Work Text:
Simon
I haven’t always been a good boyfriend -I’ve been a terrible boyfriend, really- but today, I want to be good for Baz. To Baz. More than good, I want to be great. I want him to think he has the best boyfriend on the entire fucking planet, because he deserves no less than that.
It’s a bit hard, because his birthday is so close to Valentine’s Day and I have to keep some ideas for his birthday, but I’m going to try my best. I’ve already bought him presents. Several. Not like he does, though. Baz loves showering me in presents. He says he’s making up for all the years he couldn’t because we were idiots. But that’s not what I’m doing.
I haven’t always been a good boyfriend, but today isn’t about making up for wasted time. Today is about enjoying the present. The fact that we’re together, and I love him, and he loves me. It’s about looking forward to a bright future. I don’t want any of our past angst to influence today.
The presents are hidden in the one place I know Baz will never search: the closet where we -I- keep the tools to fix things around the flat. God forbid he broke one of his nails trying to use a screwdriver.
Well, there’s one item that I needed to hide more carefully, so most of the presents are in that closet anyway.
The presents aren’t the only thing I prepared in advance, though. I’ve also taken a day off work, and bought a bunch of things to decorate the flat -which are also hidden in the closet. Baz wouldn’t admit it out loud because he’s proud like that, but he’s a romantic at heart. I’m sure he’d love some rom-com bullshit like flower petals on the floor and hearts everywhere. I also made him a card, all by myself, with arts and craft materials I borrowed from his sisters the last time we went to Oxford. (Mordelia oversaw my Valentine’s Day card-making process. She was full of criticism -she’s so much like her brother…)
A few things, however, will have to be dealt with today; the food, mainly. I want to use fresh products. Buying the ingredients and making dinner will probably take me a big chunk of the day, but I’m in my luck, today is one of the busiest days in Baz’s schedule. His last class ends at 7 in the evening, he won’t stop complaining about it. So I have until about 7:30 to get everything ready…
And I’ll be able to start at 10:20, when he leaves for his 11 a.m. class.
I’ve planned on going to the shop this morning, so that I have all afternoon to cook and make the flat looks nice. It sounds like a good idea in my head.
For now, I’m walking to the nearest flower shop. Baz’s alarm will ring in half an hour, so I have to hurry. (Besides it’s raining, so I don’t actually want to be outside any longer than I absolutely need to.)
Once I get there, I don’t bother looking around and go straight to the florist, telling them what kind of flowers I want, both by naming them and by explaining the kind of meaning I want the flowers to have. There’s only one kind that I name: hyacinths. They’re Baz’s favourites. He once told me a story of this one guy they’re supposedly named after. He also said the Minotaur had talked about it in Greek class, as if I ever paid attention in Greek class.
My head spins when the florist announces the total, but I get my credit card out anyway, and insert it into the machine without looking at the little screen displaying the insane sum I’m spending on literal plants. It’s for Baz. It’ll make Baz happy. It’s worth it.
She hands me the bouquet, which, I must say, look really fucking nice, and I’m already on my way out. I have to get back, and put this in the vase. The only vase we own. We’ve not used it yet. The only time it had flowers in it was when Daphne gifted it to us. I had to take it out of the closet we stored it in, dust it, wash it, and let it dry, but now it looks nice and shiny, set proudly in the middle of our kitchen table. (Which is the only table we have because the flat is a shoebox. A very lovely shoebox. Our shoebox.)
I’m about two feet away from the flower shop when I realize that maybe going to buy flowers right now wasn’t a good idea.
Let me introduce you to my new mortal enemy: the fucking London rain. Of course when I decided to walk to a flower shop to buy my boyfriend something, I had neglected the fact that I live in bloody England and it rains all the fucking time. You get so used to it, you almost forget how much of an inconvenience it is…
It’s really inconveniencing me right now. The wind is ruthless, making the rain hurt as it hits my face full force, so much of it that I can barely keep my eyes open, but that’s not even my main issue. My main issue is that it’s just as violent for me as it if for the flowers, which are much more fragile than an adult man. The poor things are getting swept by the wing, whipped by the rain. I have to hold onto them tightly so that they don’t slip out of my hand. I’ve never even handled the Sword of Mages with such a strong grip.
By the time I’m home, the flowers look beaten and sad. They’ve lost petals and all of the prettiness they had in the shop.
I swear to myself. Why did I have to go now? Why did it have to rain?
I can’t give that to Baz! But I don’t want him to be disappointed if I don’t give him flowers… I want him to know that I at least wanted to get him flowers, but that the English weather had other plans.
It’s with great displeasure that I arrange the flower in the vase, before heading to the bathroom. I am completely drenched too, after all. (And cold. So fucking cold. I consider hugging the radiator. Is this how Baz feels when he cuddles up to me on winter evenings, after spending the day out and about?)
…
Baz
My eyes stop on the date when I go to turn off my alarm.
February 14th. Valentine’s Day.
This is a day anyone who is in a relationship should be excited about, but all I feel as I’m reminded of the date is a sinking feeling in my stomach, because I can’t help but think of my past Valentine’s Days with Snow.
The first year, not even two months after we had started dating, I was at Watford while he was at the Bunces’, and he didn’t pick up my calls. He rarely did, in those days. His wounds were too fresh, and so were the images in his head that kept him awake at night and clouded his life with darkness. I was sad, but I didn’t hold it against him. He had lost everything. I couldn’t be angry with him for not being in the mood for romance.
The second year, he was also too depressed to celebrate, but this time, it hurt more. It made me angrier too. Couldn’t he make a bloody effort for me? I knew he was capable of efforts. I knew he had good days, that he could make himself have good knows. But he preferred to wallow in self-pity rather than to spend time with me, and after hours of trying to get him to do something together, I gave up and went back to Fiona’s, my heart heavy and my eyes wet. I cried my eyes out on my aunt’s couch while she ranted about how shit of a holiday Valentine’s Day is anyway. It didn’t really help. The bottle of whiskey she opened did, though.
Thus, I’m a little apprehensive for this year’s Valentine’s Day, even though things are much better between us now. We almost look like a normal couple now, if you don’t try to peek through the cracks.
That doesn’t mean today is going to be good, though. That we are doing better doesn’t mean we do good all the time. Sometimes Simon still shuts down and cry while we’re having sex. Sometimes I still throw mean words at him before giving him the silent treatment. Sometimes we still push the other away, because it’s not always easy to accept that someone loves you and wants to take care of you.
Maybe today will be a bad day, and this 14th of February will be as depressing as the two previous ones.
Just as I’m thinking this, Simon Snow, as if sent by Cupid himself, enters our bedroom, balancing a tray full of food on one hand. He has a wide grin plastered on his face.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he greets merrily, as he clumsily walks up to the bed.
He’s wearing nothing except his pants -these ones are a light blue colour, beautiful against his golden skin-, like is often the case in the mornings. Snow has some very strong feelings towards shirts because of his wings, and they’re not positive feelings. (I don’t mind in the slightest.)
He sets the tray on the empty space in the bed -his side of it- before carefully climbing besides me. He kisses my forehead. “Still sleepy?”
I grunt in agreement, before unceremoniously dropping my head on his thigh -comfortable…- and closing my eyes again. “It’s too early.”
“It’s half past nine baby, I wouldn’t call that early.”
“It is,” I insist, even though tomorrow, it’s at half past six that I’ll have to wake up. (Fucking Thursdays.)
Simon chuckles. “But you still have to get ready, so how about we start with breakfast, uh?”
He must have been up for hours -since Watford, he still hasn’t lost his nasty habit of rising with the sun, often he even rises before the sun. I imagine he wants to have breakfast…
Though my body is begging me to stay under the covers a little longer, I find it in myself to sit up, shivering immediately at the cold in the room. That’s kind of the problem when your boyfriend is always hot, and you’re always cold. You have to compromise, and since you can put on more layers but he can’t shed his skin, you usually get the bad end of the deal.
Not so bad, I think, as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close, rubbing over the sleeve of my shirt to try and warm me up.
A yawn escapes my lips, and I rub my eyes with the hand that covered my mouth once it closes.
“What have you brought us?” I ask, a rhetorical question, as my sight becomes clearer.
He’s brought us toast, messily cut into heart shapes with a knife, with strawberry jam on mine and butter, which has melted, on his, an apple cut up in quarters, and two cups of tea.
I notice my toast isn’t as dark as him. I prefer it that way, barely golden. I’m surprised he went out of his way to make sure mine wasn’t too burnt.
He’s so sweet. The fact that he bothered to shape the toast into hearts is too.
I’m the one who kisses him this time, on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“I know you don’t eat much in the morning so I only gave you one piece of toast but I can go back and make you more if you like.”
I shake my head, smiling fondly at him. “It’s alright, love. I’ll have more than enough with this.”
…
Simon
Breakfast: done. And Baz looks happy, so I consider this a win.
Now step 2: flowers. This step is a bit trickier. I’m a little anxious as he goes to the bathroom to freshen up and dress up; I don’t think the flowers will make him very happy in the state they’re in…
God, where is Penelope Bunce when I need her, uh? If she was here, she could cast a spell on the flowers and they’d look just as gorgeous as in the shop.
I mean, I guess Baz can -and will- spell the flowers himself, but I wish he could have this ‘wow’ moment when he walks in the main room and sees a beautiful bouquet waiting for him. Instead he’ll see floppy flowers with missing petals.
Still, I have to look confident about the flowers -Baz says appearing confident gets you out of a lot of situations, and well, he must be right about that because he’s excellent at avoiding trouble- so when I see him in the corridor, I straighten my back, and let a smile spread on my face.
His eyes immediately fall on the vase, or rather, its content.
“For you!” I exclaim. “Do you like them?”
“So that’s why there are wet clothes in the bathroom,” he murmurs, probably more to himself than to me. He then looks at the flowers, and at me, a smile blossoming on his pink lips. (He fed last night.) “Thank you Simon, they’re very lovely.”
…
Baz
I’m absolutely dumbstruck. I hope it doesn’t show on my face.
Last year, Dev got Niall flowers, and he was a bit annoyed by it. He said that flowers were basic, that he wished Dev would have thought of something more personal.
I don’t fucking understand Niall.
I want to cry.
Simon, that moron, went out, before I woke up, under the beating rain, to get me flowers. How could I ever be unhappy about that?
I don’t know whether to reach for the vase to smell and admire the flowers, or to reach for him to snog his face off.
Simon Snow bought me flowers on Valentine’s Day. Fifteen-year-old me would have a stroke if he knew.
I go for the second option. Snogging his face off.
Then I take a look at the flowers.
There are a lot of them, many different kinds, many different colours, but somehow, they look wonderful together. I notice that there are a few hyacinths, and I wonder if that’s a conscious choice on his part. They’re my favourites.
“I know they look a bit off,” Simon says, sounding sorry about it, as if there was anything he should feel sorry about right now. “The rain brutalized them.”
“That’s no problem. I’ll spell them later.”
I kiss him again, whispering another ‘Thank you’ against his lips. I was thinking of bringing him flowers too. Red roses, that I will grab on the way home from uni tonight. I think Snow would prefer a cliché red rose bouquet than an elaborate one with flowers he can’t even name.
I’ll test that theory tonight, but for now…
“I’m really sorry, but I need to go or I’ll be late,” I announce, the flowers still in my hand, and Snow’s own hand still on my hip.
The fact that I have to end this beautiful moment and leave makes me regret ever pursuing further education. It makes me angry at myself that I’m too good a student to skip class. I wish I could stay here forever, in the comforting warmth of Simon’s love.
He doesn’t seem as bothered as me, laying kind eyes on me and a gentle kiss on my jawline. “Of course. See you tonight.”
…
Simon
Step 3 -dinner- isn’t going as smoothly as step 1 and 2, and those didn’t exactly go perfectly smoothly. (Yes I’m referring to the rain ruining the flowers. I’m still mad at it.)
Turns out that you should try recipes before you plan on serving them to your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.
I didn’t even know one could mess up cherry pie, but here I fucking am.
I picked cherry pie as our dessert for multiple reasons:
- Cherries are red, which goes with the whole Valentine’s Day thing.
- Cherries are my favourite fruit, because even if this is mostly about Baz, I can allow myself a little pleasure.
- Baz loves pies. Homemade ones, with homemade crust. I had to ask Daphne for her recipe.
- It seemed easy enough
It’s not fucking easy.
I can’t seem to roll out the dough enough to get a thin crust, and what I have now is definitely much too thick. Also, Daphne’s recipe says the ball of dough should be smooth before you try spread it. Mine wasn’t, but I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe that’s why it’s all messed up.
Also, I was stupid and decided to do everything at once, so the carrots for the main course are burnt and I haven’t bought enough carrots to remake them unless I go back to the shop, but I don’t have time to go to the shop. He accused me of making pasta all the time so I wanted to cook some vegetables tonight, see where it fucking got me.
And the meat is still waiting for me to do something about it, soaking the wooden cutting board up with blood. I bought a really nice piece of beef. It’s Baz’s favourite type of meat. Probably because it’s bloody and he’s a vampire, though I wouldn’t make this hypothesis out loud because that would probably make him stop eating beef forever. Self-conscious idiot.
In short: my kitchen is a battlefield, and I’m not fucking winning.
…
I just remembered I forgot to buy that expensive wine Baz sometimes indulge himself with on special occasions. Fuck.
I don’t have time to go to the shop, I don’t have time to go to the shop, I don’t have ti…
...
So I’m in the shop.
I’ve grabbed enough carrots to feed the population of a small country. Now I’m looking for the wine. I don’t even like wine, but Baz does, the posh arsehole. I prefer alcohol when it’s fizzy -Baz says I shouldn’t call alcohol fizzy. Champagne, beer, cider, though I’ve been staying away from that one. It tastes a bit too much like rock bottom.
But anyway. Baz likes the stupid wine, so I’m getting the stupid wine. And a bottle of carbonated water. I don’t like buying water in bottles, it’s stupid, but the tap doesn’t provide bubbles, so I guess this is okay.
Maybe I shouldn’t buy the carbonated water. It’s probably going to make me burp. Burping isn’t sexy.
I’ll just keep it for another day and stick to regular water tonight.
God I have to hurry. I don’t have that much time left before Baz gets home, and I still need to get the presents, pack them, shower, and put on classy clothes.
I’m never going to make it in time.
…
I have two choices: I can either remake the dough for the pie and make sure I won’t be done when Baz gets home, or I can use the messed-up dough, which will probably make the pie inedible.
Both choices will certainly lead to a disaster, but I don’t want to welcome Baz home in my trackies, so I decide to keep the shitty dough. I just took a shower and I’m fucking sweating already. I can’t be sweating when I change. I need to look nice and smell nice for Baz.
At least I haven’t burnt the carrots this time, but I don’t know what I’ll do with all the ones I have left, there’s no way Baz and I can get rid of them without eating carrots everyday for a month.
The meat is still waiting for me to do something to it, but I’m keeping that for later, much later. If I can ask Baz to reheat the vegetables and the rice with a spell, the beef will taste like arse if he uses magic on it. I have to cook it before serving it.
Fuck! I don’t have an apron. How am I supposed to cook something like this in my nice clothes without an apron?
And this goddamn dough that won’t fucking be rolled out evenly.
Frustration is growing in me more and more, like waves hitting the shore. It starts slow and manageable, but then, it turns into a violent crash, water everywhere, splashing with force.
If I still had my magic, there’d definitely be smoke coming out of me right now.
Why can’t I ever do anything right.
I hear keys being inserted in the lock.
No.
…
Baz
I’m almost bouncing in excitement.
I skipped my last lecture -it’s a boring one anyway, Donna will send me her notes- to surprise Snow by coming home early. I stopped by a flower shop for the roses, and at Fiona’s for the present I got him and the outfit I planned to wear, but I still manage to get home much earlier than I should have, thank Merlin. I hated the thought of having so little time with him on Valentine’s Day, especially considering how good of a mood he was in this morning.
I hope to make the most of our time…
The scene that welcomes me when I open the door is not at all what I expected.
Instead of glee to see me come early, it’s despair that I watch grow on Snow’s face once my eyes find it. (He’s in the kitchen part of the main room.)
He looks like he’s about to cry, and not in a good way.
“Baz,” he gasps, his eyes flying to the clock. “You’re home early.”
He says it like someone caught cheating would. But I didn’t catch him cheating. I caught him with flour on his hands and forehead, handling something I can’t see from here, in the middle of what used to be our kitchen but now looks more like a crime scene or a dump.
“I wanted to surprise you,” I say, trying to sound like his reaction didn’t completely suck the enthusiasm out of me even though that’s exactly what happened.
Clearly he doesn’t want me home now.
It’s my fault, I should have warned him… But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise… But it seems to be a bad surprise for him, and no surprise is probably better than a bad one…
A muffled sob snaps me out of my thoughts.
“I mess everything up,” I hear Simon whisper, his voice trembling. “Why do I always mess everything up!”
Something clatters on the floor.
I rush to him.
The stupid roses are still in my hand when I put my arms around Simon from behind holding him against me. I use my vampire strength to keep him near me, not to restrain him, but because he has told me many times over the years that this actually soothed him. I don’t know how feeling stifled by my embrace could be soothing, but it is is, so I do it without questioning it too much.
“Shhhh, it’s okay love. You didn’t mess anything up, Simon.”
Another sob wrecks through his chest. It breaks my heart.
“But I did! I… I just wanted to do something nice for you but now the dinner is going to fucking suck because I can’t fucking cook, and I haven’t had time to change to look good for you, and I haven’t cleaned the kitchen and everything is a fucking mess and you came home wanting to surprise me and that was so thoughtful of you but I made you sad because I didn’t react the way you wanted me to even though I’m really glad to see you I’m just frustrated I fucked up everything I tried to do!”
He hasn’t taken a single breath while he said all this. I can feel him trembling in my arms. His tail is swinging nervously, and his wings are out of control too.
In horror, I watch as they knock down the vase.
Not that I particularly care about the vase, it was a present, sure, but ultimately, it’s replaceable.
But the sound of the glass shattering makes Simon cry harder.
“See?! I fucking ruin everything Baz! I just wanted to make things right for once, I wanted to make you happy but I… I’m fucking useless and I can never do something right! Never!”
His words tie a knot in my throat, and this time, I can’t help but flip him around. I didn’t want to, I know it’s hard for him to look at me when he’s like this, but I need him to.
I cup his face. Not gently. He doesn’t want gentleness to answer the violence of his feelings. My grip is firm, but not to hurt, not to bruise. To say I’m here.
“Simon, listen to me,” I say, just as firmly, before softening my voice when his blue gaze meets mine. I can see the trouble in them, like a clouded sky before a storm. “If your goal was to make me happy, you didn’t ruin anything. I am so happy right now.”
“The kitchen is upside down, I haven’t greeted you properly, and I’m fucking crying. You can’t be fucking happy right now, Baz.”
“I am though. Simon, the kitchen is upside down because you were making dinner for me. You haven’t greeted me properly and you’re crying because you’re afraid you’ve messed up something you were doing for me. How could I not be happy? You’re being so sweet. I don’t care about the mess, I don’t care that it’s not ready. If it matters so much to you, I can go wait in the bedroom while you finish up, or I can even leave the apartment if you like, but I don’t care. Just being with you and seeing all the effort you were making to please me fills my heart with joy.” I lean in closer to kiss his nose. “I don’t need perfect, Simon. I just need to be with you.”
“But I wanted to give you perfect,” he pouts. “You deserve perfect.”
I laugh softly, my nose rubbing against his as I shake my head.
“We’ll try perfect another time, okay? Today it can be messy. I like messy more, anyway. It fits us well, don’t you think?”
…
Simon
We end up eating the vegetables, reheated by Baz’s magic, and the cherry mixture, straight from the can, while watching Baz’s favourite movie on the couch.
I didn’t have time to set the table. Or make the pie -it would have been disgusting anyway. Or cook the beef. Or put on nice clothes. Or do my hair.
But Baz is still beaming like a child in a sweets shop.
He got excited over all his presents, even the silliest ones. I nearly cried when I opened his -Baz is the best at gift-giving, he always finds something thoughtful.
There’s one box that has remained unopened, though. I guess I’ll keep it for another day.
Valentine’s Day can be messy.
But I want my proposal to be perfect.