Work Text:
Baz
There is something off about Simon lately (I mean there is always something off about him. Bless him), but something is really off. First, he wanted to take me out to a fancy dinner. Let’s unpack that for a moment, Simon Snow willingly wanted to go to posh restaurant in Soho. He willingly wanted to put on a suit (he hates it, his wings hate it) and let me order for him and do the things couples do. Granted, it makes sense. Our anniversary is coming up (one year (it’s been more than a year but we decided to “start over” after all the shit that happened last year (really it’s more like eight years and Simon was too blind to notice). I recently finished my degree and started a job, Simon got a promotion, there are things to celebrate.
However, Simon doesn’t really understand the politics it takes to make a reservation at a fancy restaurant, so when he says one night on a whim, “Let’s go out.” I can’t help but scoff at him.
“It doesn’t work that way, Snow. You have to plan these things like a year in advance.”
He grumbled at me, crossing his arms across his chest. I let him pick up Nandos for us, he was happy.
But today. Today has been a beast. He didn’t get out of bed this morning at his usual time. We both have work and his shift starts earlier than mine. When I woke up, he made me lie in a few extra minutes.
“Want to cuddle,” he said in a gruff morning voice.
I turned to him so I could face him. “Everything okay?”
He hid his face in my neck. “Yeah,” he mumbles against my skin. It sings with the touch.
“Okay,” I said, roughly combing his hair with my fingers.
Then he got up like nothing happened, raced around to put on his work clothes, grabbed an already toasted bagel (when did he do that?) and raced out the door. When I walked into the kitchen, there was a note on a yellow post-it note that said: don’t be late for dinner tonight :)
The infernal smiley.
I go to work and make it home right in time for dinner. I place my bag and shoes by the front door.
“Hello,” I say.
“Don’t come into the kitchen. Sit at the table,” he says.
There is music playing loudly (Simon’s affinity with Abba is strong tonight. I bet Simon is dancing along, shaking his ass to “Dancing Queen.”) and I can smell food cooking. Food that isn’t cheese toasties (Cheese Toasty Tuesday. It’s always been Cheese Toasty Tuesday. Simon’s therapist suggested that we have a rotation of meals, so it doesn’t stress him out). I can’t help but be scared. No CTT, wine on the table, surprises (I don’t like surprises).
The music stops. Simon walks out of the kitchen and my head goes blank because Simon is wearing a suit… willingly. It’s from his magical tailor; it fits his wings perfectly. The suit itself is navy blue and he’s wearing a floral shirt underneath (Simon is wearing floral). He acts like it’s nothing and puts a salad on the table (Simon made a salad. Merlin’s beard what is happening?)
“This is just the first course,” he says, serving me some greens.
“Who needs food when you look like a meal?” Circe, did I say that aloud. Simon blushes. I’m trying to compliment him more; he needs to get used to it.
“I—“ he starts. He gives me the plate and serves himself. “You like it?”
“You’re wearing floral.”
“I know. I just—“
“You don’t need to explain.”
He’s done something with his hair too, matted it down just a little bit. I think he used gel. This is all too much. I start to eat so I have something to focus on.
“Mm, Simon, this is good.”
“It’s just salad.”
“What happened to CTT?”
Simon shrugs. “Wanted to do something nice for you.”
“CTT is something nice for me.”
Simon shakes his head. “It isn’t though. Wait until you see the main course.”
“What did you do with your hair?” I ask.
“You noticed?” He says in disbelief. “I—uh—couldn’t have unruly hair when I’m wearing a suit this nice, can I?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. This has never affected him before. He went to Fiona’s wedding in jeans and button up with his hair not even brushed.
I chuckle. “Guess you can’t.”
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says.
I try and catch my breath. He doesn’t often compliment me in the middle of a conversation. He doesn’t compliment me often at all. He likes to communicate through actions. “What is going on with you?”
Simon shrugs again. “Guess I’m just happy. Is that a crime?”
“No,” I start, “I’m glad you’re happy. I’m happy too. Thank you, Simon, for this.”
He smiles, a small, shy smile. I reach across the table and rub his cheek with my thumb, just because I can. I run over the mole that lies there, perfectly placed right in the center.
“Ready for the main course?” He asks.
I nod, handing him my plate. The suit trousers fit nicely along his bum. Good job Artie, you amazing tailor, you. I wonder why he chose to constraint himself tonight, why he felt the need to hide his wings in his own home.
Then he brings out two plates of steak and potatoes. “Extra-extra rare,” he says, handing it to me. “Bon appetite.” He mispronounces the whole thing, but I can’t find it in me to correct him.
“Steak?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, his mouth full. “You love steak.”
“I do…” I cut a piece and eat it. Simon cooked it just the way I like it. “Simon, this is really nice.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, watching him chow down his food. He’s getting better with table manners (Ruth was nice about it for the first couple months, then she couldn’t hold it in anymore). He doesn’t try around me. I don’t mind that he doesn’t try.
“I really like the potatoes,” he says. “Think I’ll add these into the rotation. If that’s okay.”
“You can add whatever you like into the rotation.”
“Okay, cool, good to know.”
“How was work?” I ask.
“Good. I got off early hence,” he makes a vague hand gesture around, “no CTT.”
“I see.”
“Yours?”
“Good.”
We eat in silence. A lot of our relationship comprises of quiet moments. I kick him lightly under the table because he’s prone to get into his thoughts around this time of day. He looks up from his empty plate. His blue eyes shine against the navy. He blinks once, twice, before getting up and going to the kitchen. He kisses me on the head (that’s another thing about today, Simon is lackluster in his kissing efforts. I immediately start to worry I somehow set him off).
I hear the sink going, music returning. He must be washing the dishes. That’s usually my job. He comes back out empty handed.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he says, walking into our bedroom. He walks back to the table with his sword in hand. He stands, hovering over me, for a moment, before taking his seat again. The sword rests like an instrument in resting position on his lap.
“Baz, I want to give you this,” he says, putting the sword on the empty table.
“Okay…” I trail off. “But, I can’t pick it up.”
“You will be able to.”
He stands up to fish something out of his pocket, a box, a ring box. Fuck. Oh my. Merlin and Morgana. He sits back down. We’re on an equal level, equal playing field. He’s giving me an out.
“I know we’ve only been dating proper for a year. I know we still have tonnes of shit to work though. I know that I’m still not at the place where I can give myself fully, but I’m trying. You know that I’m trying. And I don’t know a lot of things about the world. I never have, I doubt I will. I only have one year’s worth of uni, I don’t have a job that pays a lot, I don’t have very many assets. But I know that I have you. And I know that I don’t want you anywhere but by my side. I love you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I love you so much. So will you marry me and take my sword? That sounded like a euphemism. It sounded better in my head.”
His hands are shaking. Tears are brimming in my eyes.
“And before you start to worry, I asked your father AND Fiona for permission and they said yes.”
“Father said yes? Fiona said yes?”
He nods.
“And Grandma and Jamie would love to have you too. So will you marry me?”
“Of course.”
Simon drops the ring box on the table and covers his face with his hands. His chest is heaving up and down.
“Simon, are you alright?”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“Okay. Deep breathes, yeah? And when you calm down, you can put that ring on my finger.”
“Oh yeah, the ring.” That seems to perk him up. With tears still streaming down his face, he picks up the ring box and puts the ring on my left hand. “It’s not much.” It’s a silver and gold band, plain, chic, modern.
“Doesn’t matter.” I stand up and move my chair beside him, pulling him into my arms in the best way I can. I kiss his mop of hair (it tastes like gel).
“Was it good? The proposal? I wanted to take you out but…”
“This was perfect, Simon,” I said. “You could’ve proposed to me while you are up my ass and I wouldn’t care.”
He snorts. “I’ve been so stressed about it. It had to be perfect for you.”
“It was perfect for me.”
“Are you going to take my last name?” Simon asks.
“Do you want me to?”
He shrugs. “Tryannus Basilton Salisbury,” he tries out.
“You haven’t even changed your last name to that yet.” I laugh.
He moves his head so he’s staring up at me. His eyes are red rimmed. I lean down to kiss him gently (I know he hates it, but I don’t think this moment calls for a heavy snog.) He doesn’t shy away like he normally does when it’s too soft. He lets me leave soft kisses and touches on him.
“I’m so happy you said yes.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“You would say it’s too soon.”
“It probably is,” I say. “At least we’ve been together for a while. Penny and Shep got engaged after like five months.”
Simon chortles. “Oh yeah. Oh fuck, I forgot. Give me a second.”
He escapes my grasp, stands up, and grabs his phone that was discreetly recording from the living room. “Gotta send this to Penny.”
“Of course you do,” I say, rolling my eyes.
I stand up and try to lift the sword. It allows me to easily. I try to mimic the moves I’ve seen Simon do with it. Simon smiles giddily.
“See even the sword wants you to be a Salisbury.”
I roll my eyes. What an idiot.
Five minutes later, Simon’s phone rings. “SIMON, YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD!” Penny shouts.
That night in bed, Simon brings me into his arms. He kisses my bare back. “Can’t believe you are mine,” he whispers. I think, he thinks, I’m asleep.
“Love you,” I murmur.
“Love you too.”
He tightens his hold around my waist like a little kid and his stuffy. His chin rests on my shoulder, his hot breath tickles my ear. His tail wraps around my wrist, his wings drape over us. Today has been a beast, but at least I have him.