PROMPT
leaving cute notes for the other on the fridge
BONUS ROUND - involve a banana or bitmoji
Tessa, you're after my heart aren't you?
A banana for you, my dear.
Prompt from this list <3
If you prefer, you are welcome to read the fic on ao3 here
Or under the cut below
(I hope you enjoy, I'm trying to shake off the rust.)
Baz
Now that uni’s back in session, it’s been more and more difficult to find time to be with Snow. He’s been working with Niamh, taking care of the animals brought to her in the evenings, and I’ve been in classes.
It’s been hard to say the least. We see each other at night, but we’re both so knackered that neither of us have much energy beyond a quick touch base before we fall asleep.
But Snow, true to his word, is putting in effort. He’s trying.
Every morning I find a note on the fridge from him.
Sometimes they’re simple. ‘Have a good day, babe’ or ‘Kick your exams arse!’
But sometimes he says he loves me. That he’s proud of me. (That one made me choke up more than it should have.) He even put something on a post-it that made me glad it’s only him and me here. Distracted me all day. Like my mind isn’t already thinking of him constantly.
(Neither of us got much sleep that night.)
Today, however, I’m staring at the fridge and it’s blank. I know he made one. He does it every night when he gets home, late enough that I’m usually on my way to bed, or getting close to it. I’ve caught him a few times as he writes them out. He frantically holds them behind his back and asks me what I’m doing.
“I’m thirsty, Snow,” I said one time.“Am I not allowed to have water?”
He coughed and grabbed me a glass, filling it to the brim with water. “Here!” He shoved it to me, spilling some on the floor. “Uh, wait.”
I looked down and back at him scrambling to grab a towel to wipe it up. His wings knocked down his empty mug that was waiting for tea, causing him more distress.
“I’ll just—” I pointed to the bedroom “I’ll meet you in bed.”
He grunted as he began picking up the pieces of his mug. The post-it note sitting on the counter, damp with water smudging whatever he was writing on it.
Since then I decided to leave him be. He gets home, makes tea, writes his note, and then comes to bed.
Him coming to bed is typically the signal that everything’s safe again. That I’m clear to move around the flat.
But last night he took longer than usual. I heard him clamber through the door, his boots hitting the floor as he shook them off his feet. (He never unties them. Just pushed them off his feet. It ruins the heel.) Even heard the typical sigh of him stretching his wings from under his shirt. (He’s still not gotten them removed. I think he’s not committed to the idea either way.) (I, for one, hope he keeps them.)
And yet, nothing.
It’s empty.
A blank fridge in a barely lit kitchen.
I take a deep breath.
I know it shouldn’t be a shock to me. The notes weren’t always going to be here, were they?
Relationships evolve and grow. This is just the next step, right? I don’t need a note every day, right? Surely I can survive without a square sticky yellow piece of paper with Snow’s horrible handwriting telling me something like hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave or don’t drain your professor dry today.
I steel myself before turning to the counter.
Tea. I need tea and then I’ll be off for the day.
While I’m warming my tea I hear the faint noise of Simon snoring in his bed.
He didn’t sleep much. I know because he was tossing and turning and keeping me awake too. Almost sent him to the sofa.
I think I was afraid to. As much as I know he’s not leaving. That things are different this time, there’s that tinge of fear that pops up.
It’s gotten less and less. Diminishing as my confidence in him, in us, grows.
If I’d have known he didn’t write me a note I would have kicked him off.
The kettle goes off and I pour myself some water for tea, spotting the fruit we have sitting on the counter.
I grab a banana and sit at the table, but when I look at it—really look this time—it’s browned.
Not just browned in the way that bananas get when they’re old, but poked through. Like someone pricked tiny holes in it to spell out words.
We’ve run out of post-its.
(Fuck, I meant to pick up more.)
I turn it over to see more writing.
And I hope this doesn’t drive you bananas.
(That explains the chuckling I heard from the kitchen last night.)
I turn it a bit more.
I love you, Baz. Good luck on your presentation.
It’s so incredibly stupid.
So incredibly soft.
No wonder it took him so long. The menace must have used a needle to do this.
I look up at the door. Simon’s still snoring softly.
I love him so much.
I place the banana down and bring the tea to my lips.
Simon
When I wake up it’s nearly one in the afternoon.
I didn’t sleep well last night, and I nearly moved to the sofa because I was afraid it was keeping Baz up.
But I didn’t want to leave him.
Sometimes it still feels too new. Like I just got him and I’m too afraid to let him go.
Surprised he didn’t kick me off himself if I’m being honest. I was waiting for it, but he’s too much of a stubborn git to do it I think.
“I’m a Vampire, Simon,” he said once when I told him he needed to go to sleep. “I’m supposed to be up all night.”
I’ll remind him of that if he complains that I kept him up.
I make myself a cup of tea and take a seat at the table. I see the banana on top of a notebook. It’s looking worse for wear. The words I pricked in are practically unrecognizable at this point, the brown around each poke spreading more and more.
I look at the notebook underneath the banana. I open it to the first page, worried that it’s one Baz needed today, but then I nearly drop it in shock.
I flip through pages and pages of paper filled up with post-it notes. All the ones I’ve left Baz over the past couple of months. (Which has been every day. I’ve shocked myself with it.)
I pull out my phone and send a text.
13:56: I love you.
13:56: I’ll be home tonight. Want takeaway?
I don’t expect a text back right away. Baz is such a stickler about phones during class. But my phone vibrates a minute later.
13:57: Yes. I can pick up. Going to grab another stack of notes for you too.
13:58: I love you too, banana head.
I snap a photo of the notebook and send it to him with the caption: You love it.
I close the notebook again (bloody sap) and continue to drink my tea.
Baz
I do, Snow, I do love it.
The small acknowledgements, the feelings of normal in a relationship with you.
I rise from my seat now that class is over, typing out my response to Simon.
14:17: I’m coming home, grabbing two sandwiches.
14:18: Don’t you have class?
14:18: I’ve suddenly become under the weather. I think I need to be taken care of.
14:19: Grab three sandwiches. I’ll make you a cup of tea and get the bed ready.