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Simon Snow is not obsessed. He just needed a hobby after he graduated. And Baz was everywhere. In adverts and on magazine covers and in gifsets. While Penny was off in the uni library every day, Simon sat in his bedroom and did something equally, if not more, important: creating outfits for his paper doll Baz.
And let’s get one thing straight. Simon’s bedroom is not “a shrine to Baz.” It’s not even a collection, really. Just a passion project.
It’s definitely not “not normal.” Nor is it “perhaps a little bit concerning.”
Lots of people have a framed, signed poster of Baz at New York Fashion Week. And plenty of people have a second, backup poster, too.
Simon just likes pretty things. And Baz’s outfits are the prettiest things Simon knows of.
He’s up to over a hundred outfits for Paper Baz, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon. Each outfit gets its own two-page spread in the Baz Binder, a record carefully organised and catalogued by outfit type. The paper outfits are displayed opposite their photographic inspiration for posterity.
Today, Paper Baz is wearing the top from his 2018 Met Gala look, a wispy baby blue suit covered in a pastel reproduction of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. His floral trousers are from the time he went to the Grammys in 2019, during his short-lived musical career. Simon finishes off the look with the gold scarf from the first of Baz’s fashion shows Simon attended. Penelope was embarrassed that Simon screamed when Baz made eye contact with him at the end of the catwalk, but really, Simon couldn’t help himself.
He dresses Paper Baz first thing in the morning, every morning, and keeps him on his desk where he can keep an eye on him, much to Penny’s dismay.
“Really though,” she says from where she’s currently standing in the middle of Simon’s bedroom. (One of the minor perks of your best friend breaking the lease: the guilt means she’ll help you move, even if she’ll quickly live to regret the offer.) “What would Baz think?”
“I think he’d be flattered.”
“To learn you wank to him as a captive audience every day?”
“Don’t be gross,” Simon says, even though he thinks the answer is probably yes.
Penelope simply doesn’t know Baz like he does.
Simon knows everything about Baz. He’s followed Baz for years, since they were both 15.
He’s read all the interviews. He can tell you which tabloids are lying and he can tell you which ones say things that Baz will just claim are lies.
He has a favourite spot in Baz’s house, and he’s memorised Baz's Vogue 73 questions video by heart.
He knows the more intimate stuff, too. He has a spread with Baz’s favourite pyjamas, a red silk set.
(Though Simon might prefer something a little more scandalous.)
And he knows that Baz would never want to see the inside of his room. Simon doesn’t even own a wardrobe. This, to Simon, is more of a temporary setback than anything else.
But now Penny was moving in with her boyfriend, and Simon was moving in with his, and, as Penny alleges, the collection “looks insane.”
“You can’t take this into his house. He’s going to think you’re insane,” Penny says. “What’s he going to say if he stumbles upon your Baz Box?”
“He’ll probably respect how everything in it is up to archival standards,” Simon says. “And anyway, everyone knows how much I love Baz. Does this really change anything?”
“I knew you love Baz. I didn’t know you had twenty different versions of his face tucked away for safekeeping. Is that a Baz body pillow? For god’s sake--”
It is a Baz body pillow, and Simon isn’t ashamed to have it, even if he isn’t so sure Penny would want to be touching it.
There’s a knock at the front door. One wholly expected, though perhaps not this soon in the moving process. But Penny did, after all, recruit a small army to help.
“Who is it?” Simon calls when Penny takes a few minutes too long to return from answering the door.
“It’s Baz,” she says. “I’m briefing him on what to expect so he doesn’t have a heart attack when he walks into your room and sees himself already in there.”
“You invited Baz?” Simon scrambles into the hall, shutting his bedroom door behind him.
Baz is in his flat in a mesh top and leather jacket embroidered with delicate blue flowers. Simon makes a mental note to make this outfit for his paper dolls later.
“I came to help with packing, but Bunce tells me I might already be here.” Baz brushes past Simon, reaching to open Simon’s door.
“Wait,” Simon says, blocking the way. “How much did Penny tell you?”
“Darling, nothing in your room could make me think less of you.”
“I don’t have a bedframe,” Simon blurts.
Something in Baz’s grimace tells Simon that Baz might be thinking just a bit less of him. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty. I’ll just have to let you share mine.”
It’s Simon’s instinct to defend his lack of a bed frame that does him in, in the end. (They’re a waste of money! The bed works fine without one. And yes, he’s aware Baz would have taken him to buy a bed frame at the drop of a hat, but that would have involved telling Baz that he didn’t have a bed frame.) Simon spends a second too long thinking about this and not thinking about defending the doorway, and Baz breaks in.
Simon is growing far too complacent.
But when Baz gets into Simon’s room, he’s not interested in Simon’s bed frame (or lack thereof). He doesn’t even notice the mysterious stains on the carpet or the fact that Simon is technically using bed sheets as curtains.
No, Baz’s attention, just as Penelope predicted, is drawn immediately to the Baz Binder, open to the table of contents for Section III. Baz in Jeans.
He flicks through it. Simon holds his breath.
“A man could get jealous,” Baz says, at last.
“You know I prefer the real thing.”
Penelope makes a disgusted noise. “Can the two of you get a room?”
“This is my room,” Simon says.
“Not for much longer,” Baz says, and kisses him.