Snow's hair was getting out of hand. And as much as he wanted to say that it deterred any thoughts of running his hand through the boy's curly mane (lovingly, gently, roughly), well… it didn't. However, that wasn't the point. When it got to the point that you're getting your hand stuck in it or things were sticking in it, one might have concluded that something had to be done.
And so Snow had done something, right there at breakfast actually. And apparently, Baz had fainted, right there at breakfast as well. He chalks it up to the amount of blood in his body at the given time. (The Catacombs had been sparse last night.) Others clearly chalk it up to something else entirely, if the blatant staring and hushed whispers were anything to go by.
When he could stand it no longer, he stepped outside to find an interesting scene. Bunce seemed to be lecturing Snow, Wellbelove off to the side. Snow, on the other hand (and for once), was quietly listening. Against his better judgment, he walked towards the trio.
"-could've blown your brains out, Simon! Honestly, what were you thinking?" He can hear a tight fear in her voice, wound in with the anger. It is at times like these that Baz is thankful for the fact that Bunce is just foolish enough to stay by Snow's side. And he can decidedly say that he would not have liked a Snow with his brains blown out.
Snow has the decency to look ashamed until he catches sight of Baz coming towards them. Immediately he shot to his feet, that bloody sword drawn and now, most rudely, pointed in Baz's face.
"Baz." It's practically a snarl. Honestly, he'd like to hear his name called in a different manner, but this is no time for those kinds of thoughts. Instead, he smiles placidly.
"Snow." Wellbelove's eyes dart between them, lingering on Baz. Snow pays her no mind, eyes solely trained on him. Well now, he could get used to this.
"What do you wa–" He's soundly cut off by Bunce, with a hard slap to the arm. Baz gives a derisive snort, and Snow looks between the two of them, shocked and scandalized.
"Merlin, that hurt, Penny!" How unbecoming, Snow's practically whining. Bunce, however, offers no sympathies, eyes back on the mess that is his hair.
"What you need, Simon, is a haircut."
Interestingly enough, after that statement, Snow had paled, promptly about-faced, and ran. Bunce, after her initial shock, had soon been in hot pursuit. Baz hadn't seen where Wellbelove had slipped off to. He made his way back to Mummers House, excitement seemingly had for the day
Apparently, it was not. For when he stepped into the room, he found Bunce (how did she even get in here anyway?) imperiously towering over a–dare he say it–cowering Snow.
And so, that was how he found himself with a pair of scissors in his hand–
"By all means, no! I will not have another wand pointed at his head!"
"Who are you, Penny, my mum?" That had earned him another slap.
–preparing to cut Simon Snow's hair. Of course, Snow had had his own objections to the scissors–
"Penny, you must be crazy if you think I'm going to let him anywhere near me with scissors!"
–all of which had soundly been ignored.
Bunce, herself, was practically perched on his shoulder, as Snow had designated her to the role of supervisor, after he had recounted, in great detail, the resulting horror that was her siblings' hair when she attempted to cut it last.
Baz allowed himself a sigh, wondering what he had done to deserve this.
"Ready, Snow?" The boy in question simply fumed silently in his general direction. The only reason that he was sitting so still was that Bunce had threatened to spell him to the chair. Baz's mouth quirked, threatening to become a smile. Thankful for the fact that Snow was facing the other direction, he got down to business.
Cutting someone's hair is a decidedly intimate act, Baz mused. Snow's hair was really as soft and lovely as he thought. Discarded curls litter the floor around his feet. Occasionally his hands brush the nape of Snow's neck and he resists the desire for the touch to linger. (He gives himself a mental pat on the back for that.) The only sounds that fill the room are the decisive snip of scissors and the occasional sigh from Snow. Bunce had grown tired of watching them and, much to Snow's dismay, was now dozing on his bed. Even so, a comfortable (?) quiet had fallen between the two.
"Um… Baz?" He hums in response.
"Was it really that bad? I mean, you fainted and all…" Baz feels color rise to his face.
"I'm sure you would have too if you'd seen how ridiculous you looked. You're lucky Bunce was able to spell it back to normal so quickly."
"Yeah…" The soft tone isn't what Baz expected, so he plows on.
"I mean, honestly Snow, with what you're prone to with magic, you're lucky you're still in one piece."
"Yeah, I guess." He almost sounds sheepish, "I suppose I did deserve that slap." He lets out a small huff of a laugh, and Baz is even more confused.
He's not exactly sure what he wants. Sure, the civility is nice, but usually, the slightest of jabs at Snow and the boy's up in Baz' face in an instant. Not that Baz minded. Oh no, he never really minded. However, this was perturbing and Baz wasn't sure of… Well, sure of anything, really. So now he's just rambling.
"And I don't even know why you'd even do that! Besides, the potentially fatal side effects–" Snow twitches at that, "It looks fine as is– perfect, even! Just like the rest of you!" Oh. Oh. Baz doesn't think he meant to say that. The scissors promptly drop out of his hands and to the floor, as if on cue. Then he bumps his head on the back of the chair as he stoops to get them. He could've decided without, he decides, muttering a string of expletives as he rubs his head.
"Wow, Baz, I didn't know you knew that one." Snow is peering down at him over the back of the chair. His eyes say it all though, wide and as blue as ever. Did you just call me perfect?
Baz internally groans, and thankfully Bunce chooses that time to wake up. Nodding her approval, she hurriedly ushers Snow out of the room, not before flashing Baz a big smile, not unlike the cat who ate the canary. And he wonders.
Wonders if he'll ever run his hands through Simon Snow's hair again.
Wonders if he'll ever have the chance to call Simon Snow perfect again.
Wonders how screwed he really is. (He decides a lot.)
Ugh.
