Author's note: Hey. Here is one super short Snowbaz fic for you all before AWTWB comes out... I'm spending as much of my time as possible picturing them happy and in love before the trilogy comes to an end. (Please let it be a happy ending—PLEASE!) (I just love them so much). So enjoy.

I come into the apartment using the key Simon gave me. It's quiet—I'm guessing Simon isn't awake yet. Maybe Penny isn't either. I set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, and notice a small slip of paper with Penny's cramped scrawl:

I'm out for a walk. Simon, if you're awake and seeing this, I'll be back around 9. Baz, if it's you, don't wake Simon up.

Penny

I put the note down again, stepping carefully down the hallway to Simon's room.

I open his door just a crack, and see that he's sprawled across the mattress, his comforter tangled around his feet and his curls falling in his closed eyes. His wings are out on display, his tail completely still as it hangs off the side of the bed frame.

I smile to myself. My breath sometimes catches when I think that this beautiful boy loves me. Has kissed me. Will hopefully kiss me again.

I close his door again, go back to the kitchen, and start to unpack the grocery bags. I plan to attempt the recipe of Simon Snow's all time favorite: sour cherry scones. Watford style. It's not a special occasion or anything—I just thought it would be a nice Saturday morning surprise for my boyfriend.

I still shiver when I think the word.

Simon Snow is my boyfriend.

I lay out the ingredients neatly, pulling out the recipe I managed to get from the Watford kitchen staff before my departure.

I'm not much of a chef, I admit. But it's the thought that counts, right? I start measuring out the cups of flour and sugar, opening the can of cherries to use in the dough. Scones, I soon find, are one of the more difficult baked goods for inexperienced bakers to attempt.

In a temporary lapse of clumsiness, the pile of dirty measuring cups I was carrying to the sink fall out of my hands. The metal clangs against wood floorboards in deafening contact, and I freeze in place.

Seconds later, Simon's door slams open and I hear him stagger into the kitchen. He comes into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes and repressing a yawn.

"Baz?" he asks sleepily, upon seeing me.

"Sorry, love," I say sheepishly. "I was just…" I shrug, indicating the dirtied kitchen. Simon follows my motion, surveying the scene. He shuffles forward and falls into my arms, drowsy. I can feel his warm breath seep through my shirt, touching against my cold skin.

His curls tickle my chin, and I circle my arms around his waist without hesitation. I plant a kiss on the top of his head.

"Good morning," he mumbles.

"Good morning," I whisper. "Sorry about the noise." Simon tightens his grip around me, snuggling deeper into my chest.

"What are you even doing?" His words slur, his mouth still not quite awake.

"Making you something," I tell him.

"What is it?" He pulls his head away to look at me, curious.

"Scones," I murmur softly. "Cherry scones." A small smile breaks across his lips. He leans forward and kisses me softly, and I melt into the brief contact.

"Really?" he asks.

"Yes, Simon."

"Can I help? I've never made them before," he offers.

"I mean, if you'd like."

It is one of my favorite mornings, to date. Neither of us have any clue as to what we're doing, really, but we give it a decent effort. Simon spills a cup of flour on my shirt (he spills lots of things all over the kitchen), and he laughs apologetically, wetting a cloth and bringing it to my chest.

I don't let him clean it up, but take some flour from the bag and sprinkle it in his rusty golden curls, smirking.

Simon lurches back in surprise, catching my hand and pulling me forward after him. He stops with his back against the fridge, tugging me down so our lips meet. My eyes close, and my hands come to rest on either side of his head against the surface of the cool fridge as he kisses me. His arms loosely circle my hips as he tilts his face up to meet my lips. All thoughts blink out of my mind, leaving me to savor the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin.

He hasn't stopped kissing me by the time the apartment door creaks open. Penelope sighs heavily, but only has one thing to say to us:

"You guys are cleaning the kitchen."