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The best part of Simon’s day (currently the only part of the day he looks forward to considering this semester’s course load) is stopping into Calla Cafe and getting one of their amazing sour cherry scones. Seriously, they’re the only things getting him through this semester. He can’t study without them and he desperately needs to study for his biology final.
Penny smiles at him from behind the counter as he enters, but there’s a line today and Simon is forced to wait, staring impatiently at the sign that says ‘sour cherry scones.’ The books in his bag weigh him down as the line creeps forward. Simon shifts back and forth, willing the line to move faster.
The day has already been one of the worst in months. He overslept his alarm this morning, missing his bus and getting to class ten minutes late and soaking wet from the rain outside. On top of receiving a patronizing speech from his professor about tardiness wasting people’s time, the only seat left had been next to Agatha.
Agatha. Simon isn’t sure where he’d gone wrong, but maybe lusting after a girl so far out of his league had been a start. The fact that she’d ever agreed to go out with him had been a miracle in itself, but that was last semester. Last semester had been amazing, but life goes on and Agatha had dumped him as soon as they got back from summer holidays. He should have seen it coming after he’d made the mistake of complimenting a guy’s looks to her. Accidentally telling her he was bisexual probably hadn’t been the smartest idea since she’d gone the whole summer without calling and then dumped him the minute they got back.
To say Biology had been painful today is an understatement.
All that is keeping Simon sane is the idea of a sweet, tart sour cherry scone to make his day okay. Finally, the guy in front of Simon moves aside and Simon practically collapses onto the counter.
“Bad day?” Penny asks as Simon groans into the counter.
“Remember that time in fifth year when I had mono and was out of school for two weeks and had to make-up all my exams in one day?”
She nods.
“I would take that over today.”
“The semester’s almost over,” she says, as though that makes a difference. That just means that for two weeks, Simon will lie around his flat, alone, while the rest of the world celebrates holidays with family.
Simon shakes his head and straightens up. “Just give me a sour cherry scone and let me pretend my life will improve someday soon.”
Simon should know from the way Penny’s face scrunches up that his day isn’t about to get any better.
“Sorry, Simon, that bloke just ordered the last one.” She nods down the counter at a guy waiting for his order.
His heart sinks, a thud deep in his chest. Just perfect. His day couldn’t get any worse.
It’s a testament to how bad his day has already been that he glares at the guy standing next to him. The guy is tall, taller than Simon, and as pale as anyone he’s ever seen with slicked back black hair and sharp cheekbones. In any other circumstances, Simon might have checked him out, but right now he’s just pissed off that this handsome stranger has taken the last good thing in his life.
“Cappuccino and scone for Baz,” Dev calls out from behind the counter and the guy steps forward to take his—Simon’s—scone.
It’s almost as if the guy can feel Simon’s glare on him as he grabs the bag because he glances over, just for a moment, and meets Simon’s gaze. His eyes flick down, half a second, then he smirks to himself and turns away.
“What the hell was that?” Simon demands as the guy leaves, not taking a seat, but trudging into the rain outside.
“He could probably feel you glaring. You practically burned a hole in his jacket,” Penny points out, capping off a drink Simon didn’t order but would have if he hadn’t been so distracted over the scone fiasco. She sets it on the counter. “Here. It’s decaf. I don’t think you need any more winding up.”
Simon frowns, but she’s probably right. He has a ton of reading to get done and he’d like to be able to sleep tonight.
“Fine,” he says, grabbing the drink and shouldering his bag. He still feels an annoyed buzzing on his skin over the scone, but the guy is long gone with it. It’s just a scone, he tries to tell himself. “I’ll see at home?”
“Shift ends in an hour,” Penny says, glancing at the clock. “Then I have a lab until eight.”
Simon sighs. He sort of thought having a flatmate would mean seeing her from time to time, but Penny is taking classes even more difficult than his (if that’s possible). It simply means he has a lot of time to himself, like always.
“Alright,” he says because there’s nothing else he can say.
“It’s just a scone,” Penny calls after him as he leaves, the bell jingling after him, and he steps immediately into a puddle.
Someone up there must really hate him.
*
Simon has had the same routine since he started classes at King’s College. Okay, since Penny started working at Calla Cafe and he discovered they had the best sour cherry scones in the world. He may have a slight obsession, as Penny likes to point out. If Simon could only eat one thing ever again, he knows exactly what it would be.
“Sour cherry scone,” he tells Dev when he pops into the cafe after class. It hasn’t been quite as horrible a day as yesterday (no classes with Agatha today anyway).
“All out,” Dev says in that bored voice he always seems to have.
“No,” Simon says without thinking, as if he’s telling Dev they can’t be out. They can’t be out.
Dev frowns at Simon, and Simon doesn’t think Dev has ever been particularly fond of him, and this certainly isn’t helping.
“Yes,” Dev repeats, slowly, as if Simon’s thick. “That bloke just bought the last couple.”
Simon knows who it’s going to be before he looks.
Shiny black hair, thin, pale fingers, and smoky grey eyes that flick away from Simon when he looks.
You, Simon thinks, the new bane of his existence.
“Problem?” the guy asks when he catches Simon glaring at him. Fucking hell, he’s even got an attractive voice, low and smooth, posh like Simon’s isn’t. This bloke could probably buy a baker to make him all the sour cherry scones he wants, but no. He’s here, in Simon’s cafe, ordering them all. It makes Simon hate him more.
For a moment, Simon actually considers making an ass out of himself (it wouldn’t be the first time) and reprimanding this bloke about proper cafe etiquette and not buying all the scones. Penny says Simon has temper issues, and she might be right as Simon can feel himself getting ready to say something.
The guy arches a graceful eyebrow at Simon’s pause, as though confused why he’s deigned to even speak to Simon.
Simon bites down the anger rising him in—not always an easy feat—and grits his teeth.
“No,” he grumbles. Penny would be so proud of him, but Simon doesn’t care what she would say. She has a lot of thoughts on why he is the way he is, and most of it stems from growing up in group homes.
“Order for Baz,” Dev says, apparently ignoring Simon now.
Baz? What kind of a name is Baz? Simon thinks with a curl to his lip. Some pretentious family name most likely. Simon doesn’t even know his own middle name. This Baz guy probably has five middle names.
He’s making assumptions, stereotyping as Penny would say, but Simon doesn’t care. He wants a damn scone and this Baz has them all wrapped up neatly in a bag that he carries out the door before Simon can get his mouth around to saying anything.
Behind the counter, Dev’s mouth twists boredly. “You gonna order or not?”
Simon glares out the door, Baz long gone. Another shit day.
*
Logically, Simon knows that sour cherry scones don’t fix problems. It’s just a pastry. Just a delicious, sweet and tangy, crumbly and smooth pastry that melts in his mouth, especially when he uses too much butter and it permeates the entire scone. Just thinking about it makes his mouth water.
Two days without one is the longest he’s ever gone since he discovered them, and it’s starting to make him antsy.
“Will you stop fidgeting?” Penny asks as they sit in the library.
Simon can’t help it. Exams are coming up, which is stressful enough, but Agatha tried to talk to him today and it was so awkward that Simon can’t even put it into words. It’s like she’s trying to be nice about the fact that she broke up with him after finding out he is occasionally into blokes. It’s not something he can help, and it isn’t as though he was needling for a threesome or something. He gets the feeling she’s trying to smooth things over now, but he’s not really interested.
It’s insane that he’s not interested. A month ago, he would have died at the chance to get her back, to get things in his life back to normal. Granted, he would still like that. It had been nice, with Agatha, almost like being normal. He’d gone to her house for Easter, met her parents and her cat. For once, he’d been accepted.
Now, he just wants his scones back. Then things would be normal.
“What do you know about the scone-stealer?” Simon asks and ignores the way Penny sighs at him. Simon knows he has a tendency to get fixated on particular things. In sixth form, he’d spent the whole year convinced the referees were fixing the footie matches and that was why his team kept losing. He’d nearly got himself expelled trying to prove it.
“I don’t know anything,” she says, tucking a curl behind her ear and tapping his textbook. “Pay attention.”
Simon is paying attention, to the lingering smirk from Baz as he’d taken his scones, like Simon’s annoyance amused him. Could he be taking the scones on purpose? No, that was insane even for Simon. He didn’t even know this Baz. He’d never seen him before the other day.
“His name is Baz,” Simon goes on despite Penny’s obvious lack of interest. “What kind of a name is that?”
“A posh one,” she mutters, scribbling in her notebook. When Simon doesn’t reply, she lifts her head. “Simon, we’ve got a week to exams. You can worry about the scone-stealer all you want after that.”
She has a point, but Simon still can’t help working out mentally what he might say next time Baz steals the last scone.
*
To his immense surprise, Simon doesn’t have to wait until that afternoon to see Baz.
Every Thursday, Simon has a maths class. Just one maths class and he usually slogs through it because it’s right after lunch and he’s tired and it’s almost the weekend. The professor is one of those old, white-haired men who speaks in a monotone and never moves from in front of the podium. It’s enough to make anyone fall asleep.
Simon tries to stay awake, though, because maths is not his strongest subject and if he fails this exam, he may have to change his course of study. Usually, he sits near the front (mostly an effort not to fall asleep. If he’s in the front row, he can’t). For as much as Simon gets fixated on certain things, he tends to ignore everything else which is probably why he has never, not once, noticed Baz sitting in the aisle seat three rows above him.
When Simon walks into the hall, his eyes scan for his usual seat, empty like it should be, but he looks up instead of heading right for it and there he is.
In all his posh glory, wearing a sweater that probably costs more than Simon’s tuition, legs folded over neatly as he leans back in his chair. Baz.
Baz doesn’t appear to notice him, gazing boredly at the white board, tapping a pen against the armrest of his chair. His hair, always slicked back as far as Simon has seen him, is softer, falling behind his ear instead today. His presence shakes Simon. Has Baz always been there or is he stalking him?
Get a grip, he tells himself. Simon isn’t important or interesting enough to stalk. Baz has probably always been there. He just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Simon takes his usual seat, but he can’t help the itch to turn around, to see if Baz notices him. The urge is so strong that he pretends to drop his pencil just so he can sneak a glance behind him. He gropes for his pencil, checking over his shoulder.
His eyes meet Baz’s and Baz’s narrow slightly but he doesn’t look away. Simon’s head snaps back around and his fingers close around the pencil. He jerks it back up and takes a deep breath to cover his pounding heart. Baz caught him. But he caught Baz.
Confused, Simon slides down in his seat slightly as the professor enters the hall and takes his place at the podium. Why is Baz watching him? And why does he keep taking the last scone?
*
Today, Simon is determined. He’s getting that scone.
He goes straight to the cafe after class, no dawdling at all. Penny’s behind the counter today. Penny, his best friend, the only girl he needs in his life, his light, the one who always knows what he needs. Right now, he needs a fucking scone.
Before he even reaches the counter, Penny’s face scrunches up in that way it does when she has bad news.
“No,” Simon says before she speaks. “No, it can’t be!”
“I’m sorry, Simon,” she says, but he has already turned, scanning the cafe. “Please don’t.”
He knows what she doesn’t want him to do—to lose his temper, to “go off” as the caretakers at the group homes would call it when he’d lose whatever bit of patience his birth parents had graced him with. He’s gotten better over the years. He’s seen therapists on and off, and it’s been much better since he started university, but all he wants is a scone and that goddamn Baz is the last straw.
Baz isn’t even pretending to browse the Christmas merchandise the cafe has out. He’s standing by the delivery counter, an elbow resting elegantly on the counter top, leaning against it with a hip as he watches Simon. He doesn’t even pretend he hasn’t been listening, that bastard. He merely lets his eyes travel down Simon, in his ratty jumper, jeans that don’t quite keep the cold out, trainers that have definitely seen better days.
Baz’s eyes flick back up, to Simon’s glare. Simon may not have nice clothes like Baz obviously does, or the money to buy an entire batch of scones, but he thinks he’s entitled to his sanity.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he demands, louder than he intends to, but the cafe is mostly empty this time of day, just before the rush.
“Excuse me?” Baz asks, arching that damn eyebrow of his again, a slight sneer to his mouth.
“Those!” Simon practically shouts, gesturing at the bag of scones Penny quietly sets on the counter, ignoring the look she shoots at him.
“Scones?” Baz asks, sounding skeptical, as though Simon’s gone mad.
When Simon is angry or frustrated, sometimes the words get stuck. As a child, he sometimes went days without speaking. There was no need to in the group homes. He had nothing useful to say.
With Baz staring down at him, like he’s crazy, Simon can’t find the right words despite the fact that he practiced earlier. He’d thought of everything he would say to Baz—that he’s being selfish by taking all the scones, that he’s doing it just to piss Simon off (though Simon couldn’t think why), that just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets everything he wants. All of those things Simon thought of are far far away now as he struggles to say anything.
“You-you’re-you’re an asshole,” Simon spits out finally. Behind the counter, Penny groans, but Baz merely tilts his head to the side like strangers call him an asshole all the time. “You’re being selfish and stupid and mean.”
“It’s a scone,” Baz says slowly.
“It’s my scone,” Simon says stupidly. It’s not the scone, not really. It’s just the last straw in what has been an otherwise terrible semester. Between Agatha and classes and all the usual things that keep him awake at night, he just wants this one thing to be normal.
“Didn’t realize they had your name on them,” Baz says, taking out a scone and turning it over to look at the bottom. “Not sure what your name is to be quite frank.”
“It’s Simon,” Simon bites out angrily. “Simon Snow, and you don’t have to be a prat about it.”
“Well, Snow,” Baz says, wrapping the scone back up and sliding the bag off the counter—Simon can smell them from here and his stomach lurches unpleasantly at the thought he won’t be getting any, “I’ll remember that tomorrow when I get my scones.”
“My scones!” Simon shouts after him as Baz leaves. The bell jingles behind him and Simon collapses on the counter.
“How do you manage to make enemies of complete strangers?” Penny asks and Simon groans.
“Why do complete strangers make it their mission to annoy me?” he asks instead of answering. It’s a fucking scone and it’s starting to ruin his whole life.
“You want a chocolate biscuit instead?” Penny offers.
“I want a sour cherry scone,” he mutters, lifting his head and staring at the door, willing Baz to come back and give him one out of some imaginary goodness in his heart. He doesn’t know if Baz has any goodness. He doesn’t know anything about him except that he keeps taking his scones and it’s ruining his life.
*
It’s amazing how one thing can affect everything else. No cherry scones mean less studying because Simon just can’t seem to get it done which leads to stress, which leads to oversleeping, which leads to the only seat in biology open next to Agatha.
Simon slides into the seat because if he doesn’t, he’s afraid the professor might just explode. Agatha doesn’t look at him, and he’s glad for a minute. If they can get through the whole hour, he might be able to escape unscathed.
He looks like shit. He knows it, but it doesn’t help that he couldn’t seem to find any clean shirts this morning as he scrambled around his flat. Penny was long gone to class and therefore no help at all.
There isn’t much time for talking during the lecture, and it passes in a blur for Simon. Exams are days away. He should be paying attention, but he’s thinking about Baz and those damn scones. Maybe Penny is right. Maybe he does have a problem with obsessions. Maybe he should think about talking to a therapist again. They help sometimes but then Simon runs out of money and he has to choose between therapy and food. He usually chooses the latter.
“Simon,” Agatha says when the lecture is dismissed and he tries to rise with the rest of the class, to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Grimacing, he turns back to her. “Yes?”
She fidgets, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt like she does when she’s nervous. “My parents wanted to invite you round for Christmas.”
Simon stares at her, completely caught off-guard. “We broke up,” he says dumbly, and Agatha nods, more at her lap than at him.
“They thought it might be nice since I told them about your…”
“Lack of family?” Simon fills in the blank. It isn’t as though he isn’t used to it. It’s been nineteen years for Christ’s sake. “Thanks, but I’m fine here.”
Last year, it would have been a dream come true, but now it’s just weird. Penny invites him home sometimes, but she has so many siblings that Simon can’t really deal with all the activity. He’s so used to being alone that a house full of people kind of freaks him out.
Agatha doesn’t argue with him—she probably didn’t even want to ask, but she was raised in good society, raised to be polite and considerate and to do what she was told. Simon is only lucky that some of those qualities rubbed off on him growing up.
Grabbing his book, he shoves it in his bag and leaves her in the hall. He knows just what would make this day better, but somehow, he gets the feeling it’s not going to happen.
*
His heart falls the minute he steps in the cafe, out of the unexpected swirl of snow that started sometime after noon and hasn’t stopped yet. Baz is standing at the register. Simon can recognize him from behind now, his slim, tall stature that fits his jumpers perfectly, hands in the pockets of a warm leather jacket.
The discussion with Agatha, the reminder of another Christmas alone, has taken all the fight out of Simon today, and he steps up behind Baz knowing full well there won’t be any scones left.
“I don’t suppose you found some Christmas kindness today?” he asks and Baz turns to him.
Penny stands behind the counter, frowning at Simon, but not in disapproval. She’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, as she always does when Simon turns up like this.
“Sorry, still a prat,” Baz says, but he’s got a strange smile on his lips, halfway between a smirk and something else. “But I did think of a compromise.”
“You leave me one scone out of your scone-buying sprees? What could you possibly need with that many scones every day?”
Baz doesn’t reply for a second, watching the snow melt on Simon’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a scone if you go on a date with me.”
It’s the last thing Simon is expecting. It’s the last thing anyone is expecting judging by the way Penny’s mouth falls open.
“Wh—you—it—” Simon can’t find words to describe what he’s feeling. He doesn’t even know. “Are you insane?” he demands finally. “Why would I—why would you even think—I don’t even know you aside from the fact that you’re a rich arsehole who takes all the scones on purpose!”
“A date would clear all that up.”
“No,” Simon snaps, glaring at Baz. “You’re not going to bribe me into going out with you for a stupid scone.”
“Stupid? The other day you were about ready to kill me for one.” Baz smirks as Simon glares. It feels like that’s all Simon does these days.
“Well, you can keep them all,” Simon says stubbornly. “You can’t buy me.”
Simon leaves first this time, banging out the doors and plunging into the snow without a backward glance. So what if Baz is fit and fills out his clothes perfectly, much more perfectly than Simon ever fills out his, that doesn’t give him the right to be a twat. Simon is better than that, despite the fact that he hasn’t been on a date in months, and that he hasn’t had a scone in over a week. He won’t let Baz get away with this.
*
As much as Simon would love to put all his effort into finding out why Baz is such a jerk, he doesn’t have time. Exam week is here, along with more snow than Simon has seen in years. He trudges to class and gets up earlier than usual just to catch a bus that will make it through the snow. He stays up until all hours with Penny, quizzing and reviewing until he can’t stuff any more knowledge in his head.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” she asks the night before his maths exam while Simon is trying to memorize formulas he will never use again.
“Staying in probably,” he says, glancing out the window where snow is accumulating on the sill.
“You’re welcome to come to my place, at the very least on Christmas day.”
Simon smiles to himself. Penny’s always been there for him. “I’ll think about it.”
She nods but doesn’t push it. They settle down and Simon tries to focus completely on soaking up as much maths as possible before tomorrow. He doesn’t know how much more he can stuff in there, but he’s going to try anyway. Just one more exam and he can look forward to two whole weeks alone in the flat, spending Christmas by himself, ordering Chinese and watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special.
It won’t be his best Christmas, but it certainly won’t be the worst.
*
Maths exam takes place in the same hall as usual and Simon determinedly doesn’t look for Baz as he enters. Instead, he goes straight for his seat, but he stops as he gets a few feet from it. On the table in front of his chair, there is a scone. A sour cherry scone from Calla Cafe.
He picks it up slowly—it’s still warm. The smell invades his senses and his stomach growls hungrily, but Simon stops himself from eating it. Instead, he looks around, spotting Baz easily now, sitting three rows back. He doesn’t appear to be paying attention to Simon, digging in his bag for a pen.
It has to be Baz, Simon decides. No one else would do it. It’s part of whatever plot he has for him.
Baz doesn’t look up at him, and Simon is forced to sit down, turning the scone over in his hands. The smell is mouth-watering and it takes all the willpower he has not to devour it. That would be playing into Baz’s hands.
He doesn’t think he can resist, though, as the exams are passed out and the exam begins. It’s just sitting there, so innocently, at the corner. Besides, they’re not supposed to have food in the lecture halls. He should get rid of it so he doesn’t get in trouble.
Simon eats it. He eats it as he struggles through equations and formulas, and it makes the exam go so much faster. He doesn’t know why he never thought of doing this before. Right, because he’s not supposed to have food in the halls. Still, it might be worth it.
The scone tastes better than Simon even remembers. He can’t believe he’s gone over a week without one. It’s barbaric not to eat them.
The scone is gone all too quickly, but so is the exam, and Simon turns in his paper with a sense of relief.
In the hallway, Simon lets out a breath. It’s over. He survived.
“You inhaled that scone.”
Baz’s voice startles Simon and he whips around to find Baz leaning against the wall.
“Well, I’ve been deprived,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying not to look at the way Baz’s trousers hug his form in all the right places. Probably tailored.
“I bet that’s not the only thing you’ve been deprived of,” Baz says smoothly.
Simon doesn’t really spend much time thinking about his love life or lack of it. He never had much growing up aside from a few adolescent fumblings in broom cupboards and unsatisfying games of spin the bottle. He’s not charming or suave when it comes to dating—he only got Agatha because he was too pathetic to say no to.
Baz takes a step closer and Simon can smell cologne, a strong but light scent. It smells good. Baz hasn’t glopped it on like teenage boys do when they’re trying to act grown up.
“Go out with me, Snow,” Baz says, not like a question, not like Simon has a choice even though he does.
“Aren’t you going home for Christmas?” Simon asks instead of saying no. He should say no. Baz has done nothing but make his life miserable for the last week—okay, so it was only scones, but scones are pretty much all Simon has these days. He doesn’t see any redeeming qualities Baz has that could convince him to say yes aside from the fact that he’s definitely the fittest bloke Simon has seen in a long while.
“Not for a few days,” Baz says easily, like he knows Simon is going to say yes, but there’s a slight hesitation there when he meets Simon’s eyes.
“I want ten scones,” Simon says. “One for every day you took them from me.”
Baz almost smiles and he nods. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Simon only realizes after Baz leaves that Baz doesn’t know his address or his phone number, but he gets the feeling that won’t be a problem. The only problem is that he’s just agreed to a date with Baz.
*
“Wait a minute,” Penny says on the other end of the phone and Simon can hear the train puffing in the background. “You’re going out with the scone-stealer?”
Simon tosses a shirt aside, rummaging through the pile on the floor. He can’t seem to find anything that’s either a) clean, or b) looks good. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Straightening up, Simon sighs into the receiver. “I don’t know. He asked and I… I said yes.”
“But you’ve been complaining about him for days,” Penny says.
“Yes,” Simon agrees, and she makes a frustrated noise on the other end. He doesn’t try to be frustrating. He tosses aside an old jumper, too small and with a frayed edge. Most of his clothes are like that.
She sighs. “Wear the blue jumper and the brown pants.”
Simon grabs them from the pile. “Thanks, Penny.”
“You have to promise to tell me everything tomorrow,” she says, the phone crackling.
“I will,” he says, even if he won’t. He never told her much about Agatha, but Agatha never seemed to like Penny much.
After he hangs up, he changes his clothes. It’s stupid that he’s spending any time thinking about his appearance, but he stands in front of the dingy bathroom mirror and tries to arrange his curls into something that looks less like a bird’s nest than usual.
The knock on the door comes sharply at seven o’clock. Simon trips over his pile of clothes on his way to the door. He won’t admit that he’s nervous as he pulls it open and Baz stands there.
Baz isn’t dressed fancy, which is a relief for Simon. He’s wearing trousers and a tailored coat, but Simon suspects all his clothes are tailored. Baz doesn’t look nervous. His hair is slicked back again and he seems paler than usual.
“You found it,” Simon says for lack of anything else. He never claimed to be good at this.
Baz nods simply, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Shall we?”
Simon has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, but he grabs his coat and an old scarf before locking the door behind him and following Baz down the hallway.
*
They don’t end up anywhere Simon would expect to be. In fact, they end up at a chip shop just around the corner, one with plastic chairs and fluorescent lighting that flickers occasionally as they eat.
“Do you normally come to places like this?” Simon asks as Baz picks at his chips and wipes grease off on a napkin.
Baz arches an eyebrow as though he knows exactly why Simon is asking. “Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Well.” Simon gestures at Baz, his coat, his hair, everything. “I mean, your name is Baz. What kind of a name is that?”
“It’s short for Basilton.”
Simon snorts despite himself. “Basilton?”
Baz ruffles himself, lips pressed together. “If you think that’s funny, I’m definitely not telling you my first name.”
“Wait, how many names do you have?” Simon asks, and when Baz doesn’t reply, he nods. “See?”
“I still eat chips, Snow,” Baz says, flicking one at Simon, who ducks. “I don’t know why you’re so judgmental considering you dated Wellbelove for so long.”
Simon frowns at that because how does Baz know that? Simon didn’t even know Baz existed until a few weeks ago.
“What?” he asks, watching Baz carefully.
Baz pauses, a flicker of something on his face. “Fuck,” he says.
“What?” Simon demands now. “Is this something Agatha set up?” He doesn’t think she would do something like that, but maybe he doesn’t know her as well as he thought.
To his surprise, Baz wrinkles his nose and scoffs. “Like Wellbelove would stoop so low. You understand even less about her class than I supposed.”
“So what is this then?”
“Nothing,” Baz assures him. “I know Wellbelove is all.”
“How?” Simon doesn’t trust that this is just a coincidence. It can’t be with Baz showing up out of nowhere, Agatha being nice to him about Christmas, trying to mend fences.
“We went to the same prep school. Our families run in the same circles. I heard she was dating someone last year. Didn’t figure she’d be stupid enough to let you go over a simple case of semantics.”
Simon isn’t sure what to believe. It wouldn’t be like Agatha to plot something, but he doesn’t know Baz that well.
“She told people that’s why we broke up?”
Baz shrugs, leaning over the table. “Not exactly, but I got it out of her.”
“So you’re friends.”
Baz laughs and licks his lips. He’s closer now and Simon can see the colour in his cheeks, faint but there. “Not particularly. Wellbelove’s family and mine don’t exactly get on, but it pays to stay on good terms. Obviously.”
“So you knew who I was before you stole all my scones,” Simon says, frowning slightly.
“Snow,” Baz says, catching his gaze. “Would you shut up about the bloody scones?”
Simon has no choice but to shut up when Baz leans forward and kisses him. It doesn’t last too long—they are in the middle of a chip shop after all—but it’s long enough for Simon’s stomach to stir nervously as Baz presses their mouths together, warm and soft.
“But you did know,” Simon says when Baz pulls away.
Baz sighs, but it’s not frustrated like Penny’s would be. “Yes, Snow. I knew. I knew about your obsession with cherry scones and I knew an easy way to get your attention, but I think I’ve found an easier one now.”
He kisses Simon again, longer, deeper, a little more breathless this time, and Simon isn’t thinking about scones when they pull apart this time.
“That might work,” Simon admits, his head a little foggy, confused but pleased.
Baz smirks and reaches for his chips.
*
They make it back to Simon’s apartment, through the snow and up the stairs to Simon’s door. This is always the part where Simon’s not sure what to do, and he’s especially not sure with Baz. With a girl, they usually make this sort of decision, but Simon hesitates outside the door with Baz, hands in his pockets.
“You’re going home for Christmas?” Simon asks when the silence lasts a beat too long.
“You’re not?”
“Nowhere to go,” Simon says. Apparently Agatha didn’t tell him everything.
“I’d offer but my family is very… involved. I don’t think it’d be a good second date.”
“You think you did good enough for a second date?” Simon asks skeptically, relishing the slight crease that appears in Baz’s forehead, that tiny fracture in his ego.
“I think I could convince you if necessary.”
Simon almost smiles. Baz is definitely a different breed than Agatha. Instead of replying, he moves in closer and rises up on his toes to kiss Baz.
Baz’s mouth is warm and soft, and it slides against his easily. Baz’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, tangling in curls and tilting his head to the side. Simon presses against him, taking what he wants this time, making Baz follow him until they’re both breathing harder and if they don’t stop now, Simon isn’t sure he’ll get into his flat alone.
“You’re still a jerk,” Simon mutters against Baz’s lips and he feels Baz smile.
“A jerk you’re going to go out with again,” Baz says, letting Simon extricate himself and step back.
“We’ll see, scone-stealer,” Simon says, unlocking the door and twisting the knob.
“Goodnight, Snow,” Baz says, stepping gracefully back, and Simon watches him all the way down the hall before going inside. Maybe Baz has a strange way of doing things but it definitely gets things done.
Simon smiles to himself as he locks the door, and the next morning when he finds a bag of eleven still-warm scones on his doorstep, he’ll only make Baz wait a few hours before proposing their second date.
*
FIN.