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Simon had been so warm. His skin had heated Baz’s hands where they’d slipped up under his t-shirt, running along the vast planes of his back like Lapparent in the desert. Simon’s lips were soft, Baz’s felt like they were melting under the insistent press against one another. Simon’s hands were thawing Baz’s icy ears. He was always so cold, and Simon always warmed him up and melted him inside out. The heating was on in the car, fogging up the windows, but it was Simon that felt like a furnace.
If they’d been at home and not in a parked car in a glorified field in Sheffield, then the kiss probably would’ve gone further. They would’ve gone to bed and undressed each other with the same reverence as they had every time they’d done it, just like the first. Or maybe they wouldn’t have made it that far. Baz might’ve climbed into Simon’s lap, undressing them both enough to be unobstructed as they took their pleasure from each other’s bodies.
As it was, the kiss ended in Simon giggling into Baz’s neck as he leaned back into his seat. He coughed, blushing, and adjusted himself. Baz grinned as he turned the heating off to try and de-fog the car so they could drive back to their hotel for the night. Honestly, a walking holiday in the Peak District wasn’t really Baz’s idea of a good time, but getting Simon alone in a hotel room where they could make as much noise as they wanted without annoying Penelope did have its perks.
It had been raining all day and for a lot of it Baz had been miserable. Muddy, wet, tired, he hadn’t wanted to keep going, much preferring the option of returning to the car and going back to civilisation and warmth. Simon had been good at keeping morale up with a near-constant stream of consciousness, telling Baz all about the different path markers and mountains and pathways. It had been endearing enough that Baz had, against all odds, actually enjoyed himself.
It was raining a lot heavier now though, coming down in thick sheets which, even with the full beam on, Baz could barely see through. Simon was still talking about hiking and agriculture and maybe something about the romans? It was just a distraction, though, one Baz didn’t need. He was gripping the steering wheel a little too tight as he drove. He may have snapped at Simon to shut up, Jesus , and Simon may have gone scarily quiet which was all Baz needed to know that he was upset and it would take some grovelling to make it up to him, but it was around then that he felt the car wheels lifting off the road. He scrambled the think what he’d been taught about aquaplaning and then -
And then he’s sat in this hospital room, holding Simon’s cold hand to his forehead, battling with the sick feeling in his stomach that if Simon never wakes up, the last thing he’ll have said to him was…
A nurse comes in every now and then, fiddles with the dials on the machines by Simon’s bed, gives Baz a tight smile, then leaves. She's the same nurse who had stitched up the cut’s on Baz’s face. She hadn’t been talkative then either, even though Baz was irate as he demanded answers on where Simon was, and was he dead, and could he please just go see his boyfriend.
They couldn’t find Baz’s phone so he couldn’t call Penelope, but he did call his dad and ask if he could find a way to get a message to her. His dad said he would try. That was about eight hours ago now, late last night when Baz was sill freaking out because of how still Simon was, how badly he looked. Like he was dead.
It's nearly afternoon now. Baz hasn’t slept, despite the nurse and the doctor both offering him a bed and saying that he really should. But he can’t. When he closes his eyes there are just flashes of what happened. The car skidding, the noise, Simon. The police had already been to ask him questions and do a breath test. His bloods came back entirely clean. He doesn’t think they’ll be investigating further, though his insurance company are going to have a field day.
He keeps thinking about how much his policy is going to go up by, and how he’s going to replace his car, and how he’s going to let work know he won’t be in on Monday. Anything. He keeps thinking of anything other than the all but lifeless body laid in front of him. Simon looks so pale and fragile and he’s so cold .
Baz closes his eyes and presses Simon’s hand to his lips then hears a commotion outside. When he looks up Daphne bursts into the room looking panic stricken. She gasps when she sees Simon then looks at Baz. She just shakes her head and burst into tears, opening her arms and rushing over to him. She grips him into a hug and he’s forced to let go of Simon’s hand.
“Oh Baz!” She cries. Actually cries, Baz can feel the tears on his neck. “We’ve been so worried.”
His father comes into the room next, barely sparing Simon a glance, looking stoic as ever. Baz looks up at him over Daphne’s shoulder. He would think his father was entirely unaffected, but he’s spent enough time studying his face to try and mimic the emotionless expression, that he can see his jaw is just a little too tense, and he’s a little too pointed in his not looking at Simon.
“How many times have I told you not to drive in the rain, Basil.” He says tightly, and that’s how Baz knows he’s actually shaken by this.
“Sorry,” Baz says. Then asks, “Did you get in touch with Penny?”
“Mordelia’s gonna get in touch,” Daphne says, pulling away but keeping her hands on Baz’s shoulders. “She’s at home with the children. We were in such a tizz when we were coming up here we almost forgot to get someone to watch them!”
“I’m fine,” Baz says.
He is. Miraculously. His ribs are a bit sore, he’s got a bit of whiplash, and his left leg doesn’t feel quite right, but the rest are just cuts and scrapes that look a lot worse than they are. It’s Simon who bore the brunt of the crash. Baz can’t remember what he did, how he tried to right the car, but clearly he did it wrong, and now the love of his life is fighting for his life in a hospital bed. He swallows hard around the guilt and the fear.
His father finally spares Simon a glance and does the same. “I’m going to get us all a coffee,” he mumbles, fixing his already immaculate coat collar and heading back out of the room.
“He’s been so worried,” Daphne explains taking off her scarf and coat, then pulling Baz to sit back down in the chairs by Simon’s bed. “He was straight on the phone with the hospital to talk about what was happening. He was going on and on and on about private care and finding the money.” She shakes her head, then must see that Baz is really not looking for an explanation right now. She sniffs and looks around the room. “Oh, the decorations are nice. I do like a bit of tinsel.”
Baz closes his eyes and reaches back out for Simon’s hand. He’s not up for small talk, and she must see this, as she just places a hand on his back and lets them sit together in silence. He doesn’t know how long they sit there for. Baz is trying to go back through it in his head, but he can’t remember. The doctors say it’s entirely normal not to remember the trauma, but that’s not good enough. Baz put Simon in this position, he needs to know why.
He thinks he’s going crazy when he feels Simon’s fingers twitch in his, a phantom movement he's been desperate to feel all day. His head shoots up to watch Simon’s face, his eyes blink a little, and his brow furrows.
“I’ll get a nurse,” Daphne announces hurrying out.
Simon makes a noise, almost like he’s trying to say something, but it comes out a little whine. Baz swallows. “I love you,” he says, just in case, just to be sure. Simon’s mouth makes a move something like a smile, and Baz thinks that maybe everything will be okay.