Baz-

Simon is wearing another new shirt today. Every single day this week he's been sporting a new shirt. Today it's a dark green shirt that reads: "I'm Pawsome!" in obscene orange block letters. As if that isn't enough, directly below the letters a large cartoon tabby cat sprawls across his ribcage. It goes without saying that this is by far the worst shirt I've ever seen.

Bunce only left for America two weeks ago, and I know there's no way she would let Simon spend money on this, meaning he's purchased it recently. I finally snap after letting my terribly thick boyfriend walk around in this disaster.

"Snow," I start, "What are you doing?"

The scone in his hand stops halfway to his mouth, "Whaddya mean?"

I gesture to the obscenity he's wearing. "I can only take so much of this Snow, why do you look like a poorly planned thrift shop catalog?" Simon's brow scrunches and I huff, exasperated. He drops the scone into his lap and stares at it like it might answer my question for him. "I ran out of clothes," he says.

It must be too early for me to understand because all I can do is stare at him. His eyes dart to my face but quickly beeline back to the scone. "Snow, what am I missing here?"

He picks the scone up in one hand and crumbs roll down his trousers and onto the (recently vacuumed) carpet and I stifle a wince. "I ran out of clean clothes this week, so I bought the first ten shirts on the value rack." When I don't say anything he continues, "I never had to do laundry in the Home and at Watford I had my magic, so-".

I push my hand through my hair, "You've been magicless for months now. How hasn't this been brought up sooner?"

He sighs and more crumbs roll to the carpeting, "Penny spells her basket clean so I leave my clothes in with hers."

"So, instead of asking for help or googling it you bought these horrendous shirts?"

He doesn't say anything, just shrugs, his moles rolling with the skin.

Simon-

Baz tugs on the collar of his shirt.

"Go get your laundry."

"Baz?" I say, confused.

Baz levels a glare at me, "If I see my boyfriend walk around in one more animal pun shirt I'll consider it a personal failure. Get off the couch Snow, we're doing your laundry".

~~~~

We go to Baz's flat since I don't have any detergent or know where the nearest laundromat is. Baz ran upstairs to grab some things in a large paper bag. He even brings me a grey cotton shirt to change into ("Please Snow I can't take it any longer"). I change into his shirt and we head down to the basement. Baz doesn't even slow down for me as I struggle down the stairs with a mountain of clothes piled in my hamper obstructing my view. At least he spelled my wings away.

I bump into his back as he unlocks the door to the building's public laundry room. He stumbles a bit and clothes teeter on the edge of falling. Baz opens the door into the dark and damp room. He makes his way into the room, pulling a cord hanging from the ceiling. The light bulb illuminates with a pop and washes the room in a stark light.

Two metal washers sit side by side and a dryer sits adjacent. The tiles are checkered black and white with chipped edges. The smooth curve of Baz's leather shoes look out of place on the linty tiles. The room is small, barely large enough to fit both of us. It reminds me more of a broom cupboard.

A sock tumbles from the top of the mountain and lands in a small cloud of lint. Baz raises an eyebrow at it, then grabs the hamper from me and sets it neatly on a small table next to the dryer. Baz grabs the detergent and softener he brought down from his flat. When I asked him about the softener he snorted and said, "I'm not a neanderthal Snow."

I grab the sock off the floor and put it back on top of the pile. Baz opens the lid on the machine and starts going through step by step of what to load together and what must be separated. Baz leans over the machine to fish out a red shirt from the tangle of whites. His pants strain as he leans over and a fierce blush rushes through me. Baz has the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows and his hair hangs over his eyes. He turns and his skin looks even paler than normal under the light of the fluorescent bulb.

I walk into the small space in front of him. He's forced to back into the washer to make room for me. I press into him and put my hands on his hips. I let my fingers trail over his belt loops and the smooth crease of his pockets. His breath hitches when my thumb brushes the front button.

Baz-

He's too much when he gets like this.

This lighting isn't particularly flattering. His skin, normally bronzed, looks sallow and dull. His curls drape ugly shadow over his face. But, he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen. His eyes are hooded and his thumb brushes the button on my pants. A shiver courses like lightning through my spine. Everywhere his hands touch is set aflame.

I close my eyes and let myself believe that this is real. It has been for months now. Simon Snow is here, alive and in love with me. He chose me. When I open my eyes he's still there hanging over me with his mouth open (mouth breather). His bottom lip juts out and I have the urge to lean forward and capture it in my teeth. I would never bite him. He trusts me not to. I don't know how he possibly could after all these years. But Simon Snow is here. Trusting me. Choosing me. Waiting for me. And I'm not going to let him wait; I've waited enough for the two of us combined.

Simon-

Baz grabs my waist and surges into me. His lips crash onto mine. I pull him closer by his belt loops and he whines into my mouth. His hands are moving up my sides to my chest in a trail of adrenaline. Baz tugs on my bottom lip and I melt. He takes the lead and deepens the kiss. He's become much more confident lately. He doesn't rely on me to take the lead anymore. I was perfectly happy making all of the first moves, but seeing Baz take control lights a match in the pit of my stomach.

Baz's hands have made their way to my chest, his index fingers brushing my nipples under my cotton shirt, no his cotton shirt. He places them flat to my chest and pushes. My lips disconnect with his in a smacking sound and I tilt backwards. Baz is there to catch me before I can panic. He grabs the underside of my thighs and heaves me onto the dryer.

"You arse," I say, "You could have asked me to move." I reattach my lips to his and he smiles into the kiss. I don't think he's going to respond, then he pulls away long enough to say, "I didn't trust you to get on top of the dryer without toppling off." I scowl at him and he laughs, kissing the look off my face.

Baz shifts his focus to the mole on my neck. He licks and sucks at it and I card my hands through his hair messing up the gel. I'm sure I'll get yelled at for it later. Baz's lips move to the crest of my ear and I can feel his shallow breaths warm my skin.

"Simon, as much as I'd love to finish this," he gives a meaningful push of his hips to mine and my vision goes completely white, "I want to get you out of these clothes."

"Okay," I moan into his hair. My fingers begin lifting my shirt but he stills them. He pulls away laughing a little. I don't see the problem here.

"No Snow, not like that." He drags my chin up to his eyes then swivels it to my hamper with the treacherous pile of clothes ready to tip any second now. "We need to wash your clothes because I never want to have to suffer through my boyfriend wearing another animal pun shirt again." A fierce jolt of happiness rushes through my veins at the word boyfriend even through the insult. Baz backs away, letting his hands drag along my things until they fall off when they reach my knees. I huff a sigh but follow him regardless. He moves to the side so he can watch me finish putting the load in the machine. Every once in a while he'll comment or dig a colored piece of clothing out. He puts some coins in the machine and then grabs my hand as we wait together. He talks about Fiona and his sister Mordelia (who he absolutely adores). We sit and chat with the buzzing of the machine as background noise.

I've found a new level of comfort with Baz that I've never had before. He stokes the back of my hand with his thumb in an absent minded gesture and it sends warmth through me.

After a while the machine buzzes and I push off against the dryer to collect my sopping pile of clothes. Baz puts his hands on my hips and leans over my shoulder to watch. It strikes me how absurdly normal this is. Baz leaning over me, telling me what can go in the dryer and what should be left to hang up, the smell of clean linens and detergent and the way his hands fit so well on my body.

My life has never had any semblance of normality. My life has been violently turned upside down, but Baz was always there to help me get back on my feet and to hold me along the way. Baz is my normal.

NOTES:

biddys.art (on instagram) drew the lovely cover art for this fic and I love her to pieces so please go check her out!