#SWEGORY PART 4

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Swegory 4: if this is a romcom, kill the director 

Oh my god so this has swallowed my brain entire, can’t believe that there’s enough of this that I'm actually going to have to clean it up and put it on AO3 at some point (@larkral IF THIS ENDS UP BEING 75K WORDS I AM SUING YOU FOR DAMAGES BY WHICH I MEAN GIVING YOU A HUG OVER THE INTERNET)

I’m just going to keep writing this fast and dirty and riddled with embarrassing mistakes, thereby embracing the spirit of COC if not the specific themes 

Hi please enjoy Baz having Soft Feelings about his Stuntman Boyfriend Simon Snow and also there’s some Family Feels 

~

BAZ

“What if. It doesn’t last?” Swithin asks. 

They’re in the car, outside of the Petty House in Peckham. Swithin’s been quiet this morning, and he’s hunched over in the passenger seat, hair in front of his eyes, chewing on the stim necklace Baz got him last year. The pendant is deep blue and shimmering, and shaped like a teardrop. 

“If what doesn’t last?” Baz asks. 

Simon’s inside the Petty House, presumably helping Gregory pack for school - although knowing them, they’re probably just throwing all of Gregory’s things into a duffel. 

“Gregory,” Swithin says. “Talking to me. Once we’re back at school.” 

“You talked easily enough last night.”

“Yeah, but that was about Dune.” Swithin worries at the raindrop pendant again with his teeth. “It’s easy to talk about Dune.”

“I imagine you can keep talking about Dune,” Baz says, dryly enough. “There’s deep lore and plenty of canon. And aren’t there other things that you have in common?”

Swithin fidgets. “I could ask him. About other books. I suppose. But… he has friends, Baz. Other people he could talk to.”

“You have friends too.” 

Really, Swithin has Fatima Wasem, who basically looked at Swithin on the first day of primary school and - as far as Baz can tell - went, That one. He’s going to be my friend, and never really bothered asking Swithin his opinion about it. He’s been trailing after her ever since. 

“How did you get Simon to like you?” Swithin asks. 

Baz resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think that the way I treated Simon when we were roommates should be the blueprint for a healthy relationship.” 

“Not then,” Swithin says. “Later. When you were out of school.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good blueprint either,” Baz says, because Run into the love of your life while you’re bitching out the top billed actor on set and Oh yes because your life isn’t tragic enough already, the love of your life is wearing a leather harness is not a story that he is going to tell any of his siblings, ever.

“We spent time together,” Baz says, which is mostly true, but only because Baz discovered that Simon hovered over craft service a lot when Smith-Richards was in wardrobe or make up. “We got to talking.”

“I get beat up professionally,” was what Simon had said, that first day they ran into each other on set, when it had been very difficult for Baz to tear his eyes away from Simon’s half-naked chest. Somehow, the harness made him seem more naked than if he had just been shirtless. “See, my thick skull turned out to be good for something after all.“

“I remembered some things that he liked,” Baz said, as if he hadn’t driven forty minutes out of his way to find a bakery that made sour cherry scones and then just “casually” had them out in view when Simon was nearby, while Baz marked up a script. “And the rest is history.” 

They made out against the shaded side of Smith-Richards’ trailer. Pippa Stainton gave Simon a fearsome lecture for getting his hair messed up before that day’s shoot, but Baz was so giddy that he gloated about it on three separate group chats until Dev threatened to block him. 

“That’s so vague,” Swithin says, dolefully, wrenching Baz back to the present. 

“Yes, well,” Baz says, hastily. “That’s real life. Most relationships aren’t like the movies.” 

He catches sight of Simon and Gregory coming out of the house, Gregory staggering under the weight of a green duffel bag. Swithin gets out of the car so he can cede the passenger seat to Simon, and sit in the backseat. 

“Gehhhhh, that took forever,” Gregory says, sounding hassled. His face is splotchy red, and his blonde hair looks like he stuck it in a garburator. “Mom wouldn’t stop badgering us until we took some apple spice muffins,” and he shoves a brown paper bag into Swithin’s lap.  “They’re all weird and healthy, made with wheat germ and chia seeds or something.” 

Simon slides into the front passenger seat. His cheeks are ruddy in the cold, and his curls are getting long; he’s growing out his hair for Smith-Richards’ next film, something set in ancient Greece which will hopefully feature him oiled up and in outfits that reveal a lot of thigh. 

“Hey,” Simon says to Baz. A smile curls around his mouth, and he squeezes one of Baz’s knees. “Thanks for waiting.” 

It’s extremely foolish - maudlin - sentimental - downright mawkish - that even after so many years together, the sight of Simon being happy to see him can still make Baz’s chest feel oddly warm. 

Baz clears his throat. “We should be on our way to the train station,” he says, instead of, If you are not too long, I will wait for you all my life. He checks the rear-view mirror, and sees that Swithin is just sitting in the backseat, staring down at the brown paper bag in his lap, not touching it.

“Gregory,” Baz says, and Gregory bolts upright. “Swithin was just wondering if you had any sci fi recommendations.” 

Swithin’s eyebrows draw together, his hands tightening on the brown paper bag - but Gregory beams as if this is high favourite question. 

“I have SO MANY,” Gregory says, looking a little manic. “Have you read anything by Ken Liu? Ted Chiang? Cixin Liu? Yoon-Ha Lee? I’m on this huge kick right now of sci fi by Asian authors-“ 

Swithin clears his throat. “I just got Ninefox Gambit on my Kindle,” he says.  “I haven’t started it yet.” 

“It’s SO GOOD, the maths in the first battle is really intense, Lee just kind of throws you in headfirst and expects you to get what’s going on, but-“ 

As Gregory and Swithin get swept up in their conversation, Simon leans a bit into Baz’s space. “That was good of you,” he murmurs. “Very subtle.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baz lies, because he’s not going to be so petty as to stoop to matchmaking, even though that’s essentially what Simon is doing. 

“Maybe it won’t come to anything between them,” Simon had said in bed that night, when Gregory and Swithin both slept over. “But if nothing else, each of them could use a friend at Watford. If I’d had someone to badger me into being nicer to you-“ He lifted a hand to brush a bit of Baz’s hair off his forehead. “-Well, maybe I would’ve realised things a lot sooner.”

By the time they drop off the boys at the train station, Gregory and Swithin are so caught up in the conversation that Gregory just impatiently waves a hand at Simon, saying, “Yeah, see you at Christmas, bring me back something cool from Malta.” 

It’s going to be lonely, when Simon leaves for shooting. It always is, when he’s gone for weeks or even months. But it’s lovely every time he comes back - starving for Baz, skin-hungry and reverent. Like an echo of that first time that rings throughout the years. 

“Baz,” Swithin says. He re-adjusts the scarf that Baz gave him, that grey-blue ombre that sets off his colouring nicely. “Um. Thanks. For this weekend.” 

… Baz had never expected his father to die so young. He’d never expected to have to become something like a father figure to his eleven-year-old brother. Daphne and his father had the raising of the younger Grimm children, and Baz had left them to it. But then their father passed away, and suddenly there Swithin was, in Baz’s care and keeping in a way that he wasn’t before. Baz had changed his nappies and sang him lullabies when he was colicky, but it was the first time he had felt truly responsible for Swithin, in their father’s place. 

And now four years later, Swithin is fifteen. Sapling skinny, dark hair in his face, a touch dreamy. He reminds Baz so much of his younger self, and yet Swithin is so unlike Baz, in many ways. He supposed the same was true of many brothers. 

Baz isn’t going to meddle. But he’s going to do his best to give Swithin something Baz himself never had when he was fifteen: someone to gush to about his feelings for another boy.  

“We can have another movie night,” Baz says. “When you’re both off school, and when Simon’s back.”

“Fuck yeah!!” Gregory says, and then, “Uh, pardon my French.” 

“That would be-” Swithin’s eyes drop to his feet again, but the look on his face is quietly pleased. “That would be nice.” 

@carryonprompts can we get a fic of Swithin in Watford developing a massive crush on his roommate and calling big bro Baz for help?