wiped out! - snowbaz

4 - simon

simon is honestly so glad they're friends again. but that doesn't stop him from wanting to push baz back into that empty classroom and order him to roll up his sleeves. he can't do that, though. he doesn't want to ruin their friendship for good.

is it a friendship?

before he knows it, simon's tossing and turning in his bed, uncomfortable thoughts swirling through his conscious like milk billowing through hot tea, although it really isn't such a pleasant experience.

does baz actually like him? maybe baz feels sorry for him? oh my god, what if somebody told baz about steve and he's just being nice to simon out of pity? or, even worse, maybe the teachers asked baz and penny to be his friends?

the room is dark, and things always seem so much worse in the dark. simon used to find nighttime peaceful. until steve. when steve moved in, the nighttime became a time for hiding under a duvet cover, fingers in his ears, trying desperately not to run to his mother and save her from steve's drunken fists.

thank god it's not like that anymore.

but the night still strikes a cord of fear in simon's stomach. that's the thing about anxiety, or at least simon's; he's fine when he's got people around him, and he's laughing and talking and not alone, but when his friends are gone and the sun makes the hills it's grave, the fear starts to wriggle through his stomach, reaching it's bony hands through the skin of his legs and climbing into the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.

hope. simon knows that the sun will soon rise, and he will go back to school and see baz. but now the thought of seeing baz makes him even more anxious.

when does the fear stop? he needs a timetable.

-----

when simon wakes up, the light is too bright. he can feel the headache start to radiate through his eyelids. he presses his face into the pillow and growls, reaching out to grab the box of ibuprofen on his bedside table.

god, he needs to get himself some sleeping pills.

lucy, simon's mother, is sat at the kitchen table tap-tap-tapping away at her macbook, nibbling on the end of a pen.

"morning, simon. there's bacon in the pan."

"thanks mum. uh... do you think i could get some sleeping pills?"

lucy sighs and closes her laptop.

"no, simon. you don't need sleeping pills."

"but mum, i couldn't sleep last night, i'm so tired."

"try going to bed earlier."

"mum, that doesn't work. i can't get to sleep."

"no, simon. eat your bacon. you're gonna miss the bus."

simon grabs the bacon and a piece of toast, slathering the bread in a thick layer of butter.

they eat in silence.

-----

there needs to be some kind of security on this bus, 'cause when simon gets there, david mage has pinned baz up against the side of it and is repeatedly kneeing him in the crotch.

mage spits a string of expletives in baz's general direction and storms away, a nasty grin plastered between his cheeks.

baz slumps to the floor. his eyes are watering and his mouth has gone slack, and there's a long gash on his jaw. his hands are scraped raw.

simon runs forward, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood running through his veins and beating in his eyelids.

"baz!"

"sod off, snow," baz grunts, cheeks flushed. "just-"

"baz, you can't keep letting him do this shit. he's- i- i'm gonna-"

"simon, if you get in a fight again you'll be thrown out. i'm fine, just leave it alone."

"you're not fine, baz."

"i'm not going to fight with you again. i'm fine, okay? let's just get on the bus; we're going to miss it."

they find their seats and sit down. baz plugs in one headphone, and then unzips simon's bag and pulls out his comics.

"x-men?"

"yeah. they were my dad's."

"were?"

"he's dead."

"oh. my mum's dead."

"i'm sorry to hear that."

"simon, you of all people should know that sorry doesn't bring someone back from the dead. sorry doesn't change things."

"i know it doesn't, but honestly, what am i supposed to say? i've always been been told 'sorry', because sometimes words are all people can give."

baz smiles and turns the page.

"did you like your dad?"

"i don't really remember him. i mean, i remember all these little moments with him, like going on a roundabout with him, or when i split my head open and he drove me to the hospital, like little film clips- but i can never properly see his face and sometimes i wonder if i've imagined all those things happening, and wanted them so badly, that my brain made them. like maybe i didn't do any of that stuff, and it's all just... fabricated, y'know?"

"really? i can remember my mum pretty well, actually. but then i guess you were quite young when he..."

"yeah. i wasn't even a year old."

"ah, see, i was three when mum died."

"what was she like?"

"i remember her being really tall- but maybe because i was a toddler. and she had long hair, dark brown. i always remember her dressing in dark colours too-"

"huh. must be where you get it from."

"ah, sod off. anyway, she was awesome. and she always smelled like vanilla, because she wore that instead of perfume. she used to rub it behind my ears, too, said it made me smell like something she'd eat."

"aw. that's nice. wish i had those memories about my dad."

simon pauses, a question lodged between his teeth. he tries to swallow it down, but it keeps repeating in his mind, flashing like one of those neon signs in the windows of takeaways.

"baz, can i ask you a question?"

"was that it?"

"no, you snarky git."

"go on then."

baz is smiling, showing his jagged little teeth. he looks a bit like a shark when he smiles, simon thinks, but i digress. simon doesn't want baz to stop smiling, doesn't want to ruin this rare moment. but the neon sign has started aggressively honking it's metaphorical horn at him now, so he opens his mouth.

"baz, why is david so mean to you?"

immediately the clouds go in front of the sun. baz stops smiling, and turns to the window.

"because he's a knob, snow. doesn't know how to be nice to anyone. but that's his problem. i don't care, and i suggest that you try not to. because he doesn't matter."

"okay. are you sure you're okay?"

"positive- in all senses of the word. i'm good."

simon really hopes baz means it.