Snowbaz Oneshots

Eight Days a Week

Anyway, this takes place post-AWTWB, in October-ish. Title from the Beatles song of the same name that I thought definitely fit the vibes.

Read as you see fit here- warnings for some mental health things (adjacent to AWTWB) and a little bit of angst surrounding that. If you couldn't tell from the tags, this is mostly fluff, lol.

Enjoy <3

Baz

Unsurprisingly, and unbeknownst to the man himself, it all starts thanks to Shepard.

He's kickstarted many things in our lives since he and Bunce started dating. He's the reason Simon did the coke-mentos challenge while flying above our apartment building, and he's the reason I tried a piece of chicken-fried steak. (Both bad ideas.) More often than I'd like to admit, though, his presence in our friend group warrants something enjoyable.

Penelope comes over to Simon and I's apartment on a Friday night, and I hang up her autumn-red coat while she picks out her mug. Simon is commenting on how she and her boyfriend have been attached at the hip for weeks.

"It's probably just the honeymoon phase," I say, tasked with the job of turning on the kettle.

"Still," she says, "I'm officially at two friends, a partner, and multiple family members. It'll be a miracle if I get everything done for all my classes."

"You've got it in the bag," Simon assures her from the sofa, and Penelope nods. I can imagine that he's employed this phrase to talk her down at each beginning of term throughout the last nine years. "Also, I'm pretty sure Shep is just super friendly."

"Yeah, true, that's just how he is. I think it's finally clicking with him that I'm not a people person." Penelope rolls her eyes fondly. "He's great when it comes to boundaries, but he still likes to send me mopey, lonely emojis, insisting that quality time is his love language. Like, when I'm in the middle of a lecture."

I laugh as Simon raises his head off the arm of the couch. (His wings are even folded behind him as a cushion, like someone propping their arms behind their head on a beach chair.) "Love language?" he repeats.

"Yeah, it's like the type of affection that comes most naturally to a person," Bunce calls from the island. "What—you've never taken a BuzzFeed quiz about them?"

"Like, pick some soups and we'll tell you what jungle animal you are?"

That tracks, I think, making my way over to the living room. "Everyone's got a love language," I explain. I sit down next to Simon (or, more accurately, Simon's feet). "My personal theory is that everyone has one they prefer to receive and one they prefer to give."

This peaks his interest. "Well, what are they?"

"Words of affirmation, physical touch, acts of service, gift-giving, and quality time," I list off.

"Nothing for food?"

I laugh. "I'm sure food could fall into one of them. Do any sound right for you?"

"What's yours?" Simon asks, not-so-expertly dodging the question. I huff, but Penelope beats me to the punch before I can even respond, waltzing in from the kitchen with her mug.

"Baz's is all of them," she claims. Simon and I both turn to look at her.

"All of them?" I snort.

"Uh, yeah. You're always doing nice things and saying nice things, and underneath your bored expression, you get all giggly whenever anyone does anything nice or says anything nice. Your heart is made out of Hershey's kisses."