#and a smug look or a angry look are so damn good on her amen

[azzther]

wr au: Did ya see that recent edit of Ruby with wolf ears on Reddit a while ago? Awooby Rose? Well, Whiterose but with A-WOO-by. It's quite a classic AU, but along with polar bear!Weiss, it'd be super cute :3

I didn't but i kinda made this? Inspired in those faunus

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 6

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5246

Chapter: 6/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon is angry at David, and Baz gives him advice.

Read on AO3

AN: This was one of my fave chapters to write. It's really fluffy and cute. And there's art by @bookerella. Enjoy!

———————————————

“It’s just so fucking insane!” Simon shouted. “It’s stupid, and annoying, and-and stupid!”

“You already said that,” Penny sighed as she arranged the copper pots. The hustle and bustle of the market drowned out Simon’s volume. Everyone was busy preparing for the solstice festival to notice his rantings and ravings. He sat behind her stall, legs crossed, pouting like the child he surely felt like right now.

“I can’t believe he’s doing this Pen,” he muttered. “He’s going to make me marry one of my best friends. Why does it have to be her? Why can’t I ‘continue the dynasty’ with just anyone?!”

Penny sighed. She turned around, elbows on her counter. “Simon, you’re smart, you know exactly why.”

Simon scowled, curling in himself even more. “Yeah, yeah I know. No matter what title Davy gives me or how he tells the nobles to act, I’m still...lower in their eyes. Agatha’s family is all old and well respected and stuff.”

“And marrying her will legitimize you and your future heirs in their eyes.”

Simon’s heart sank. He knew it made sense, but It hurt to know that a bunch of snooty people would always look down on him, and there was nothing he could do about it. “What makes me any better or worse than them?” he grumbled. “How is my blood any different than theirs?”

Penny raised one hand to the sky. “Hey, amen to that. I completely agree. But I don’t need to curry favour with the nobles. David does.”

He twisted the headscarf between his shaky fingers. It kept him from punching something. “B-But I thought David wanted to work against the traditions! He was a lord, sure, but he was low level and never liked the court. He says he wants to change shit. Yet he’s making me marry Aggie to ‘curry favour’ with the old nobles? So, what the fuck?!”

Penny sighed. “Because, no matter how much Davy talks about changing stuff, the old nobles still have a lot of influence. He has to deal with them if he wants to do anything significant. And the only way to get what you want is to schmooze or to threaten. David usually chooses the latter, honestly, but occasionally he has to try the former or they’ll revolt. So, he’s getting you to marry Agatha so he can push his new laws.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

“Of course it doesn’t, Si!” she shouted, one hand on her hip. “It’s craven, cynical, and horrible for you. I’m not saying that’s an excuse, just a reason. Royal politics are bullshit and I wish I could change them for you.”

Simon’s face morphed into lopsided smile. He reached up towards his friend, hand open and offered. “I know, Pen. Thanks.”

Penny smiled too. She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. Then quickly pulled him to his feet, making Simon nearly fall over. “Now, I didn’t endorse you sneaking out of the castle so you could just complain. You’re going to help me sell some damn cookware, mister.”

“Oh? Think a prince hawking for you will get your sales higher?” Simon waggled his eyebrows for extra sarcastic emphasis. Penny rolled her eyes.

“You’re not as easily recognizable as you think, Si. Especially with that ridiculous thing on your head. But your voice is quite loud when it needs to be. So get shouting!”

She shoved him out into the bustling market crowd. He bumped into an old man, who glared and grumbled at him. Simon called out an apology, but he didn’t care. He just went about his day. Maybe his face really wasn’t as well known as he thought. That was a small stab to his ego, but at the same time he didn’t mind. He didn’t like being prince. Truly, he wanted to be a hero, strong and well known in his own right. But at the moment, he was more than happy to be a cookware salesman.

“Oi!” He shouted, holding up two pots towards the sky. “Get your premium kitchenware here! High grade copper, lovely finish, easy to clean by hand or by magic! Get it right here! Hey, how about you, mate? Want a pot? C’mon you know you do!”

He flaunted his loud and forceful sales technique with ease. Simon turned his head slightly. Just behind him, Penelope was trying to contain her snickers, a hand over her mouth. Hero, prince, no matter what he was, he’d always want to make Penelope laugh. That sound made him forget his troubles.

At least for now.

———————————————

Simon knew he was being particularly aggressive in the dueling tonight. His anger and frustration, brewing for the past few days, were definitely bleeding through, making his attacks stronger and more forceful. Baz kept up of course though. He was equally strong, if not more so, and had been learning well. He parried Simon’s strong jab, then another, then another. But when Simon went for a overhead downward slash, Baz just barely blocked it. He used two hands to push his stick against Simon’s.

“What’s got you so inflamed tonight?” Baz teased, smirking from beneath raven strands.

“Shut up,” Simon said, shifting even more his weight forward, pressing harder on Baz’s stick.

“Oo, very eloquent.”

He looked up at Simon through long lashes, a little glint in his deep sea grey. Simon’s pulse instantly picked up. It was infuriating. Baz could be so smug sometimes. He didn’t want Baz to be calm and smug when he was so furious. He pushed harder, but Baz just leaned back, taking the weight. Simon growled. He wanted to win, needed to win. Why wouldn’t he fall? Why couldn’t be just-

Baz stepped to the side.

“Gah!” Simon yelled as he fell over, face crashing into the grass. Baz chuckled from behind him. He whipped around, his eyes narrowed at Baz’s stupid smug smirk.

“My point,” Baz drawled. “I’m finally catching up, I think.”

Simon growled. He swiped his leg around, catching both of Baz’s ankles. The other boy yelped and fell right on his arse. Simon sprung up, one foot on Baz’s chest and stick pointing downwards. He breathed harshly, glaring at Baz.

"My point,” he said.

Baz rolled his eyes. “Yes yes, you’re very strong and macho. Now help me up like a good sport.” Baz offered his hand, and Simon violently pulled him up. He nearly fell over with the force, and glared at Simon. “Good Gods,” he grumbled, “aggressive much?”

Simon grunted, dropping Baz’s hand and stomped towards the lake. He tossed his stick to the side and sat down with his knees pulled up, face buried deep in his linen trousers. He watched as Baz strolled over. His long arms were crossed over his chest, grey eyes slits of annoyed contempt.

“What’s gotten you in such a mood tonight?” Simon shrugged. Baz scoffed. “Have you ever noticed that half your sentences are shrugs?”

Simon glared. “Fuck off,” he growled.

Baz snorted, hands falling to his hips. “You really are in a snit.” He sat down next to Simon with his legs crossed, posture perfect of course. “What’s wrong?”

Simon picked at the grass. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something if you’re this upset. I’d prefer you just tell me and stop being a passive aggressive arsehole so I don’t have to suffer.”

He threw more grass, some falling and some flitting away on the breeze. Simon could easily refuse. Telling Baz would risk exposing that he was a prince, something he never wanted to be with him. But...Baz was his friend, right? He deserved to know. At least, the parts he was willing to tell.

“It’s my guardian,” Simon muttered. “My adoptive father. He’s, making me do something I don’t want to. It’s not harmful though! It’s just...something that would help him but make me unhappy. And I get why he has to. But I still don’t like it.” He pulled even further into himself. “It, it makes me feel worthless. Like I’m not good enough on my own. I have to be of use to him somehow. It’s...horrible.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to Baz again. Baz had his usual blank, bored look, except his eyes were a bit curious. Maybe just on this side of intrigued. His head tilted to the side. Black hair fell in front of his face in a lazy wave.

“So,” he said, “your father is forcing you to marry someone you don’t want to.”

Simon’s spine went ramrod straight. His heart was beating far too fast. Fuck, he was exposed, he knew, he’d figured out Simon was a prince. “H-How did you know?”

Baz smirked. Which made the prince’s mouth go dry for some reason. “Give me some credit, Simon, it wasn’t that hard. You said your father was forcing you to do something that made you unhappy but wasn’t exactly harmful. You described him as using you for his own advantage, like a bargaining chip. I’ve read books on social customs. Arranged marriages are used to fortify agreements between two parties. So I’m guessing your adoptive father is using your hand to seal some deal he’s made?”

Simon’s jaw was on the forest floor. “Y-Yeah, that’s exactly it. You’re...really smart, wow.”

Baz’s smirk got even bigger. But Simon could also swear there was a touch of an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. It was so slight that he couldn’t know for sure though. Baz tucked a piece of raven hair behind his ear and looked to the water. “So what does your guardian want so badly that he has to give you over for it?”

That made Simon gulp. This was his chance, to finally reveal what he truly was. But the thought of telling Baz sent his stomach into horrificaly tight knots. He thought of Agatha bowing, of Miss Possibelf and Cook Pritchard’s caution. He didn’t want Baz to look at him different, to suddenly see him as the royalty he never asked to be. If that made him a coward and a bastard, so be it.

“Status,” he blurted out. “My guardian, he wants more status. He’s very ambitious, wants to be powerful, make a difference and all. The girl he wants me to marry, people like her. They’ll, give him stuff if I marry her. And he’s giving her family money, I think.”

“Hm, I see,” Baz said thoughtfully. “There’s a word for that right? ‘Social climber’, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” It was strangely accurate. Even though he used to be a lord and was now a king, David was a social climber, always looking for more power and influence. He wanted power to push his reforms. Nothing would stop him, it seemed.

“Is that why you went to Mage’s School? Because it looked good to have a son who went to somewhere fancy?”

Simon chuckled. “Yeah, I think it was something like that.” It was easier to say that than mention the old Pitch law that said all royal heirs had to go to Mage’s School.

Baz relaxed a bit, leaning back on one arm. “Well, at least you got a proper education out of your father being a complete prick.”

Simon shrugged, still fiddling with pieces of grass. “I don’t know. He’s alright sometimes.”

“Don’t do that,” Baz snapped, frowning at Simon. The other boy tilted his head in confusion.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s treating you like a bargaining chip for his own ambitions. He’s a prick, full stop, end of sentence.”

Simon’s mouth pulled into his own frown, but more confused than angry. “I-It’s not that simple. He can be okay. He’s really not all bad. And no matter what, he still took me in when no one else would.” That was a very short, simple summary of a much longer story. Simon would tell Baz about that. One day, maybe...

Baz shook his head, dislodging his hair so it fell in his perturbed pretty face. “Just because he took you in doesn’t mean you owe him for the rest of your life. You never asked for him. He chose to take care of you. That should be his privilege, not your debt.”

Simon could feel some gears turning in his brain. He wasn’t as slow as most people assumed. He could put things together, he just needed a bit more time. His head lolled to the side. “You speak from experience,” he said matter of factly.

That made Baz’s posture go straight again, but only for a second. He curled in on himself, fiddling with his trouser, mouth a tense thin line. He didn’t respond. Cautiously, he shuffled closer, his knees nearly touching Baz’s.

“Did someone tell you to be grateful to him? The cloaked guy?” Simon asked quietly.

Baz’s eyes flicked up. His deep sea grey was intimidating this close up. “Are we starting the questions for tonight?”

Simon shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to?”

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Simon prepared to be struck down at best, and getting an earful at worst. But Baz didn’t do either. Instead, he sighed, and nodded his head slowly.

“Yes,” he whispered, “Vera, the woman who took care of me when I was young. When I got mad at the cloaked man, she always told me, ‘he brings us food and keeps us clothed, don’t be angry with him.’ She was right, he did care for us in a way. But he would never let us leave either. I was supposed to be grateful because he kept our prison comfy?” He scowled incredibly hard. “Ridiculous. I always hated him, and it turned out my hatred was justified. Considering that when I tried to escape he did...this to me.”

Baz gestured noncommittally to himself and the lake. Simon’s breath hitched. “H-he cursed you for trying to escape?”

The boy nodded again. “Yes. I scaled the wall while Vera slept. I was almost at the top when he showed up and dragged me back down. He called me ungrateful, told me that if I was so desperate to be on my own, I wouldn’t mind if Vera went away. And that I needed to learn my lesson.” He looked out towards his lake, where white birds slept. “He said, ‘if you love those damn birds so much, Basil, surely you wouldn’t mind being one.’” He scoffed and clenched his fist. “Dramatic fucker.”

Simon was at a loss for words. Well, more of a loss than usual. This was the most Baz had ever explained about his curse. It felt exhilarating, to know more, but also scary. This felt like a lot. Baz was trusting him with a lot. Simon’s heart was beating quite hard right now.

“That’s horrible,” Simon whispered. “I-I don’t know what else to say. I’m not good at deep stuff. That just...sucks.”

Strangely, Baz let out a breathy chuckle. A very small smile pulled at his mouth. There was even a little sparkle in his eye. That was the last thing Simon had expected. “You’re right, in a very ineloquent way. It really does suck. This whole thing certainly, sucks.” He flicked his gaze to the side, looking right at Simon. “Your father, what he’s doing, that...sucks too.”

Simon’s first instinct was to argue, like it always had been. But he thought of the yelling, the sadness, everything damn thing David made Simon do for his own benefit.

He was starting to understand Baz’s point.

“I guess it does,” he chuckled. “Not much I can do.”

Baz shrugged. “You could run away.”

Simon chuckled more, then gave Baz a withering look. “Yeah, he won’t let me go that easily.” Baz quirked an eyebrow. Simon sighed and fell back. The stars were beautiful tonight. They almost made him forget his angst. “He’ll chase me down, scour the land, no stone left unturned.”

“Wow, he sounds...determined.”

Simon scoffed. “You have no idea, mate.” He reached up to the sky, desperate to hold onto something so incredible yet so far away. “Besides, I don’t know anyone outside of Watford Town. If I ran, I’d have nowhere to go. Maybe my friends would go with me, but I don’t want to do that to them. They don't deserve a life of running.”

Baz chuckled. “Well aren’t you noble.”

“That’s what everyone says. Friend says I’d make a perfect knight.

“Yeah, I can definitely see that.”

Baz fell back as well, hands linked over his stomach, dark hair spread out like a halo against the grass. They were silent for awhile. Just two young hopeless men gazing at the night sky. Simon was sure there was a ballad like this. And if there wasn’t, there needed to be one.

“You know,” Baz said quietly, “I’ve been charting the stars for years. Used my books to find out constellations.”

Simon lifted his head slightly. “Really?”

Baz nodded. “M-hm. Look.” He shifted closer and raised his hand, long finger pointing to the sky. “That right there, that’s the fox.”

He traced a vague fox like shape between the stars. Simon wasn’t really listening though. He was more focused on how close Baz was. His bony shoulder, his soft hair, his long leg. His entire body’s proximity made Simon’s breath feel scarce. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He’d never felt anything like this before.

“Uh-huh,” Simon said, only a slight catch in his voice.

“Over there,” Baz moved his hand, “that’s the swan, with its wings spread out.��

“Appropriate.”

Baz kicked his ankle, but not with enough force to hurt. “And that,” Baz moved his hand up, “is the great dragon-”

“Who once tried to burn Watford down but was defeated by a great hero?”

“Yes. You know the story?”

Simon nodded. “I know a lot of the old stories. Sometimes the matron would read them to us at the orphanage. I told you, I like fairy tales.”

“Right, of course. Vera would read me those stories too, for bedtime. But I like philosophy and politics books better now.”

Something in Simon seized. Pieces were falling together in his mind. He wasn’t sure if they all fit, but he wanted to find out.

“Baz,” he said, slowly and quietly, “how...how old were you? When you first started living here?”

Baz froze. His arm was still pointing straight up at the star. But bit by bit, it fell, landing very close to Simon’s arm. That unknown feeling threatened to swallow Simon’s entire chest.

“I don’t know,” Baz whispered. “Young enough I don’t remember much from before I was here. I think...” he bit at his lip in contemplation, “I think I might have been five? Or six? I remember Vera giving me a large mint pie with a six carved on the top. So that was probably my sixth birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah, probably.” Simon nodded, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. “You really have been here a long time.”

Baz chuckled low in his throat. He turned his head towards Simon, and Simon did the same. A half smile pulled at Baz’s thin lips, an expression so terrifyingly suited to him. But his eyes were- well, they weren’t sad exactly. It was subtler than that. It was the kind of sorrow that no longer burned and ate you from the inside out, but merely ached. A sadness bred in isolation and accepted ages ago. Forlorn, maybe.

Baz looked very forlorn.

“I know,” he whispered.

Simon moved his hand, just brushing it against Baz’s. Baz jolted slightly, but didn’t move away. “But...not for much longer, okay? I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Baz’s mouth tensed for a moment. But he looked Simon in the eye, nodded, then looked back to the sky.

And that was all there was to say.

They were quite for a long time again. Baz gazed at the stars. So did Simon. He traced the dragon constellation with his eyes. He found the few others he knew. The chimera, the swordsman, the great castle, the first fire, all immortalized in the cosmos. Simon sometimes imagined he was up there. Remembered not as the commoner king or David’s heir, but Simon Snow, memorable by his own name alone. Someone who deserved to be up there because he did something good himself. It was a stupid fantasy. But still, it always sat in the back of Simon’s mind.

“Um,” Simon whispered. “I, uh, brought more books for us to look at.”

Baz shifted, finally breaking his stillness. “I see. Think something useful will be in them?”

“Yeah. They’re about potions and plants and stuff. Special herbs can reverse curses, apparently.”

“Hm, interesting.” Baz threw himself up to sitting, then went to his feet. “Let’s get started. Lots of text to read.”

He walked off to where Simon left his rucksack. Simon got up to follow, hands in his pockets. His stomach ached a bit. He wasn’t great at picking up social cues, but even Simon knew that had probably been some sort of moment, and he’d broken it.

Baz took out a large textbook and handed the other to Simon. He traced a long finger over the lettering.

“‘Herbal Remedies to Magical Maladies,” he read out. “Huh. Sounds interesting.”

Simon chuckled. “Really?”

Baz sat down cross legged, opening the volume on his lap. “It’s not what I usually read, sure, but I like any new knowledge.”

“You talk like a scholar sometimes.” Simon sat opposite him and flipped to the first page.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. It’s just...I don’t get it, wanting to read books all the time. I like some books sure, but not any book. Or reading something just to learn.

Baz flicked his eyes up for a moment. “When you don’t get out in the world much except as a bird, books are really the only way to be educated.”

Simon felt like he’d been smacked in the face. There’d be a large red mark on his cheek if the hit hadn’t been verbal. He coughed awkwardly. “R-right, that makes sense. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Let’s just get this started.”

They began their reading. Simon’s book was on ancient potions. And that made for a very boring experience. There were pictures, sure, but they were diagrams with lots of numbers and charts. Simon tried to read it, he really did. But it was so dull, and he was so tired. The nightmares had only let him sleep an hour last night. And David had forced him into an entire afternoon of sword training. All the exhaustion hit him like a horse carriage going at full speed. His eyelids felt so heavy. His muscles and mind begged for rest. Gods, he was just so bloody tired.

“Simon? You alright?”

Simon’s head snapped up, blinking rapidly. “I’m awake!”

Baz raised a suspicious brow. “Well, you may be now, but you certainly weren’t a moment ago. Are you tired?”

“No,” Simon said as he stifled a yawn. Baz smirked, obviously very amused at Simon’s stubbornness. Simon found it annoying. “Fuck off, I’m fine. Just keep reading.”

“Okay, I’ll keep reading, but you should get some sleep. Coming out here almost every night is obviously taxing you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Baz snapped the book closed, “you’re not.” He went to his feet and stretched out his arm. “C’mon, get up.”

Simon’s face scrunched up in confusion. Baz sighed and rolled his eyes. With lightning speed, he bent down and grabbed Simon’s wrist.

“Hey!” Simon tried to break from Baz’s grip, but the man was strong. Damn the swan boy and his strong flying arms. He easily hauled Simon to his feet, then dragged him towards the tiny cottage. Simon struggled but it was no use. Baz opened the door and brought the other boy inside.

“Now,” Baz said firmly, and pointed at the cot. “Sleep.”

Simon crossed his arms. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes! Stop being a child, Simon, you need sleep to function.”

Simon scowled at him. “I’m fine! I’ve been like this for weeks and I’m fine! And-And I just-” He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. His angry posture deflated. He was too tired to be angry now. “Baz...” he whispered, “we, we don’t get a lot of time. I can just sleep later.”

Baz didn’t respond. Simon cautiously moved his hand away, and saw Baz looking at him strangely. He was obviously curious, but confused too. And maybe just a little bit frightened. Simon didn’t know what he had to be scared of.

He took a step forward, unequivocally walking into Simon’s space, and slipped his fingers under Simon’s. Baz’s calluses scratched along his skin in that strangely pleasant way that made his nerves spark.

“Go to sleep, Simon,” he said softly. “I’ll still be here tomorrow night.”

Simon opened his mouth to argue. But the look on Baz’s face, that kind and sympathetic look, gave him pause. Baz was right. He’d still be here tomorrow. And maybe Simon could use a bit more sleep.

“Okay,” he sighed.

Baz’s lip quirked up. “Good. Get some rest. You can find your way out in the morning?”

“Yeah, will do.” Simon let out a yawn as he stumbled towards the cot. It looked completely unused, the old wool blanket neatly lain on top. Simon collapsed on it, and could instantly feel slumber take hold of his body.

“Night, Baz,” he mumbled

“Goodnight, Simon,” Baz said. “Rest well.”

Simon lazily raised his hand in acknowledgement. Distantly, he heard Baz’s footsteps fade away and the door shut. He fell asleep almost instantly.

———————————————

He was walking down a hallway lined with fancy portraits and intricate Simon knew this hallway well. The boy was strolling down in it again, just like he had done so many times in these dreams. But when he looked up at the long red banners, they looked a bit more clear. The dream fog had dissipated slightly. Simon could make out something drawn in black, with wavy tendrils reaching upwards. He tried to focus, tried to make it out, but that was when it happened, right on time. In an instant, the world exploded into flames.

But the dream didn’t end.

Simon, even in the vague awareness of his dreams, knew they usually ended here. He was supposed to wake up with a start. But it kept going. The boy coughed and pushed himself up on his shaky arms. Rubble slid off his back. He looked down at his tiny hands. They were covered in black and grey ash. Simon felt the tears fall down his chubby cheeks, both from the fire’s heat and childish confusion.

The scene suddenly happened in pieces, jumpy snippets of what he’d already seen. Running, calling for Mum, Mum standing there with the man’s arm around her neck, being told to run, rushing through the flames, and the man grabbing his neck.

But things didn’t go black this time either.

Suddenly, the boy and Simon were outside. Simon could tell. He couldn’t feel the smoke clog his lungs. The boy was slung over a man’s shoulder. His hands were bound with rope, which didn’t budge no matter how much he struggled. A big burlap sack on the man’s other shoulder bumped the boy over and over. His tear and smoke blurry eyes lifted up. A large building burned in the near distance. It was made of dark stone but the flames engulfed so much of it it was hard to see. There was a loud crack, and part of the roof caved in. The boy started to scream.

“Where’s my Mum?!” he howled. “You hafta save my Mum!”

“I don’t have to do anything, you snivelling urchin,” the main growled. His voice was almost familiar, but Simon couldn’t quite place it through the haze of the dream.

“Mummy!” he yelled. Though only heard distantly, like most things in the dreams, the sound of his voice broke Simon’s heart.

“Shut up!”

Something smooth tapped the boy’s temple. A wave of exhaustion hit his body. Every muscle and bone went limp. He was still crying as he passed out again.

———————————————

Simon bolted upright. His chest felt constricted and hot. His hands were glowing deep, rich gold with power. Even his eyes stung like they’d been in smoke. Or maybe... Simon put a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came back wet. Crying. His eye stung from crying. Tears from the little boy, begging and pleading for his mummy.

It took Simon a few moments to recollect himself, to calm his magic and remember where he was. Not his grand palace room, or even his dirty orphanage bunk, but a tiny cot in a tiny wooden cottage. Baz’s room. He looked down to see the blanket pulled over his legs. Weird. He was pretty sure he fell asleep on top of it.

Early morning light was bleeding in from the one window. Crap, Simon had to get back to the palace before David noticed. He scrambled out from the bed, laying down the blanket as nicely as he could. As he exited, he nearly tripped over something.

“What the...” he whispered. At his feet were toppled books and a now messy pile of clothes. Baz’s clothes, sitting there, just like the first time Simon fell into the lake. Simon looked up towards the lake. He inhaled sharply. Sitting there in the centre of the water, along with all the white birds, was a single black swan wearing a thin silver chain.

It- the bird- Baz was curled in on himself, long neck twisted around, head hidden just above a raven coloured wing. He was obviously sleeping. That made sense. He slept during the day as a swan so he could spend as much time as a human at night. Simon found it strange to see him like this. Of course he knew Baz spent half his days as a bird, but he hadn’t seen him so since that first night. And seeing was far different than talking about it.

At least he looks peaceful, Simon thought, because he did. Baz’s eyes were closed. His whole body slowly expanded and rested with each breath. Simon was tempted to go over and touch him. Maybe see if his feathers were as soft was his hair. But, he had a feeling Baz wouldn’t like that. He barely handled talking about being a swan, he’d probably hate Simon seeing him as one. So Simon left him to sleep.

He put Baz’s clothes back in a neat pile, and left the books there too. His rucksack was conveniently placed there too. As he slung it over his shoulders, Simon realised he’d picked it up upside down. Luckily only his dagger and sketch book set fell out. He quickly put his dagger away, but lingered on the book. An idea crossed his mind, which wasn’t always a good thing when it came to Simon. But this one didn’t seem that bad.

Simon scribbled on the page, then ripped it out and laid it on the clothes. This was stupid. Baz probably wouldn’t see it for ages. Maybe not even until he turned human again. But Simon wanted to do it anyway. He looked at it one more time before he turned around.

Thanks for the bed. I’ll see you tonight, Baz. Simon

———————————————

AN: This chapter was fun because of all the pining and the growing affection imo. I like writing that build up. My main worry is that it's boring, but I hope you guys liked it. Next chapter will be next Monday, and prepare yourselves, there is angst incoming. See you next time :)