#hehe the fic finally hit 10k words on archive
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Can You Hear Me?
Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43235681
Chapter 6/10 of Itās A Handheld Disaster
Word Count: 1174
Chapter Summary: Simon has a simple request for Baz, as nerve wracking as it may be.
BAZ
I used to hate mornings. Loathed them. Thought they were the shittiest time of the day--the part where it all started. Except, now that I get daily good morning texts from Snow, accompanied by an odd little meme (usually an obscured, ādeep friedā one), I canāt say I hate mornings anymore.
Itās so silly, given itās such a small thing, but additions of something sentimental and small in my day makes me feel more alive.
Good morning texts. Daily updates. Stupid jokes, playful nicknames, and the intimacy of a phone number. Weāre intertwined far enough that Dev and Niall know about him now. Iāve grown proud of speaking about him; heās rather stupid sometimes, but I always smile at those messages. Sure, I havenāt seen his face yet, or heard his voice, but that doesnāt matter. It may be an issue one day, but for now, Iāll live with where we are.
Itās not entirely positive, though. I know he only texts because he canāt always afford extra data, and Davy cuts the wifi, but itās more comforting to hear a mobile tone than to feel just a notif buzz.
When I woke up this morning, though, the space where his message usually sits is vacant, leaving the last received one to be from last night.
im fukcin exhausted goodnight x
Thatās it. Nothing new, nothing to get excited over. Nothing to smile about.
Nothing in my DMs, and Instagram says he hasnāt been online since yesterday afternoon. Itās mildly concerning, to say the least.
I try to distract myself, but I canāt eat (too nauseous), nor can I sit still. My shower is terrible, and the empty, numbing feeling is driving me insane. Itās nearly 11 by the time I finally get something--a simple, unexpected, heartstopping text.
hey can i call you tonight?
I double check to make sure Iām not misreading it, then exit out of the app before opening it again. Surely enough, I hadn't read it wrong.
He wants to call me. He wants to hear my voice. I get to hear his voice.
While the circumstances call for a concerned pause, I still throw an answer towards him despite the twisting of my gut.
of course you can
call whenever you have a chance, iāll be here
thank you
sorry i know i usually text sooner
its just a bad day
i know im shitty
youāre not shitty
really donāt apologize itās okay
so long as youāre okay
i cant promise im ok but im alive
good enough for me
I lay my phone face down, hands scrubbing over my eyes as I exhale slowly. Heās alive. Thatās more than good enough for me--thatās a spark of hope. He can always get better, but he canāt stop being dead (whatever-the-fuck-deity forbid that ever happens).
Slowly, my eyes drift towards the window. Itās a sunny day. The weatherās growing warmer, and he only gets out in a month or so. Maybeā¦ maybe I can see him once summer hits. Iāll drive out to wherever he is, and weāll finally get to exist inside the same spaces. Iāll shake his hand. Iāll take him to dinner (maybe go get a drink, if heās 18 by then). Iāll be stupid for once in my life and make a bold move. Itāll be okay. Weāll be okay.
I look at my phone, repeating it in a soft utter. āWeāll be okay,ā I say into the empty room around me, heart speaking differently. Who knows if he'll be okay now. Eventually, weāll find our peace within the world. Heāll stop hurting, and Iāll start living. We just have to make it over this hurdle.
As my fingers drag across the cotton sheets, I let my mind wander off into thought. I wonder what his voice sounds like. I wonder what accent he has (I donāt even know what region heās from). How should I address him? Is it proper to begin with a casual āHiā?
This is shit. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew what we were, so itād be easier.
A bird chips outside, and I break back into an empty stare out the glass.
Itās all empty. I feel empty. Everything feels so empty for hours as I drag myself around the house like a spineless ghost, hoping to hear from my distant friend. I barely feel the need to eat, and I canāt bring myself to care enough to go for a walk to shake off my nerves. Instead, I sit, stare at the wall silently, making pointless reblogged posts on the occasion I can bring myself to look at my mobile. By the early evening, Iāve updated one of my fics and answered a good handful of asks from a numbers post. Itās all mindless and meaningless, but itās a distraction.
Not enough of one, sadly. By early evening, I get antsy enough to drag myself out of bed and find my pack of cigs.
I contemplate the windowsill briefly, then decide against it in favor of going down to the garage. It used to be the stables, so thereās plenty of room to hide by a window and smoke one or two.
Tucking the lighter and pack in my pockets, I slip out quickly enough. My mobile stays in hand, ready to respond to any buzz.
It doesnāt come immediately. Not as Iām getting comfortable, pillow pressed to my back in the dusty stone and brick building. I settle against the window, cracking it open slightly while my head leans back against the wall. In my mouth lies a cigarette, with another tucked behind my ear. I flick the lighter a few times before it sputters to life
Holding it up, I watch the satisfying glow of the end as my hands tremble. Honestly, I hate smoking. I hate the taste it leaves, I hate the way it seeps into my clothes, but there's a shaking of my nerves that calms it while lighting my insides up.
Carefully, I suck it in, holding back the smoke as I stare out the warped glass. After a slow inhale, I let the tendril of smoke trickle from my lips. I hate this.
I go through the first one, stubbing it onto the stone. About halfway through the second, my mobile starts buzzing nonstop. Looking down, I already know who it is.
offbrand sammy
Fumbling with my cigarette, I switch it to my non dominant hand as I slide my mobile and press it to my ear. āHello?ā I say, not even thinking out my answer. Fuck. Wait. Too formal.
The formalities don't even matter, because suddenly, there's sobs on the other line. They break out, coming in muffled bursts as my heart sinks. In all my utter uselessness, I sit completely silent, jaw hanging open as I wait. After what feels like minutes, rather than seconds, of him crying, his voice comes through. It's clear, deep, Northern, and cuts me to the bone.
āHoly shit.ā
#it's a handheld disaster#carry on#snowbaz#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#mine#simon snow#tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch#tyrannus basilton grimm pitch#baz pitch#simon#baz#hehe the fic finally hit 10k words on archive#i feel less stressed somehow
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