
Baz shakes his head, the scotch having loosened his tongue. “It’s alright, Snow,” he says in an almost whisper, dodging a giggling group of uni students. “He was my ex-boyfriend,” he mutters bitterly.
Simon has never been good with words so instead of speaking, he knocks their shoulders together gently. Baz smiles genuinely for a split second before it turns sour. “Bastard cheated on me with a guy who looked almost exactly like me.”
“Oh,” drawled Simon, going over the memory of his words once more. He knocks their shoulders together again and keeps them there this time, their intertwined hands pressed between their bodies.
“That’s why I’m not with my family for Christmas,” he says slowly, the soft orange glow that washed him fading away as they move through a quieter street. “If I show up without him, my father will find some way to twist it into a commentary about my life choices and career path.”
He’s speaking animatedly now, waving his free hand in the air and trying to portray the sheer incredulity of the situation. Simon smiles softly. He seems to be doing that around this Baz a lot. The Baz from school had never gotten the same treatment. “What do you do?” he asks gently, ignoring the pleasant little knot that tightens in the pit of his stomach as Baz’s eyes light up.
“I’m working on my PhD for English Literature right now,” he says, excitement evident in his voice. It stays for a second before he returns to his original mocking tone. “Father laments about how I’m not doing something respectable like finance or business every chance he gets. I didn’t particularly fancy seeing him but I’d have quite liked to see my siblings and stepmother.”
Simon nods, rushing to change the subject because Baz’s face has taken a sad pouty turn and poor Simon isn’t sure his heart can take much more of it without dissolving into a pile of goo. “I usually spend Christmas with Penny and her family,” he begins, trying to match Baz’s energy, “but being with her family without her there would just be a bit weird and she’s in America with her boyfriend right now.”
Baz nods thoughtfully, humming as he thinks. “Yeah, her American bloke,” he begins, wracking his brain for the name. “Micah, was it?”
Simon shakes his head, chuckling as his eyes drop to the floor. “Oh no, not Micah,” he begins, meeting Baz’s eyes for a split second before looking away. “He was a bit of a dick. She’s with a guy named Shepard now. Penny and I met him during our road trip through America.”
“Road trip?” Baz asks, quirking up a singular eyebrow in a way Simon was never able to. He looks adorable like this, his cheeks all flushed and his eyes wide and curious. Simon is filled with the overwhelming urge to press a kiss to his cheeks, or to his eyelids, or to his lips.
Instead, he nods in an exaggerated fashion and swings their intertwined arms between them. “Yeah, when I was twenty and depressed, Penny thought it would cheer me up. Long story short, the car we rented stopped working properly and we hitchhiked with Shep.”
A wild sort of smile takes over Baz’s face.“You two hitchhiked through America?” he asks and before Simon can respond, he bursts into a fit of laughter and the warm knot in Simon’s stomach tightens.
He looks beautiful like this, angelic even, and Simon is angry at his younger self for daring to have any other emotion towards this beautiful being but adoration. “I was going to say that that was a stupid decision but I should have expected that sort of thing from you two,” he says, still reeling from his laughing fit, little giggles escaping his mouth.
Simon wants to kiss him again and he wishes he had when he was younger and had more confidence than he does now. He smiles at Baz, softly, adoringly, cheeks getting redder by the second. Then, an idea sparks in his head. “Would your family recognize him? Your ex-dickhead?”
Baz laughs at the nickname but shakes his head. “No, they never met. I don’t think they even knew his name. Why?”
Simon takes a deep breath debating in his head whether this is a terrible idea or not. “I could,” he pauses thinking it through again before deciding fuck it and going on, “uh, fill in?”
Baz’s laughter quiets down and then picks up again, flowing melodically like a song. “You want to,” he pauses, squinting his eyes, “pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Simon’s eyes widen. “Only if you’re up for it!” he assures, moving his free hand animatedly. “I thought this way, you could prove your father wrong and see your siblings and stepmum at the same time.”
Baz blinks, nodding as he processes the idea. “Snow, are you sure?”
Simon nods once, twice, three times, wiping his free hand on the leg of his trousers. “I mean, I have nothing else to do over Christmas, it could be fun,” he lets out a nervous little laugh, and Baz is suddenly fifteen again, finding every little thing Simon Snow does absolutely endearing. “And besides, I’ll probably get free food,” he adds nervously.
Baz laughs slightly, thinking it over. He knows that he probably will regret it later, but he also knows that this isn’t something that’s likely to happen again. His slightly drunken state gives him the final push. “Alright,” he nods, squeezing Simon’s hand.
Simon grins, and Baz wants to kiss him.
“We need to leave in a few hours if we want to make it there by the morning. My flat’s nearby, we’ll take my car,” he says instead, tugging Simon into a street to the side.
“I’m driving!” he chirps, and Baz grins.