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smurphyse · 5 years

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Whumptober Day 1- Shaky Hands

Warnings: Angst, ‘s about it! I’ve also posted this and will have the collection on my AO3

It had been since Eden that Crowley’s hands shook like this.

This was a bad idea. Such a stupid, ridiculous, idiotic idea that could only be dreamed up by an absolute moron of an ex-angel. The kind of stupid idea saved only for demons who can’t even fall right, just saunter vaguely downwards.

He clenched his fists tightly, staring down at them as he did his plants, attempting in pitiful vain to terrify them into submission. No use, they disobey him openly, freely admitting to God and the world round that he, Anthony J. Crowley, original tempter of man, snake of the Garden, was purely and simply afraid.

The streets of SoHo were busy, people flitting and weaving past him, completely unaware that an occult being was practically radiating anxiety in waves. Those who pass him feel a sudden burst of panic, blood pressure rising, hair sticking up on the back of their necks, then calm again as they continue their way. A sense of confusion on their parts will be normal, but for those regular humans who encounter an ethereal (occult) being, the worry soon leaves their minds the further they get from the demon.

His hips do not hold the same sinful waltz they usually do. Crowley hunches over, his body wound tight as he focuses all his willpower on steadying his goddamned hands. The trembling seems to reverberate throughout his scrawny frame, echoing violent ribbons of panicked spasming up his arms and down his spine, the rest of his body clenching frantically for an ounce of stability.

Crowley could not remember in all his six thousand years being as scared as this. He faced down the fucking devil and he was not nearly as terrified then as he was now. His breath ghosts out in front of him, a fog of petrification mocking him as he makes his way to the bookshop; to Aziraphale.

As he comes upon the bookshop the shaking intensifies, his jaw begins to tremble as the panic rears it’s ugly head for the final attack before he collapses in a pile of limbs and wheezing terror. As he comes face to face with it, the demon’s very own personal demon, Crowley looks into the eyes of his fear.

They match his own, staring back at him from the bookshop window, golden pools of burning, unsatiated dread daring him to blink first. He feels himself begin to concede defeat, to back down and turn tail, fleeing back to his flat with the fright of a man with the devil on his heels, when the eyes staring back at him turn blue.

Cerulean blues, eyes so bright they make you feel like the sun itself is shining only for you, crinkle up in a smile. Crowley fixes his gaze, and gladly sees a grinning Aziraphale wave at him through the window, beckoning him inside.

“My dear, I was just thinking about you,” the angel chuckles as Crowley steps through the door, breathing in the familiar scent of aging paper and cologne, of Aziraphale. “I found a rather delightful bottle of wine I acquired in Italy. Oh, when was it? I believe sometime around 1890.” Aziraphale wiggled the bottle at Crowley, then set it down on his desk as he looked around for a few glasses for the pair.

Normally, Crowley would have allowed the angel to chatter on until his face turned blue, not that either of them needed to breathe, but he had other plans. Tonight was the night, the night it changed for better or for worse. The night a demon tells an angel he loves him.

“Angel, I-,” The words barely escape Crowley’s throat, strangled by the shaking racking through his body. The angel continued anyway, moving piles of books around as he spoke, hands flitting about for emphasis as he spoke.

“You would have been asleep, of course, you slept for quite a long time after our… disagreement. I did some traveling then, and that’s when I befriended a delightful young woman who showed me some wonderful vineyards around Tuscany. Of course, I had been there a few times, but she was just so excited I couldn’t help obliging.”

Crowley tried to pinch the bridge of his nose, his blood beginning to boil in frustration as he scratched himself instead. Stupid hands.

“My dear, are you cold?” Aziraphale stopped his search to look at him. He must have looked pathetic, standing in the foyer of the bookshop, body pinched and trembling. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Let me get you a blanket.”

“No, angel, ’m fine,” he groaned, feeling stupid for making the angel fuss. Aziraphale flicked his hands, smiling smugly as a fleece white blanket fluttered into his grasp. “Really, don’t go putting that on me, ‘s not a big de- “

“Crowley, you are a snake. I know you loathe the cold.” Disregarding Crowley’s protests and wrapping him snugly in the fuzzy monstrosity he dared to call a blanket. He smiled at the demon, giving one last tug to ensure Crowley was tightly swathed.

Aziraphale probably hadn’t noticed, but Crowley was painfully aware of how close Aziraphale was. Their noses almost touched, Aziraphale’s flushed from the heat of the shop, Crowley’s from the cold of the unforgiving London winter. The angel’s eyes flickered to Crowley’s lips for a moment, just one, but long enough for the shaking to leave the demon’s body entirely.

His hands snaked up from his sides, catching Aziraphale’s warm face in a soft embrace. Crowley watched carefully as the angel’s breath hitched, a small gasp leaving him as Crowley gazed longingly into those eyes whose brightness contrasted his own.

The angel didn’t pull away, didn’t tear himself free of Crowley’s grasp as he’d expected him to. They stared at one another for a long moment, breathing heavily in the otherwise stilled quiet of the bookshop, antique volumes the only crowd observing their silent standoff. Crowley’s hands began to shake again, his resolve retreating as quickly as it had come.

Maybe if he pulled away, laughed it off as some silly joke, Aziraphale would elect to forget it. They could move on, pretend it hadn’t happened, much like they had the accidental brush of their hands back in 1942. It had electrified Crowley, given his broken heart a much-needed boost, but they hadn’t spoke of it again.

Instead of pulling away, Aziraphale’s hands reached up to cup Crowley’s own, squeezing them gently as he watched back him. He seemed to give Crowley the shock he needed, because the trembling stilled instantly. His whole body laxed as it usually did, his regular confidence flooded back as he took a deep breath, visualizing it filling him with the sureness of a demon ready to tempt a more than willing partner.

Crowley leaned down and kissed him, lips light as air, just brushing before he pulled back. Eyes frantic, he searched Aziraphale’s face for revulsion, disgust, anger, but he found none. Instead, he looked back at the demon tearfully, face twisted in heartache.

Crowley released him immediately, his whole body quaking with regret. “Shit, angel, I’m sorry,” he begged, “please just forget it. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

Aziraphale shook his head, tears spilling down his rosy cheeks as Crowley backed away, fighting the urge to cower like a frightened child. The angel began to shake as well, his hands covering his eyes as he wept.

“I’m so sorry, angel, I shouldn’t have. I won’t do it again, please angel, let’s forget it,” he reached out to touch the quivering angel, hovering just short of him, afraid of causing more damage. Six thousand years of careful hands grazing and calculated contact all gone in an instant as Crowley fought back the unrelenting panic that swelled inside his gut, threatening to devour him with wrenching guilt.

“I’ll leave, then. You won’t see me unless you want. I’ll leave you be, angel. I’m sorry.”

He began to back away, hands reaching behind him to grab the doorknob when Aziraphale stretched out and drew Crowley back to him by the blanket still clung around his shoulders, pulling the demon into a deep kiss, their teeth clacking together, Crowley’s hands instinctively wrapping around the angel’s waist.

Aziraphale’s hand laced into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close as Crowley’s shock overcame him. He gawked at Aziraphale; eyes wide. Tentatively, he reached up and wiped away the tears from Aziraphale’s face, his resolve returning as he kissed him back fervently.

When the angel finally pulled away, the tears welled back up in his eyes as he looked at the terrified demon before him. Crowley wiped those tears away too, his eyes still pleading for forgiveness though none was required.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Aziraphale sobbed, his face blotched and wet, his hands still gripping the blanket for dear life, “I don’t ever want you to leave again.”

“Oh,” Crowley whispered, nodding dumbly, “good then. ‘S good, then? That’s good.”

Then Aziraphale began to laugh, a deep belly busting laugh. His hands flew to his stomach as his tear stained face spattered with happy blush. Crowley stood shell-shocked; hands still held out where the angel’s waist had been.

“I don’t, I don’t understand,” Crowley gulped, his brain still not up for cohesive thought as Aziraphale giggled before him like a child told his first dirty joke.

“My boy,” Aziraphale gasped, heaving and out of breath, laughing harder each time his teary eyes met Crowley’s confused ones, “you came in here all ready to go and you just lost all nerve!”

“Did you really think that after six thousand years of us maintaining a relationship that I wouldn’t want you to kiss me the minute you got the chance to?”

“R-relationship?!” Crowley retorted; shock replaced by outrage.

“Of course, we kept it on the down low, but I always thought we had a rather forbidden romance of sorts over the years, the sort of pining resolved for Jane Austen novels and the like. With the Apocalypse and our respective sides out of the way, I figured we would move on sooner than later. I’ve really enjoyed it, but there’s only so long I’m willing pine before we move on to the fun stuff.”

Crowley’s bottom jaw must’ve hit the floor by now, because he had lost all sense of self from pure outrage, “You said I go to fast!”

Aziraphale tutted at him, “That was in 1967, over fifty years ago. That was a lifetime ago.”

“We don’t have lifetimes, we’re ether-occult beings! For all I knew you wanted to keep this up for another six millennia.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t want things to be the same as they were before. I, I think I’m ready for change, for something new. I’m ready to go faster. Not too fast, mind you, but a few miles more at a time sounds like quite a lovely journey.”

Just like that, the shaking was gone, long forgotten in the heat of the shop and the warmth emanating from the two beings whose love for one another could heat the whole of London for a few thousand years. Crowley felt his hips lax, the familiar fluidity breathing back into his muscles. The anxiety was still there, as it would always be, but it wasn’t quite as terrifying to look down that hole if Aziraphale was there to hold his hand while he did.

“Fancy a drink?” he asked, miracling two wine glasses in his hand and motioning toward the back room of the shop.

“Oh, you’ve read my mind,” Aziraphale chuckled, holding out his arm for Crowley to take. He took it with a smile and no hesitation.

They walked to the back, both feeling quite at home and warm on this chilly London evening, and content that the first few steps on their new path weren’t as scary so long as they were together.

#good omens #good omens prime #good omens tv #whumptober #day 1 #shaky hands #angst #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffablehusbands #ineffable idiots

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sambukasam · 6 years

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Hell Ain’t Hell When You’re Around

Summary: Crowley can’t help but worry about the reader, much to their chagrin.

Square Filled: Hell

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: crowley calls the reader a few names but all in the spirit of fun, light-hearted mentions of stalking. SFW!

Word Count: 1794

A/N: have some crowley while i struggle to find the motivation to write smut ladies n gents!

Created for @spngenrebingo

Genre Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Normal Masterlist

"Crowley!" You yelled, the doors to the throne room swinging open while you ignored the looks of disdain that the demons shot you for interrupting them. You knew that you could take them on if they tried anything.

Besides, they may be dumb, but they weren't idiots. They knew that if they tried to hurt you Crowley would feed them to the hellhounds before they could blink. You were a little oblivious on that front, though.

"Ah, Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked while he sat up straighter on his throne.

You tried not to feel warm from the look he was shooting you, but it was hard. It was never a good time to crush on the king of hell, but it was especially not a good time when you were trying to be mad about something. "Can you explain to me why you have demons following me?"

Right on time, the two buffoons who had been attempting to stealthily follow you for the past week stumbled in behind you. "Crowley, my lord, I am so deeply sorry but we lost her-" he trailed off when he saw you standing right in front of him, and his friend let out a nervous whimper.

"You two dumbasses are lucky I haven't ganked your asses," you said with a scowl, pointing your finger at them with a look of disgust.

"My apologies, Y/N, but I am merely protecting an investment of mine."

You whirled back around to face him with a disgusted look. "We never made any deals, I'm no investment."

"You don't have to make a deal to be of value to me," he rolled his eyes and began playing with his lower lip. You raised your eyebrows in an effort to prompt him to continue but sighed when he didn't say anything else. Instead of letting your feelings soar from him kind of admitting you were valuable to him - hopefully in a more than business way - you focused on the topic at hand.

"I'm going to leave, and when I get back up there you better not have anyone else tailing me."

"Wait," he said when you turned to leave but you ignored him, not really in the mood to deal with him at the moment.

The demons had stepped in at the wrong moment in the case you were working and got you caught off guard, nearly resulting in the vamp you were hunting to kill a little boy. When you made no move to stop you felt your muscles lock against your will, leaving you frozen facing the door. "Everyone else, out of here now."

You gritted your teeth while his henchmen trickled out of the room at a snail's pace and grunted when your nose began itching without you being able to scratch it. The doors shut with a soft whoosh of air when the last one left, and you felt yourself regain control of your muscles.

Your first move was to scratch your nose, your second was to try the doors, which were unsurprisingly locked. Crowley let you turn around at your own pace and you saw him flinch back from the irritation in your eyes.

"If you could kindly explain why I am still here, my liege."

"I had those bozos keep an eye on you because I've been rather busy this past week and haven't had a chance to do so myself," he explained in promptly.

His voice is hot, you thought dumbly to yourself before you snapped back at him. "Are you implying you stalk me in your free time?"

"No, you moron," he rolled his eyes and muttered something about the stupidity of the human race under his breath before he regained his composure. "It wasn't stalking, it was more... regular checking in."

"If I'm not supposed to be aware of the 'checking in'," you air quoted, "then it looks like stalking to me."

"This is exactly why I've had them keep you safe," he rolled his eyes.

"What?" You didn't realise that he actually had a reason other than to annoy you. And also, what were you doing so wrong that he thought you needed glorified babysitters?

"I am literally the king of hell. I could kill you a million and one ways, give or take, in the blink of an eye. Yet you still can't hold your tongue and avoid snarking me!" He complained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I've noticed you have a bad habit of doing it to any antagonist you've ever come across ever, and not all of the future ones will be as patient as little old me. You're going to get yourself killed, they were supposed to stop it."

You fumbled for words, not quite sure what you were supposed to say to something like that. You chose to be indignant. "My snark is part of my charm."

You wanted to facepalm because this was basically proving his point for him. Instead of facepalming you settled for having a staring contest with the floor.

"When you leave, I wonder if I'll see you again," he admitted quietly, but the sound carried to where you were standing and your head snapped up to look at him again.

"Careful Crowlsters, don't wanna come off too strong," you joked to deflect what almost felt like sexual tension that filled the room.

He rolled his eyes again and stood up, marching towards you quickly. He wasn't the tallest of men but you couldn't help but feel small from the aura of power that surrounded him. For a moment you were almost afraid of him, but then you collected yourself and planted your feet, refusing to let him intimidate you.

Planting your feet did nothing to steady you when, instead of smiting you, he decided to drag your face to his and give you the best kiss of your life. And you were kissing him back, and it was all so sudden but felt so right

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snowkatze · 7 years

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Unfairly Beautiful

This fic is dedicated to the anon who said that the kind of date they’d take me on is one in the book store and then the coffee shop. Genre: fluff (@4wksoffluff ^.^) Word Count: 3315 Summary: After Baz accidentally reveals his feelings for Simon, they go on a date. Problem is, Baz has never taken someone on a date before.

I wish I was able to say right now that I have absolutely got the hang of this, but the truth is that I'm not half as smug as I act. Of course I pretend I've gone on a hundred dates before and that I'm a master at this, but really, I have no clue what I'm doing. The worst part is that he knows how this works, he's good at this, he's better at this than I am. After all, he's had a girlfriend before. And I'm new to this. I'm a raw recruit. (I'm afraid I'll disappoint him. Or rather, myself.)

But this is important because it is supposed to convince him that there should be a second date. And many more dates and hand-holding and kissing and... whatever. Should I take his hand right now? Would that be coming on too strong? I don't want to scare him off. Then again, it's just a hand, for Crowley's sake. I carefully let my fingers brush against his.

We're on our way to the book store and he tells me something about what happened to Bunce this morning, but I'm only half listening. The other half is freaking out right now. Obviously, I'm not letting it show, but one half of my brain thinks about what he says and the other half shouts “HOLY SHIT”, repeatedly, and followed by the odd “FUCK I'M ON A DATE WITH SIMON SNOW”. Honestly, what the fuck is happening. Part of me thinks I'm having hallucinations.

Okay, Baz. Collect yourself. If you're doing this, you need to be fully present. Just concentrate on the date. Concentrate on Simon.

Is he even going to like it at the book store? What the hell was I thinking, taking Simon Snow to a date in a book store? I just panicked and thought about a place that relaxes me. A familiar environment. He's going to hate this date, isn't he? He gave me a shot, one shot, and I ruin it. Of course.

I think that maybe he's just pulling my leg. Or maybe I've gone crazy. Last week, Simon Snow looked so stunning, and perhaps I just went mad looking at him. Wouldn't be all that surprising, to be honest.

I sat on my bed, reading a book, when suddenly, I heard the door open. I lifted my head and saw Snow standing in the door way. I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Have – Have you gotten a new sweater?” “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Penny picked it for me.” Fucking Bunce. And his hair. What was up with his hair today? I couldn't stop staring at him. So, what? Now that we're almost-friends, all my self-control has jumped out of the window?! I put the book down, but kept my gaze on his face. It made me almost angry. What gave him the right to show up in our room, looking so fucking beautiful?

“Baz?”

He gave me a weird look. Because, yes, in that moment, I was losing my mind, a little bit. And maybe I had been slacking. Since we were on a truce, I'd allowed myself way too often to enjoy myself. I'd forgotten where the lines were. I'd forgotten that I wasn't allowed to shamelessly admire Snow.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” And then he came closer to me because he has no discretion or sense for self-preservation whatsoever. And my mouth had gone dry, and my brain had killed itself along with my self-control, and as a result I couldn't form any coherent words. Or, well, I guess they were coherent, but not logical or sensible.

I wanted to shout at him and get angry for being so freaking attractive, but when I finally spoke, my voice came out soft.

“Because I would really like to kiss you right now.”

And then I kept staring at him, with glassy eyes, because I'm an idiot. Only when he said: “What!?” I snapped out of it. Thanks for coming back, brain, you're only ten seconds and one self-destructive sentence too late. All that you can do now is write my testament, you useless thing.

Simon recoiled and I jumped up. He looked at me like he was afraid of me, like I was about to Turn him or rip off his head or – maybe that's just what he looked like when he thought I was about to kiss him. Moron. As if I'd ever kiss him. Not even when I was completely out of my senses. I'm not suicidal, after all.

Then he turned around and slammed the door shut. My heart was beating fast and I fell back on the bed, thinking that this time, I'd truly fucked up.

Snow doesn't react to my hand against his, but it might just be because he's too self-absorbed, not because he's ignoring me. So I decide to just go for it, and intertwine his fingers with mine. For one anxious moment, he doesn't respond, but then he wraps his fingers around my hand and keeps talking, as if nothing had happened. Nothing has happened. Except for Simon Snow holding my hand, holy shit.

I'm afraid my palm will start sweating, even though it rarely does. It's ridiculous, but I fear that Snow will decide that he'll never hold my hand again. (And as pathetic as it sounds, most of the reason why I resent that thought is because his touch makes me feel alive, not because it'd hurt my feelings.)

Finally, I spot the sign of the little second-hand shop.

“There it is,” I exclaim and pull Simon with me into the shop. See, the problem is that I hadn't actually planned further ahead than this. What do I do, now that I'm in a book store on a date with the boy I've been in love with for almost eight years?

But then, suddenly, Snow turns to me and sends me a smile that makes my heart clench.

“This is so you, Baz. I think I always imagined a date with you involved books.”

“You imagined me on a date?” “Uhm. Yeah. Well. I guess I just wondered whether you ever had a girlfriend.” Idiot. Of course he didn't imagine himself on a date with you. So, I don't push it. I just tighten my grip around his hand. Somehow, it steadies me and I take a deep breath to clear my head.

“So,” I smirk. “What kind of books does the Chosen One read?” He shoots me an insecure glance.

“I, um, don't exactly read much.” “What?!” “Christ, Baz, don't look at me like I just murdered your child. I just don't have much time, you know, between slaying monsters and school and all...” “Well, reading is important. Knowledge is power, Snow. How are you going to take over the world if you have never read Shakespeare or, I don't know, 'A Brief History of Time' by Stephen Hawking?”

He giggles. “Of course you think you'd need bloody Shakespeare to take over the world. Anyway, if you're going to keep calling me the Chosen One, you can't expect me to have any evil takeover plans. That's like, the part of the supervillain. I'm supposed to stop you.”

“See, you do know about literature.”

“Or about bad superhero movies. Does that make you happy?” “It's a start.”

When Snow smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle and his cheeks get dimples and his eyes light up – it's a vivid spectacle. One he hasn't shown me that often.

The ceiling of the store is rather low, and the shelves take up all the room. The books are old and broken, but I prefer this store to regular ones. For one, there are never many people here. Usually, there are only one or two people beside me. Also, these books seem familiar. Their dusty look and weird smell reminds me of home.

To me, this store is like a hiding place. A refuge, far away from reality.

I guess I should've thought more about bringing Simon here. About the fact that he could never understand what this place means to me.

“So, what are we doing here?” “Buying books, obviously.”

He still hasn't let go of my hand. I tug him down the aisle.

“Let's make it a game.”

“What game?” “Like a contest. Who can find the most ridiculous book title?”

“What?” “Come on, Snow. Most of these books are the trash that people didn't want any more. I'm sure we'll find some good stuff.”

“Okay, then. It's on.”

Unfortunately, he lets go of my hand, so we can walk in different directions. We spend a few minutes searching, before meeting again.

“Alright, let me start,” Snow says and holds up a book. 'How to Avoid Huge Ships'. “Very useful,” I remark. “But not as useful as this.” I show him 'the Manly Art of Knitting'.

“Hm, I'll give you that one. But I also found some for you. Here.” He gives me 'The Practical Pyromaniac'. I glare at him. Fine. Two can play this game.

“Funny, Snow, because I also found some very fitting ones for you.” Then, I hand him 'How to Raise Your I.Q. by Eating'. He snickers.

“If you figured out how to do this, I think you could even outsmart Bunce.”

“Fine, but I think I can beat you on that one,” he says and holds up 'Eating People is Wrong'. Fuck him.

“'Everything I Want to Do Is Illegal'.” “There's a book called like that?” He laughs and my anger washes away. Until he shows me his last book. 'Fancy Coffins To Make Yourself'.

I can't believe him.

“Thought you might need it.”

I raise my head, gather some dignity and say: “'Anybody Can Be Cool.'” Then I take a pause for dramatic tension. I lower my gaze.

“'...but Awesome Takes Practise.'” I shove the book in Snow's face. He bursts out laughing.

“Okay, fine, you win. What now?” “Now we go and find the ugliest cover.”

Which goes well, until I show him the cover of Twilight and he says: “But... Baz! That's your life story!”

I role my eyes. I shouldn't have brought him here. I should've known he would just keep making stupid vampire jokes at me.

I can't remember the last time I ever laughed so much. (I can't remember if I ever laughed so much.) Eventually, we sink down next to each other and just sit on the floor. Simon turns his head and gives me the tiniest smile. I can't help but beam at him. (Beam? Really, Baz? Contain yourself. But I can't. I can't stop it. I think I feel almost – could it be? Am I really – Am I happy? Damn.)

I reach out my hand and Snow takes it and I can't believe that I'm sitting in a smelly book store next to a cute guy who holds my hand. No, not just a cute guy. Next to Simon Snow. The guy with the destiny girlfriend who was supposed to kill me some day. He's here. With me. It seems so unreal and unlikely. The only thing keeping me on the ground is the soft squeeze of his fingers. And I know that he's real.

“I actually do have a favourite book, you know,” he says now, softly.

“Tell me about it,” I answer and start tracing circles on the back of his hand.

“Okay, so, it's about this orphan who is supposed to save the world. She has to defend it against an evil villain, but she's actually just a kid.” “Sounds familiar.” “Don't mock me about this.” “I'm not mocking you. I'm listening. Just... tell me more, please.” “Well, the world is on her shoulders and she crumbles apart underneath it. And, then, one day it just gets too much. And she shows up at the villain's hideout, but she doesn't want to fight... Just talk. All she wants is to understand him.” I swallow and avert my eyes.

“So, they talk, and they become friends.” “Just like that?” “Yeah... Just like that.”

For a moment, we just look in each other's eyes. My heart is racing fast and I'm sure this means something, but I can't think straight.

“I guess they are both villains after that, and someone needs to come to remind them again what it means to be human, but... at least they have each other.”

My voice is raw when I try to speak.

“I – I'd like to read it sometime.” Tentatively, Simon pushes a book in my hand. I look down and see that it's the one he's just been talking about.

He sheepishly looks up at me.

“Yeah, I found it and... wanted to give it to you.”

“Thanks.”

I'm on the verge of tears and I don't understand why. I just push the book close to my heart and hold it there. I try to calm myself and stand up, offering Snow a hand.

“Let's go,” I say and smirk. “I'm not done yet.”

I was half mad when Snow returned. So what now? Was he going to start a fight? I was tired of fighting.

Snow didn't look at me and I wondered whether it was always going to be that way from now on. He would never be able to even look at me again. He would probably act like even more of a moron than he already was around me.

But then he got closer and sat on the bed next to me. My body tensed up and I waited for him to speak. (To humiliate me? To rip out my heart and stomp on it?)

He looked so lost, so confused, that for a second I thought he didn't even know he was here. Or that I was right next to him. Then he reached out a hand, but I flinched away.

If he wasn't going to speak, fine, I'd do it.

“Listen, Snow, we can just forget this happened, okay? It'll be fine. Just pretend I never mentioned anything.”

“Baz...” he said as if he hadn't heard me. “Have you – Are you -”

I didn't answer, I just pulled my knees up and hugged them with my arms.

“Please,” I whimpered, because I'd have pleaded him if I had to. I'd have done anything to make him act like the last hour had never happened.

“I don't want to pretend you never said that.”

Of course he didn't. I pressed my forehead against my knees. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end.

“So what are you going to do now?” I asked. “Torment me?”

“I was thinking -”

He hesitated. “You could take me on a date.” “What?!” Had he really just said that?

“On Saturday.” “Are you trying to trick me?” “No, I'm serious. Completely.” He looked at me with wide eyes and I couldn't do anything other than stare at him.

“I want to try this. Please.” Try this? Try what? Was he insane?

“O-okay.” Was I insane?

I still don't know what he is getting out of this, but I'm going to make it last for as long as I can. (Does he want to be my boyfriend? No. Possibly?)

We're sitting in the coffee shop just around the corner. Snow is sipping the Pumpkin Mocha Breve that the barista makes just for me. I'm a regular in this Starbucks but Snow's never been here before.

“How can you drink that?” Snow asks and pulls a face. “It tastes like a candy bar.” “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.”

I shoot him a mistrustful glance, but he ignores me and starts talking about his favourite drinks. He looks different, the way his eyes glow. It might just be the lighting, but he's practically shining. (It might just be how ridiculously enamoured I am with him.)

It's nice sitting here, at a table by the window, just talking about nothing and everything.

And I do like listening to him. I want to know everything about him, every thought he has, no matter how ridiculous. And I want to keep seeing his eyes glow like that, and his smile brighten exactly that way... I don't think I'll ever grow tired of looking at him. Or holding his hand. As long as he'll let me.

Before I know it, we are the only ones left and it's gone dark outside. I want to keep him here, just save this moment forever. But the barista gives me an impatient look and I know that every moment has to end sometime.

Back in our room, I know that I somehow have to put an end to the date. I have to say something, something like: “That was nice,” or “Could we do this again, sometime?” Maybe I should kiss him. But I've never kissed anyone before, and perhaps he doesn't want me to either. Perhaps it's just me whose heart is beating fast and who can't let this moment go.

“So,” he says and I close my eyes because I can't bare to look at him.

“So, uhm,” I mutter, because I'm at a loss of words. He should say something, shouldn't he? He knows how this kind of thing works.

“So, did I ruin it?” I eventually say. “Will you not go on a second date with me?” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” I take a deep breath, “have you decided if you want to go on a second date?” I stay still for a second. Then he laughs. I turn my head away. I guess that means no. I try not to blush, and fail. I don't want him to know how humiliated I am. One date. I should be glad he even let me have that.

But then he grabs my arm.

“I was always going to go on a second date with you. I'd even go on a second date if this had been the most terrible date in the world.” “Was it?” “No, you idiot.” “But I took you to the book store and you don't even like reading.”

He smiles. I think it's killing me.

“It doesn't matter where you take me, Baz, as long as it's with you.” “But you have gone on so many dates already – you're an expert and I've never done this before...” “You've never done this before?”

He looks surprised. Fuck. I didn't mean for him to know that. Then, I just shrug.

“I've only been in love once.” “Only once? With whom?” I glare at him. Seconds pass, then he gets it.

“Oh.” “Yeah.”

My hands start fidgeting. “Too soon?” You aren't supposed to declare your love on the first date. Even I know that. (Especially when there's a high chance that it's not reciprocated.) “No, I – I think I'm in love with you, Baz.” I look up in his bright honest eyes and I don't believe him. How could I believe him? But then he lifts his hand to touch my cheek. My eyes flutter closed and I'm lost.

“I love you, Baz,” he repeats, and I'm completely gone.

“I don't want this date to end,” Simon whispers. “Me neither,” I whisper back and pull him towards his bed. We lay next to each other, wordless, just staring into each other's eyes. And we simply don't let it end. Tonight, I'm falling asleep next to Simon Snow. It's a miracle. It's impossible. And he's still holding my hand.

#carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #snowbaz #snowbaz fic

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