#snowbaz as elder queers

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Chapter 8 of Jelly Babies is on AO3 now!

Six Sentence Sunday + fic drop 

I'm laughing I'm crying I can't believe that this goofy Swithin/OMC drabble just keeps going and it's actually posted on AO3 now I don't understand my life~

Jelly Babies and other signs that your roommate probably isn't a demon

Rating: Teen

Words:  8370 

Chapters: 7/?

Pairing: Swithin Grimm/Gregory Petty (OMC)

Summary: 

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

“I.” Swithin doesn’t meet Baz’s eyes directly; he never does. Rather, he looks at a point between Baz’s chin and collarbone. “I think I’ve got a crush on my roommate.” 

Halfway across town, Simon Snow is sitting in a chip shop and watching his fifteen-year-old cousin Gregory Petty shred a napkin into confetti with the sheer force of his anxiety. 

“I think my roommate is a demon and that he is literally trying to kill me,” Gregory blurts out.

Part of Carry On Countdown 2022, Day 5: Bloodlines.

Chapter 7 of Jelly Babies is on AO3 now.

Six sentences from Chapter 8 of Jelly Babies and hello tags under the cut!

Swithin is trying to figure out how to ask Gregory to come over for Christmas.

He’s got several drafts in his Clairefontaine journal. Gregory, would you like to come over to my house over the hols? I’ve got lots of games - that’s how the first one goes. But the more he re-reads it, the more it seems like he’s trying to lure Gregory over with sweets, like a serial killer. 

Now, the part where I sound like a sane person again: thank you for the Sunday tags, @martsonmars and @artsyunderstudy!

Hello hello hello and hope you are having a beautiful Sunday! @bookish-bogwitch, @captain-aralias, @cutestkilla, @excalisbury, @facewithoutheart, @fatalfangirl, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @johnwgrey @larkral, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersworld, @raenestee, @sailorblossoms, @thewholelemon,  @whogaveyoupermission, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe  

[forabeatofadrum]

Hello and El WooWoo to you. It is the last El WooWoo Wednesday of the year. That is wack. Thank you @martsonmars and @cutestkilla for the tags. I have written absolutely nothing, which was something I had sort of planned. Sure, I want to continue Ljubim te, and I also want to wrap up my Carry On textfic soon, but today is not the day!

So instead of writing, I’m reading! I have a lot of fic to catch up, from the Klaine 321 Bangs, to the Klaine Advent stories, and of course the new Klaine Secret Santa fics. Of course, the Snowbaz fam isn’t sitting still. So much Carry On Countdown and there is also the Secret Snowflake Exchange fics. Apart from these current challenges, I still have older fic to read. For the summer I made an amazing summer reading list and in the end I barely had time to go through it.

So many fics, so little time. That’s what I am trying to change for now.

Of course I devoured @chen-chen-chen-again-chen​‘s Jelly Babies. I am besotted with Swithin and Gregory, with Simon and Baz being elder queers. The moment where Gregory tells Simon that he hopes that Simon falls of a horse and gets a weird bruise on his arse has been stuck in my head ever since I first red it.

I also just finished Let It Snow - Or At Least Stop Sleeting by @1908jmd​ (who also wrote my Secret Santa gift!), which was adorable and the backgroup characters were extremely funny.

@yeonjunenby​ mentioned several times that they were working on a Snow for Christmas sequel and it cameo out. A Grimm Christmas at the Salisburys was great and Lady Ruth is an absolute badass.

I’ve been looking foward to Work Friends: A Holiday Romance ever since @crissmastrees-and-candyklaines​ shared that snippet of Kurt drawing Mr. Ryerson’s name. It’s so good. “Fuck me.” “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” ALY I AM ON THE FLOOR.

AND WHEN I LEAST EXPECTED IT.... @facewithoutheart​ comes back with a new chapter of On Love’s Light Wings. YEEHAW!!!!

Lastly, I just finished Babysitter for a Vampire by @martsonmars​. God. I love this. I specifically love Simon badmouthing Michael Bublé for Santa Buddy. I know that is not the point of the fic, but Simon is so fucking right. Just, UGH, Marta I love how you write Simon. He’s such a fucking mess. The Santa Buddy moment is only one of the many good gems.

And, okay, okay, I am also reading actual books again. I finished Pride by Ibi Zoboi, which is a modern version of Pride and Prejudice and it takes place in Brooklyn, which is being gentrified. I also finished Carrie Soto is Back and damnit, Taylor Jenkins Reid delivers again.

Since this got long, I’ll put the tags under the cut, together with a surprise!

Tagging @quizasvivamos @crissmastrees-and-candyklaines @coffeegleek @esperantoauthor @otherworldsivelivedin @caramelcoffeeaddict @sillyunicorn @bazzybelle @dragoneggos @raenestee @tectonicduck @nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @thnxforknowingme @captain-aralias @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @takitalks @justgleekout @cerriddwenluna @tea-brigade @ivelovedhimthroughworse @moodandmist @whogaveyoupermission @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @ionlydrinkhotwater @1908jmd @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @larkral @chen-chen-chen-again-chen​ @nausikaaa​/@wellbelesbian​ @artsyunderstudy​ @facewithoutheart​

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Swegory 3: This is the first day of my life

GREGORY 

“That was an object lesson on how they should’ve stopped making Dune movies,” Swithin says, back at Simon and Baz’s flat, his voice crisp and precise as he dissects his manicotti. “The farther the books got from the original Dune, the lower the quality.” 

Gregory can’t help himself - he bangs his fork on the kitchen counter. “This is what I have been SAYING!!” he hollers. His glasses slide down his nose; he pushes them up, impatient. “They should’ve stopped after Dune Messiah! Maybe even after Children of Dune!” and he’s gratified to see Swithin nod in agreement. 

Simon scrunches up his nose and reaches for another garlic knot. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” he said. “Not enough fight scenes, and I wish they had explained more about how that shielding tech works, but-“ 

“They explain it more in the books,” Gregory and Swithin say at the same time - and Gregory feels all the hair on his neck stand up as he and Swithin stare at each other. 

~ 

Swithin and Baz are in the living room, fiddling with the TV, while Gregory helps Simon wash up after dinner. 

“So?” Simon says in an undertone. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Gregory scowls and stands on his tiptoes, mug in hand. Stupid tall people and their stupid organizational systems and he’s going to get that growth spurt ANY DAY NOW - 

“Oh,” Swithin says, from behind him. “I can get that for you.” 

And he just - plucks the mug out of Gregory’s hand and easily places it on the shelf.

“I could have-!” Gregory starts to stay hotly, spinning around, but he misjudges and ends up bumping into Swithin, and Swithin catches him by the elbows so he doesn’t go arse over teakettle. 

Swithin looks - concerned. Some of his hair has fallen in front of his eyes. He’s got a tiny birthmark, just a splotch of pigment just below his left eye. Gregory’s noticed it before, but this close up, he can see it looks like a blobby, rose-brown heart. 

“Are you okay?” Swithin asks.

His hands are still on Gregory’s elbows. Gregory’s just wearing a Deadpool t-shirt, so he can feel Swithin’s hands on him really well - his palms are warm and dry. Gregory’s hands are always cold and clammy, because his body is stupid and doesn’t understand how to thermoregulate properly. Swithin’s got callouses on his left hand but not his right, probably from the cello. If someone held hands with him, they would always know which hand was his left, which was his right. 

“I’m fine!” Gregory yelps. “Let’s watch the documentary!!” 

~ 

By the time they’ve wrapped up Jodorowsky’s Dune, it’s nearing midnight. “Why don’t you just sleep over?” Baz asks Gregory, sounding quite reasonable. “Simon can text your mother.” 

Swithin stiffens. 

“That's a great idea, babe. Swithin, do you mind splitting the sofa bed with Gregory?” Simon asks, and  Baz coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat. “Gregory shouldn’t take up much space. After all,” and Simon tousles Gregory’s hair, “he’s just a little lad.”

“I WILL END YOU,” Gregory hollers.  It doesn’t matter that Gregory’s a pasty nerd and Simon literally teaches stuntpeople how not to die for a living; there are a lot of heavy objects in their flat that he can use to knock out Simon before he pushes him off the tiny balcony. 

“I can. Take the floor,” Swithin says, his voice soft again. “I don’t mind.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Gregory says, and then reflexively slaps himself because he can never say the right thing. “I mean,  it’s fine, we can share. I’d rather kip with you than Simon - he kicks in his sleep.” 

“I can confirm this,” Baz says, dryly. 

“You love me anyway,” Simon says, so confident and so cheesy that Gregory wants to gag but Baz just gives Simon one of those looks that’s all Soft Boyfriend Eyes. 

“You two really need to get married,” Gregory says. His mum says it all the time, and as much as she’s a terror, she’s right about a lot of things. 

Swithin makes another one of those choked-sounding laughs, and Gregory catches his smile in full this time - the quirk of his mouth, the gap in his teeth that is weirdly endearing. The gleam in his eyes. The heart on his face. 

Swithin’s smile is deadly. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn't go around smiling all day. Then there would be even more girls like Fatima in his stupid fan club, staring at him in class with hearts in their eyes. 

~ 

Swithin actually brought pyjamas, and there is something kind of comforting about the fact that they are the same tartan navy blue pyjamas that Swithin’s seen a million times before. 

Gregory borrowed some of Simon’s clothes to sleep in, so he’s in old basketball shorts and a very soft, faded t-shirt that says “GOD’S GYM” and has a picture of Jacob wrestling with an angel. It’s extremely gay. 

Gregory’s used to sleeping in the same room as Swithin. He’s used to the way that Swithin curls up on his side, his lanky limbs pulled in. He knows that Swithin doesn’t snore like a buzzsaw, not like Kimbel Ashburn’s roommate. He only snores quietly when he’s deeply asleep. 

But he’s not used to sharing a bed with Swithin. (Not a bed! Gregory corrects his brain. A - a sofa bed! Practically just a sofa!) 

If Gregory shifted his elbows a bit, they’d touch Swithin’s side. That had felt fine, normal, during the movie, but it would be weird, now. If he shifted his leg, their socked feet would touch. If - 

“I like how they went more into the Bene Gesseritt stuff in this film,” Swithin says. “I missed that, in the first one. I know it’s hard to translate on screen, because so much of that has to do with Paul’s and Jessica’s interior POV-“ 

“But they could’ve externalised it more,” Gregory says, turning onto his side to get a better look at Swithin, who is staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Like there’s so much stuff with the Missionaria Protectiva that gets skipped over! And, and that stuff with Wanna being Bene Gesseritt as well-“ 

Swithin nods, and then talks about the Bene Gesseritt breeding program, which takes them down a whole other rabbit hole. 

It’s funny. Swithin is so quiet normally, but when he talks about something he’s interested in, it’s like he finds all his words, one right after another, with no hesitations or gaps.

Maybe tomorrow Gregory will get to ask Swithin what else he’s interested in. What else helps him find all of his words.  

SWITHIN

Gregory falls asleep in the middle of talking about Gurney Hallek’s quotations and what his stats would be if he was a bard in DnD. He’s still wearing his glasses, and they’re smushing into the bridge of his nose. It looks uncomfortable, which is the only reason that Swithin carefully takes them off his face, folds them up, and puts them on an end table. 

Today, Gregory talked to him, instead of just glaring. He ate the popcorn and the Jelly babies and the orange Fanta that Gregory bought. Afterwards, he ate the manicotti that Swithin helped Baz make, and said it was the best pasta he’d ever had. He didn’t mention the time that Swithin accidentally gave him food poisoning, not even once. 

Gregory listened to everything Swithin said about Dune and didn’t try to change the subject, or get that glazed over look in his eyes like he was trying to politely extract himself from the conversation. They sat together at the cinema, and on the floor in front of the sofa during the documentary, and now they’re sharing a sofa bed. 

And Swithin gets to look at Gregory sleeping, so much closer than usual: the wild cowlicks in his dishwater blonde hair. His cheek, pressed against the pillow case. His mouth, slack with sleep. (Gregory wore braces when they started school, and got them taken off after third year. He had to wear retainers for a year afterwards, and it gave him an adorable lisp.) 

He likes how Gregory is so much more vivid than anyone else - certainly more vivid than Swithin - bright and sparking, bristling with energy and so alive.  

But it’s nice to be able to see him like this too, at rest. As if the sight is something Gregory trusted him with, instead of something Swithin stole. 

Yeah. Today has been the best day of Swithin’s life. 

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

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Chapter 9 of Jelly Babies is on AO3 now!

To: Simon Snow 

The other day Swithin had his hair in a little ponytail and it made my stomach feel weird is that normal or like 

(unsent) 

Six Sentence Sunday + fic drop 

I'm laughing I'm crying I can't believe that this goofy Swithin/OMC drabble just keeps going and it's actually posted on AO3 now I don't understand my life~

Jelly Babies and other signs that your roommate probably isn't a demon

Rating: Teen

Words:  8370 

Chapters: 7/?

Pairing: Swithin Grimm/Gregory Petty (OMC)

Summary: 

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

“I.” Swithin doesn’t meet Baz’s eyes directly; he never does. Rather, he looks at a point between Baz’s chin and collarbone. “I think I’ve got a crush on my roommate.” 

Halfway across town, Simon Snow is sitting in a chip shop and watching his fifteen-year-old cousin Gregory Petty shred a napkin into confetti with the sheer force of his anxiety. 

“I think my roommate is a demon and that he is literally trying to kill me,” Gregory blurts out.

Part of Carry On Countdown 2022, Day 5: Bloodlines.

Chapter 7 of Jelly Babies is on AO3 now.

Six sentences from Chapter 8 of Jelly Babies and hello tags under the cut!

Swithin is trying to figure out how to ask Gregory to come over for Christmas.

He’s got several drafts in his Clairefontaine journal. Gregory, would you like to come over to my house over the hols? I’ve got lots of games - that’s how the first one goes. But the more he re-reads it, the more it seems like he’s trying to lure Gregory over with sweets, like a serial killer. 

Now, the part where I sound like a sane person again: thank you for the Sunday tags, @martsonmars and @artsyunderstudy!

Hello hello hello and hope you are having a beautiful Sunday! @bookish-bogwitch, @captain-aralias, @cutestkilla, @excalisbury, @facewithoutheart, @fatalfangirl, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @johnwgrey @larkral, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersworld, @raenestee, @sailorblossoms, @thewholelemon,  @whogaveyoupermission, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe  

[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?

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Swegory 5: It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside 

@larkral :

My brain : yeah all right then 

~

GREGORY 

Gregory waits until Simon is in his bedroom back at the Petty house, helping him pack up for school, to ask the question that’s been stuck in his throat all morning: 

“Is it gay to want to smell your roommate’s hair?” 

~ 

Gregory woke up that morning with his face buried in Swithin’s hair. 

It wasn’t like, intentional. He didn’t go to bed thinking I want to spoon Swithin Grimm. But Gegory usually has a spare pillow to cuddle with when he sleeps (he slept with a Luke Skywalker teddy bear for far too long, as his older sister Cam likes to point out) and clearly Asleep Gregory latched onto Swithin as the next best thing. 

So Gregory woke up with his arm snugged around Swithin’s waist, and his face in Swithin’s hair. He breathes in, and Swithin smells like sleep and warm skin but also something sharper, sweeter, like cinnamon but different, so he has to breathe in again to try and figure it out, wracking his brains to try and remember what shampoo Swithin uses. A third breath and it’s like, like cookies or something, like gingersnaps, but- 

There’s a cough. 

Gregory wrenches his arm off of Swithin and flails around to see Simon in the kitchen, filling the water kettle. 

“Morning,” Simon says. His socks don’t match and he’s wearing his glasses and a dark grey housecoat like he’s somebody’s dad and he looks too amused for this early in the morning. 

“GAH,” Gregory says, and Swithin stirs. 

“Gregory?” Swithin says, groggy, squinting up at him, and oh shit, does Swithin know that Gregory was like, all over him?

Gregory scoots back which is dumb because sofa bed and he falls right off. He winds up his arse, dragging half the blanket with him, and winces. 

“Gregory!” Swithin says, looking more awake, sitting upright. “Are you okay?”

“Yup, great, grand,” Gregory’s mouth says, “I just, uh, just - gotta piss!” and he hightails it out of the living room to go drown himself in the shower. 

~

To be fair, Simon doesn’t laugh outright in Gregory’s face. 

“That’s a big question,” Simon says, stopping from where he’s folding one of Gregory’s jumpers (also, why is he bothering to fold Gregory’s jumper? It’s just gonna get messed up in his duffle). “And not an easy one to answer. There’s a lot of different kinds of attraction, and-”

“I’m not ATTRACTED,” Gregory screeches. “I just - I don’t know, it’s just something I noticed! This whole weekend has been weird!"

Simon stands in Gregory’s bedroom, his hands on his hips, face scrunched up, staring at the ceiling. “All right,” he says, clearly in his thinking mode. “Maybe attraction isn’t the right word. But, um, attention? Does that seem right?”

Attention is… better. More neutral. Sometimes things come up that just grab your attention, right? Whether you want them to or not. Whether they’re… good, or not. Whether you feel anything about them or not.

“Sure,” Gregory says, forcing himself to chill the fuck out for just like, a microsecond. “Let’s go with that.” 

“You can pay attention to, or notice, certain things,” Simon says, “but it doesn’t necessarily define your entire orientation or identity. That’s made up of a lot of moving parts. And some of them may change over time, or you might see them differently as you get more experience.” 

“So,” Gregory says, trying to parse things, “it’s not… necessarily gay to want to smell your roommate’s hair?” 

Simon gives him a kind look. Gregory hates it. 

“That might not be the most helpful way to ask the question,” Simon says instead, sidestepping the actual question like a fucking coward.

Don’t ask me about how I feel about it. Don’t ask me how I feel about it. Don’t ask me how I - 

“How do you-”

“I’m done packing!” Gregory yells. 

~

Mum’s in the kitchen when he leaves, dunking an apple spice muffin into a mug of tea while she reads a terrifying-looking book called In Defense of Globalization.

“Take some muffins for the ride,” she says, shoving a paper bag at him. She’s such a messy baker, she’s still got everything out on the counter tops, a whole bunch of jars of spices and - 

There! Gregory swoops in on one and sniffs it and yeah, that’s it. That’s it!!

… Swithin’s hair smells like nutmeg. 

~

“I’m not going to be weird about it,” Gregory chants to himself, as he pulls on his trainers. “I’m not going to be weird about it. I’m not going to be weird about it. I’m-” 

“That’s the spirit,” Simon says, giving him an encouraging pat on the head. 

“Stop trying to be helpful!” Gregory screeches, batting his hand away. 

“Text me whenever,” Simon says, as if he hasn’t heard anything. “I'll only be an hour ahead in Malta - we could probably video chat sometime.”

“I won’t need to,” Gregory sniffs. “I’m good. I’m great. I’ve got this.” 

Swithin’s getting out of the front seat of Baz's car. The autumn sunlight falls across his face and his hair, making the edges of his dark brown hair glow redly, like an ember. He smiles hesitantly when he sees Gregory, like he’s not quite sure it’s allowed, and Gregory trips over a crack in the pavement but he manages to keep himself from kissing the concrete. 

“Yeah,” Simon says, shooting him finger guns, “you’ve got this.” 

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

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Swegory 6: This could be good, this could be good 

@larkral: 

My brain: Don’t worry I gotchu fam 

(Also I'm not actually a writing machine I wrote most of Part 6 & 7 last night but I now have a weekend where all my social commitments got cancelled SO LET'S GOOOOOO)

SWITHIN

It lasts. 

Swithin has to pinch himself, every once in a while. But they’re back in their room in Mummers and they’ve unpacked, and Gregory is still talking to him as he shoves crumpled socks and pants haphazardly into a box in his wardrobe. 

“- And then there’s Hexarchate Stories,” Gregory is saying. “There’s some good stuff in there but a lot of it’s about Jedao’s family when he was younger and also there are a lot of geese. Do you want to walk down to dinner together?” 

Gregory asks it just like that - no pause, no segue, no breath in between, just so casually, as if it isn’t momentous - Do you want to eat a meal together? With me? On purpose? Do you want to put food in your mouth while I put food in my mouth? Do you want to sit in proximity and continue to converse and sometimes we’ll look at each other’s eyeballs? 

Swithin clears his throat. His hands are shaky; he grips his teardrop necklace, digs into it tight. “That would be nice,” he says.

~ 

It’s a treat to watch Gregory at dinner. Swithin had always wondered, a little wistfully, what Gregory was talking about with his friends so animatedly at mealtimes. Sitting next to him feels a little like sitting next to a heat lamp on a chilly day, just getting to bask in the warmth that he throws off without thinking. 

Across the dining hall, Fatima locks eyes with Swithin. Gregory stops in the middle of a very impassioned paean to “A Story About You” and a familiar scowl twists on his face as Fatima matches over and plops herself right down next to Swithin, stealing a Yorkshire pudding off his plate. 

“Aren’t you two all cosy,” she says, faux-pleasant. (She still hasn’t really forgiven Gregory for the time he spilled a bottle of Diamine Matador all over Swithin’s bed, mostly because Swithin had been editing one of her essays at the time. It’d been Swithin’s fault for not screwing the cap back on properly, but Fatima insisted that Gregory was out to sabotage her.) 

“We’re talking,” Gregory says, witheringly. “Shoo.”

Fatima just rolls her eyes and dismisses Gregory like he’s some kind of bug. It’s weird - Swithin knows they get along when he’s not around, they play card games, but whenever he sees them together, they insist on being so unpleasant to each other. He tried to get Fatima to explain it to him and she just sighed heavily and said, “You’re too good for this world, Swithin. Just leave it at that.” 

“Good weekend with Big Bro Baz?” she asks, kindly. 

“Yeah,” Swithin says, with real warmth. Baz has always been patient with him, has always listened, has never been frustrated when Swithin can’t find his words. “We hung out with Simon and Gregory.” 

Fatima’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline. “That Gregory?” she says, jerking her thumb. 

“I am right here!” Gregory sputters.   

“They’re cousins,” Swithin says. “Simon and Gregory. I didn’t know.” 

Fatima sits back, looking unimpressed. “What are the odds?” She spears a piece of roasted potato with his fork, and says, “Tell Simon to get me Agatha Wellbelove’s autograph while he’s in Malta.”

“He could get that for you anytime,” Gregory says, sounding scornful. “They’re friends. He was the best man at her wedding. Didn’t you know? And stop eating Swithin’s food - get your own dinner, if you’re so hungry!”  

It’s fine, Swithin tries to say, because he was mostly done anyway. But the words stick in his throat, because he’s finally having dinner with Gregory, and he loves Fatima, he really does, but she’s - she’s ruining it.

“Could you.” Swithin has to clear his throat, which feels tight. “Could you get some dessert for me, Fatima? When you join the dinner queue?” 

She pauses, surprised. “I think I saw some chocolate torte.” She stands up with a sigh, and jabs a finger in Gregory’s direction. “Don’t harass my best friend,” she warns him. “I know where you sleep, and my mind works in twisted ways. I know exactly how to get to you.” 

Gregory scowls at her fearsomely as she gets up from their table to get dinner. As soon as she’s out of earshot, he blurts out, “Why are you even friends with her? She’s so aggravating!”  

“Fatima’s… not always like that,” Swithin says, slowly. “She’s quite pleasant. Most of the time. Really.”

He really doesn’t understand why Fatima and Gregory don’t get along. They’re similar, in many ways - passionate, intelligent, opinionated. Fatima’s more relaxed with Swithin when it’s just the two of them, not scornful and sharp-tongued like she is with Gregory. 

“He’s just such a gremlin,” Fatima had said once, about Gregory. “He’s so easy to wind up. I don’t get what you see in him.” 

“But you would know, wouldn’t you?” Swithin asks. “You play that card game with her on Friday nights.” 

“You don’t have to like someone to play MTG with them,” Gregory says gloomily, stabbing at a piece of roast beef. “Anyway, I don’t have enough people to play with - Kimbel refuses to get into it - so it’s Fatima or bust.” He brightens. “Have you ever wanted to play Magic: The Gathering?” 

GREGORY 

“This is ridiculous,” Gregory hears himself say. 

Swithin looks up apologetically from where’s built up a blue-white mana pool and an elegant trap about to close its jaws around Gregory’s forces. 

“Sorry,” Swithin says. He blinks guileless brown eyes, not quite meeting Gregory’s gaze. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You. Are. Crushing. Me,” Gregory says. He’s not really mad; it’s like any irritation or anger has fizzed up like soda pop in his chest, and he feels weirdly like laughing as he flaps bonelessly to the floor, his back meeting the rug. “You’re a ringer - why didn’t you tell me you’ve played before?? I feel like a tit for giving you a tutorial.”

Swithin leans over, his worried face swimming into view above Gregory. 

“It really is my first time playing,” he says, apologetically. “But. I like games. I like - understanding the, the structure. The rules. The win conditions.” 

Gregory sits up. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” he says. It stings less than it would have before this weekend, when Swithin just seemed to be silent and perfect, like he’d come right off a demonic assembly line that produced posh valedictorians. 

Swithin’s eyes drop to his lap. “I’m not good. With people,” he says. “That’s part of… why I like games. The rules are clear.” 

Gregory scrunches up his nose. “Like, the social rules?” he guesses. “What you’re supposed to say and stuff?”

Swithin’s shoulders relax, and it’s the only way that Gregory knows that he was tense before. “Yes.”

“I’m not good at that stuff either,” Gregory reflects. “I just shoot my mouth off, say the first thing that comes to mind.” It had gotten him into heaps of trouble over the years. 

“I wish I could do that,” Swithin says. “I just. I tend to overthink things. And not say them at all.”  

“You should say them,” Gregory says, trying to be encouraging. “You got loads of good things to say! About Dune, and other books, and dunno - there’s probably lots of interesting stuff you could talk about! Maths! Cello!” 

Swithin doesn’t quite smile, but his eyes crinkle up at the corners. “What would I say - about cello?”

“I don’t know, I’m not the cello master,” Gregory says automatically. For some reason, Swithin goes a bit pink. 

“I’m not,” Swithin says. “A cello master.” 

“Master cellist, whatever it’s called,” Gregory says, waving his hand. “But you can talk at a good clip when it’s something you’re interested in, yeah? Talk about that stuff.”

“I’m not sure… I don’t know. That anyone would want to listen.”

“I would listen,” Gregory’s stupid, traitorous mouth says because his life is nothing but constant, bodily betrayals. “I mean, you’re dead smart. You could talk about anything and it’d probably be interesting.” 

Swithin goes even pinker. “Thanks,” he says, to the cards in his hand. 

“Anyway,” Gregory says, coughing, “whatever, screw MTG for now. GUH, I can’t believe we have classes tomorrow.” 

They clean up the cards, and settle into a nighttime routine, and it’s - weird, how normal it is, but also how - nice. Before, it felt like they kind of just uneasily occupied the same space. But now that they’ve talked, and laughed, and watched movies together, and eaten together, and played games, it’s more like they…. Live together. Like having an actual friend for a roommate. Not just a demon. 

“Night, Swithin,” Gregory calls, as he takes off his glasses. 

Swithin takes a long time to reply. Gregory wonders if he’s already fallen asleep but then Swithin says, quietly, “Good night, Gregory. Sleep well.” 

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