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Chapter Text

HELP WANTED

Now Next Industries, the world’s foremost corporation dedicated to the enrichment of those who need it least, is seeking a Bodyguard, responsible for providing close protection and security to Braden Bodmer, innovative, charismatic, and award-winning CEO and Founder.

The individual who fills this position will be expected to safeguard Mr. Bodmer, including: ensuring client safety outside contentious board meetings; securing a bubble of safety at conventions, conferences, music festivals, grocery stores, and annoyingly long lines for the bathroom; conducting reconnaissance work prior to client appearances to identify potential risks and propose appropriate measures; guarding Mr. Bodmer against both regular and interdimensional kidnappings, accidental or deliberate impregnation via turkey basters, abduction by aliens, and exposure to The Poor; and remaining alert and attentive at all times when on duty. Odd hours and travel may be required.

Strict confidentiality and adherence to privacy is mandatory, and any violation will be pursued to the full extent of the laws of this world and the next. A Non-Disclosure Agreement will be required. 

Now Next Industries is proud to offer a competitive salary and benefits package. Pension funds are subject to seizure if C-Suite employees are running low on walking-around money.

No experience required. Illiteracy is preferred. 

Must clear all background checks, although past murder charges are not an automatic bar if the victim later returned from the dead or really deserved it. 

Now Next is an equal opportunity employer, and all applicants will be considered for employment without regard to race, color, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, national origin, veteran or disability status. Current vampires should not apply; individuals open to becoming vampires are welcome.

Submit applications to T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch in our legal department.

Chapter Text

Penny: Did you apply?

Simon: about to

Penny: Now?

Simon: I said about to

Penny: that was 2 days ago

Simon: and 2 days ago I was about to send it

Penny: what’s your hold-up? I told you I’d hit the button if you needed me to

Simon: I just don’t see the point. I’m not going to get it.

Simon: I’m going to be stuck making other people coffee for the rest of my life

Penny: well you can always make me coffee

Simon: not helping

Penny: You can always go back to school

Simon: also not helping

Penny: you can apply for the job that I’ve basically handed you on a silver platter. How’s that for helping

Penny: the guy who runs the intranet is so annoying. I asked him one question about the link and 45 minutes later I had his whole life story

Penny: if you make my suffering all for nothing i’ll never forgive you

Simon: ok ok

Penny: Simon hit submit or I’m throwing ice water on you

Penny: I’ll make you do all the dishes for the rest of the week

Penny: I’ll tell Ruth

Simon: no you wouldn’t

Gran: Simon, Penny tells me you’re going to be working at the same company as she is! I’m so proud of you, love.

Simon: gran, don’t listen to Penny. i don’t have a new job

Gran: Oh Simon, really?

Gran: Don’t worry about it. Remember, you’re always welcome to come live with me! You can help me clean out the attic. We could turn it into a hip hangout spot for you. The cats won’t mind!

Simon: thanks gran. I don’t think you need a 27yo man living in your attic

Gran: you’ll always be my precious angel, rosebud 😇🌹 

Simon: I love you too. I’ll help you clean it out this weekend anyway

Gran: I’ll bake you your weight in cakes as thanks! Bring Penny, too.

Simon: you win i’m sending the application now

Penny: I always win.

Simon: but ur also helping me clear out gran’s attic. hope u didnt have plans saturday

Penny: ughhh is she making cake?

Simon: yes ofc

Penny: fine. tell her to make the apple cinnamon one

Chapter Text

“Yes, sir. Monday morning works. Thank you, sir.” Simon hangs up the call he’s had on speaker and both he and Penny whoop.

“I told you you’d get it!” she shouts.

“I didn’t believe you,” Simon says, hugging her and grinning now that the worst is over.  He can stop thinking about all the ways his life could go wrong: that he’ll never, ever get a job, or that he’ll be living on Penny’s data analyst salary forever, and end up having to move out from shame and live under a bridge with a family of rats as his only company. 

Or moving back in with his gran. Who’s lovely, she really is, but her house is the size of a postage stamp, and everything in it is pastel and covered in lace and stuffed with potpourri and then there’s the cats, so many cats, and even though she shuts them away when he visits since he’s allergic, he might be better off under the bridge.

“Whatever,” Penny says from under his arm, bringing him back to a lovely reality where he doesn’t have to live surrounded by rats or cats, “you have muscles—” Simon flexes and she shoves him away, “—and quick reflexes, and you’re a great read of people and you’re charming and you’re smarter than you ever give yourself credit for. That has to count for something.”

“I guess.”

“And you said your interview with Braden went okay, right? I hear he’s odd.”

Simon had had to wait for ages in a lobby that looked swanky but was too covered in chrome and glass to be comfortable, with some kind of ruckus happening down the hall. It almost sounded like someone screamed, “I DON’T CARE HOW CLOSE YOU ARE TO DISCOVERING HOW TO LIVE FOREVER! YOU’RE SELFISH, AND YOU NEVER LISTEN! IT’S NOT EVEN YOUR BABY! IT’S YOUR UNCLE’S!” which is an objectively strange thing to shout in an office. But Braden breezed in a few minutes later acting not even flustered, so Simon’s sure he must have misheard the yelling, and the glass breaking after.

What followed was a series of interview questions that Simon would prefer to think of as “quirky” rather than “batshit insane.”

• Let’s talk about how you intend to plan for assaults from both the physical and metaphysical worlds.

• Have you ever bested death?

• Where do you see yourself in three hundred years?

• On a scale of 1-10, rate your ability to detect fraud based on accidentally-glimpsed financial documents.

• How will you be able to tell if I’ve been replaced by my evil twin?

Internally, Simon had sighed. Penny’d really stuck her neck out to get him this interview and he didn’t want to let her down, even if the guy sounds like a nutjob. Maybe…maybe he’s just something of an eccentric genius. Plus, he really wanted to put in his notice at work. He  didn’t want to make anyone another grande oatmilk vanilla latte with five pumps and whip; he wanted a job where he could actually start saving up to make some forward progress on his dream of owning a goat rescue farm one day.

And the receptionist on the way in had pointed out the stocked kitchen full of name-brand snacks, all the snacks you could eat. All. The snacks. You could eat. 

This has to work.

“We’d have to establish a code word, sir,” Simon had said to Braden seriously. He loves sci-fi and mystery novels; maybe he can pull this off. “Something that would be meaningful to me, not to you, so that it wouldn’t be something your twin could guess.” Braden had leaned back, impressed, and Simon wondered how many hundreds of dollars his polar-fleece outfit was worth and if he got the job, would he get a uniform allowance? He could really use some new clothes.

“Yeah,” Simon manages at last to Penny. “Braden was a little weird, but I guess he’s your typical tech bro.”

“He didn’t even come to my interview,” Penny grumbles. “No one appreciates good data analysis.”

“I know, Pen.”

“Anyway, this is going to be so great!” she continues. “We’ll eat lunch together—”

“My hours might be weird, they said irregular shifts. And I guess I have to get an aura reading as part of my background checks—”

“—and I’ll show you around and we can commute together too! And now you’ll be able to put a face to all the annoying people I tell you about.”

“Like that guy in legal you can’t stand? The one I had to send the application to.”

“Ugh. Baz.” Penny rolls her eyes. “He’s such a stick in the mud.”

“What if I’m terrible at this job, though?”

“Simon. At least get through onboarding before you start with the self-doubt.”

“I guess it’s entry level. How hard can it be?”

“That’s the attitude.”

“And there’s benefits. Penny, I can finally go to the dentist!”

“And the eye doctor,” Penny says.

“And the eye doctor.”

“You need glasses.”

“I know, I know.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He flips her the bird, and she laughs and hands him a jam jar of rosé that she found at the back of the fridge.

“Cheers, then,” she tells him, and clinks her glass to his. “You’re going to do wonderfully.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good,” he smiles at her. “How hard could it be?”

Chapter Text

When Simon arrived for his first day, the nice secretary told him that he’d be going on a tour of the place, which is the most high-tech campus he’s ever seen, with someone in IT, of all things. In Simon’s experience, people in IT weren’t the best with communicating information, but maybe it’s different for Intranet & Paranormal Liaisons Project Managers because Shepard Love, it turns out, is great. He seems thrilled to work here, thrilled to meet Simon, and generally thrilled to be alive. He’s from Omaha, a place Simon didn’t fully believe was a real city and is still only partially sold on. But, the guy gives a great tour.

“Well, that’s everything,” Shep says, smiling, as he punches the down button by the elevator for them. Simon doesn’t know how he smiles so much. Maybe he does cheek workouts. “Sorry again to change the schedule on you. Baz really likes to start off all new hires with a lengthy read-aloud of the handbook, but the SEC figured out that Braden’s new line of juices is technically a little bit of a pyramid scheme, so he was swamped at the last minute. I think he should be free by now, though.”

“No worries, it was really helpful to get my feet under me. I’ve never seen an indoor parasailing court before. Or a séance disco.”

“Now you have,” Shep smiles again. Seriously, don’t his cheeks hurt? “I didn’t even get to show you the shark tank!”

“Oh cool, is that, like, a huge conference room?”

“No, man,” Shep laughs. “It’s a tank full of bull sharks. Employee of the month gets to feed them every day at noon.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! Who is it this month?”

Shep’s face falls. “Josh, but he tragically just passed away.”

“Oh my god! What happened?”

“You’re not going to believe it. Shark bite! It really is cool though. You’ll just miss the feeding today, but you really can’t keep Baz waiting.”

“Who’s keeping Baz waiting?” says Penny as she steps out of a hole in the wall. 

“ARGH!” Simon shouts and leaps across the hall, holding his chest; Shep seems unphased.

“What’s wrong with you?” Penny says, looking at him like he’s insane.

“Where the f—I mean, where did you come from?” Simon says, panting. “You just walked right out of that wall!”

“It’s a paternoster,” Penny says, gesturing at the hole in the wall, which has what Simon now sees is an opening with a loop of open compartments that hasn’t stopped moving. “Braden has them installed at random intervals all over the building. He says he likes feeling like a rat sneaking around in the walls. It keeps him nimble.”

“Oh hey, you’re Penny’s friend that she said was coming to work with us!” Shep says, grinning even bigger now as he looks at her and not at Simon. Simon didn’t think he could grin bigger, but there it is, all directed at Penny, who’s rolling her eyes. This guy is going to need cheek replacements before he’s sixty.

“That’s right,” Simon says, and throws his arm over her shoulder. “We live together.”

“Wait, are you guys together together?” Shep’s smile dims.

“Form 61!” shouts someone from behind the cracked office door that Simon belatedly realizes they’ve congregated around. “All romantic relationships need to be declared to avoid harassment claims and conflicts of interest.”

“Ew, no,” Penny says. “He’s like my brother.” Simon’s relieved to see Shep’s grin return to its original wattage.

“Form 184-B!” shouts the voice. “Bunce, you know from Premal that all sibling relationships need to be documented as a potential conflict of interest. And there is a checkbox for non-blood sibling relationships.”

Penny pokes her head into the office. “Ugh, Baz, don’t you have some illegal juices to be sorting?” She turns back to Simon and pushes the door open farther. “Looks like you’re not going to be ready to join me for lunch.”

“He’s got forms to fill out!” calls the voice from the office.

“Sorry, Pen,” Simon says. Penny steps aside to let him into the office behind her and his mind suddenly. Immediately. Grinds to a halt. 

See, Penny’s complained about this guy since she started, about how he’s always sending out memos, and forms, and handbook updates, and policy changes, and somehow in all the complaining she never once mentioned that he’s also gorgeous? How did that not come up? Twenty years of Best Friend Code, violated in a flash.

Soft, glowing brown skin. Dark hair falling in soft waves around his face. Full lips that Simon wants to bite. A suit that probably looked sharp as hell this morning but somehow, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, he looks even better. And the warmest brown eyes…

Simon pulls the door shut in a panic.

“Excuse me?” the guy calls from the other side.

“Penny,” Simon hisses. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you mention he looks like Damiano David??”

“Who?” Penny says.

“Oh, I can see it,” Shep says.

“Are you coming in or not?” the guy shouts through the closed door.

“I just,” Simon closes his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting him. I thought he’d be like, old. And stuffy.”

“He’s definitely stuffy,” Penny mutters.

“I heard that!” says the door. 

“He’s got brown eyes, Pen.”

“Yeah…I know that.” She gives him a duh look.

“Somehow I thought he’d have gray eyes,” Simon whispers.

“Why would he have gray eyes? Most people have brown eyes.”

“I know that.”

“I have brown eyes. Brown eyes aren’t good enough for you?”

“No!” Simon thinks about those warm depths looking back at him for the split second before he slammed the door shut. “Definitely good enough. Probably way too good.”

Penny puts her hand on his shoulder. “Simon. You can do this. They’re just payroll forms.”

“And mandatory federal disclosures!” the voice shouts. 

Simon tugs nervously on the collar of his pale green button-down. It’s a little small, which Penny said would be fine; she assured him it made him look bulkier and might help him feel the part more. “I should have bought a suit.”

Shep mirrors Penny and puts his hand on Simon’s other shoulder. “I know I haven’t known you long, my dude, but I also think you can do this.”

“Get in there and fill out those tax deductions,” Penny encourages. “I’m not waiting on you for lunch.”

“Hey, I could go to lunch with you,” Shep smiles. “If you’re heading that way.”

“I can’t stop you, I suppose,” she says sharply, and turns back to the hole in the wall.

Simon takes a deep breath and steps into the office.

“Wonderful,” The God-in-Human-Form says flatly. “You decided to come in after all. I hope you brought your social security card.”

They’re most of the way through the forms and this guy—Baz—keeps scoffing at him, and tapping his pen all around, and looking at him when he seems to think Simon won’t catch him. Simon’s sure that he’s annoyed with how long these forms are taking. He’s trying to keep up, it’s just he’s never had a job that came with so many things to fill out. Half the time it’s cash under the table and maybe a lift to work if some of the other guys live nearby. He’s never even thought about what year he’d retire, let alone started a 401(k) account.

“You know,” Baz finally huffs, “if you are dating Bunce, you really should fill out the declaration form and list her as a beneficiary on your accounts. And it affects how you complete your W-4 and what deductions you take, if you plan on getting married soon.”

“Well, we aren’t dating. And we’re definitely never getting married.”

“Because you take different deductions if you’re single or if you’re legally partnered. Or married.”

“I’m not either of those things.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 

Baz aggressively clicks his pen a few more times. “Neither am I.”

Simon tries not to smile. “All right.”

Baz slams his pen down and snatches the papers out of Simon’s hand. He hopes he made the right choice between dental packages. “Okay, I think we’re done here. The cafeteria’s probably still open if you want to try to make lunch.”

“Oh, um, sure. Are you heading that way?”

“No, I usually eat at my desk.”

Simon must look disappointed, or lost, or a combination of both, because Baz sighs, stands up, shrugs into his suit jacket. God, he’s so hot. Simon can’t decide if he’s better in the jacket or out of it, that’s how hot he is. “I suppose you don’t even remember where the cafeteria is.”

“Um, no. I’m a bit hopeless. Everything is a blur except for that room that was full of giant marshmallows.”

“Fine, I’ll walk you down. I don’t want you to wander into the lions’ den after we just went to the trouble of doing all that paperwork.”

Simon laughs. “There’s not a real lions’ den here, is there?”

“Pray you don’t find out.”

Chapter Text

“Did you hear what happened on the fifth floor?” Shep says as he puts his tray down next to Penny’s in the cafeteria. 

After a few months of Shep “happening” to show up to lunch just as she and Simon were arriving, Penny gives the impression of being resigned to the occurrence by now. Which may fool most people, but Simon’s seen her linger at the entrance until she sees Shep coming toward them and then turn away as if she weren’t watching. He’s not fooled. Penny’s always liked people she can poke at without hurting their feelings.

“No, but I bet you’re going to tell us,” Penny says dryly. 

Simon giggles.

“What, did you hear already?” Shep asks, disappointed.

“No…it was me,” Simon laughs.

“WHAT?” Shep’s eyes bug out. It might be the first time he’s ever seen Shep not smiling. 

“What’s the big deal?” Simon says around a mouthful of chocolate pudding. This place might be weird, but the cafeteria is great. “It can’t have been that messy.”

“I’d say it was pretty messy! Terry’s office is a pile of rubble. What did you do?”

Simon’s mouth drops open. “You’re joking.”

“No, I saw it earlier,” Penny says. “The 118 had to come put his office out. The captain wasn’t happy, you know they were just here earlier in the week for Braden’s fire-breathing teambuilding activity.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Admiral Minos is ever going to do a trust fall again,” Shep adds. “And I heard the doctors told him his mustache may not grow back.”

“What did you do?” Penny says to Simon urgently.

Simon’s still gaping, looking between the two of them. “I—I put Terry’s stapler in jello. Like in that episode of the Office. That guy’s a dick, he deserved it.” He looks at both of them frantically and then whispers, “Jello can’t blow up, right?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Not that I know of,” Shep says reassuringly.

“How would that even work?” says Penny. 

“Josh--you remember, the guy who died from shark bites? Anyway, he's so mad. He just returned, and now this falls in his lap since he’s the facilities manager.”

“He’s back? Oh, that must be why Baz sent out that memo about how to file for FMLA leave and PTO while presumed dead.”

Simon perks up at the mention of the hottest Director of Legal, Human Resources, Regulatory Compliance, Finance, and Strategic Operations he’s ever met. He’s been using every opportunity to try to find another way to bump into Baz, but he’s not having much success. Evidently the job keeps him a little busy, especially with Braden moving forward on his Mars colony project. 

A thought suddenly occurs to Simon. “Oh, no. Do you think Baz is mad about the jello?” If it’s his fault Baz has to send out another email, he’s going to be screwed and not in the fun way.

Penny ignores him. “That’s what Josh gets for losing his memory and getting stranded on an Amish farm. Do they know what caused it?”

“Josh’s amnesia?”

“No, who cares about that guy? The explosion.”

“Hey, maybe I should ask Baz about it,” Simon offers.

“Get this—they said it was inconclusive, but it looked like either a grenade or possibly a bee-nado.”

“Bee-nado? Like a tornado made out of bees???”

“I bet Baz would know what happened.”

“Yeah, like a tiny one. Like the bees had maybe gotten in the walls and their honey had eroded the wiring and then they also got swept up in the HVAC. And somehow everything exploded.”

“I have—just so many questions.”

“That’s what the firefighter captain said.”

“You know who’s great with questions?” Shep and Penny both turn and look at him; Penny’s unimpressed. “Um…Baz.”

Penny narrows her eyes at him. “How badly do you want to kiss Baz on a scale of 1 to 10?”

“One hundred.”

“I knew it!” Shep shouts.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Simon says, and eats another giant scoop of chocolate pudding. “He’s too good for me and anyway, we work together. You can’t date a co-worker.”

“Well, he doesn’t supervise you,” Shep says. “And if he was interested, or really, if anyone was interested in a co-worker and they were interested in them back, Baz has Form 61 for that.”

“Oh, right. He did mention that on my first day.”

“Ugh, Baz and his forms,” Penny says. “He’s so cold. I don’t see why everything has to be a form.”

“He’s not cold,” Shep says before Simon has to restrain himself. “It’s actually sweet. I filled the form out when I was dating Trixie, years ago when I first started. It asks you when the relationship started but also what you like about the person and how you met. Baz even used to send flowers and a gift card on your anniversary. I think at heart, he’s a real romantic, even though I’m not sure I’ve ever known him to be in a relationship. He's a sweet guy. He deserves someone to sweep him off his feet.” 

Simon’s heart aches, just a bit.

Penny scoffs. “Trixie, huh?”

Shep smiles at her. “Yeah, it didn’t last long. We’re better off as friends. Baz’s form helped us realize that, actually—all the things we liked about each other weren’t really romantic. Sometimes the spark’s not there,” and then Shep’s voice catches as he looks at Penny, who’s failing to look anywhere else, “and sometimes it really is.”

“Well, speaking of spark,” Simon says, standing up quickly to leave them to their staring contest, “I should really go talk to Baz about this fire. For security reasons. Maybe he needs some help.”

They don’t notice when he leaves.

Chapter Text

When Simon learned he was being sent on his first business trip for Now Next, he was nervous. Braden’s keynote at ScamCon (tagline: the “Fyre Festival” of Predatory Meeting Organizers) is a huge deal—everyone's going to be there. And given that the attendees like to hold each other for large ransoms from their boards of directors, Simon’s role of conducting security reconnaissance, advance route planning, and location scouting was incredibly important.

Simon couldn’t believe he was being trusted with this task after only being with the organization a few months, but Admiral Minos had gotten cholera at the last minute from a Subway sandwich, and there was no one else available—Simon had to go.

So he was understandably intimidated even before he was told that he’d be accompanied by Baz.

Simon’s been trying to come up with excuses to get to know Baz better ever since they had lunch his first day. “Investigating” the “bee-nado” was a bust; turns out there was a lot of paperwork Baz had to handle as a result of bees showing up in his office building and causing a fiery explosion—and on top of everything, Josh the not-dead facilities manager was allergic to bees, because the man can’t seem to stop being a problem, so that was a whole thing. 

Simon’s been trying to think creatively about how he can get himself into Baz’s office without being an HR issue, but he’s not sure he can justify stopping by to change his retirement accounts even one more time. Especially since he can’t seem to transition the conversation from investment funds to something more personal, like, would you ever be interested in a man who volunteers at a goat rescue on the weekends? and is not having a university degree a deal breaker for you in a romantic partner? and can I lick your face? 

From the moment he got the trip details, it felt like this trip could be the opportunity he’d been looking for, but Simon was scared, too. What if they had nothing to talk about? What if Baz could tell Simon had no idea what he was doing and hated him for it? Baz is so competent. He’d be right to be judgmental.

But out of the office, Baz was surprisingly relaxed and kind. After they were done visiting the venue—Simon, to plan escape routes and also to take EMF readings, because, Braden told him seriously, their competitors had begun using ghosts to steal their trade secrets, and Baz, to finalize a partnership deal with the Ponzi brothers, who were also sponsoring the conference—Baz learned that Simon was going to Olive Garden for dinner because it seemed the easiest option. He was so horrified that he insisted Simon had to join the reservation he’d already made at a Michelin-starred restaurant nearby.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to do this?” Simon had whispered for the tenth time, gawking at the prices on the menu.

“Haven’t you ever used an expense account before for work purchases?” Baz had replied, looking over the wine list with a sneer on his face.

“Once the project manager for my last construction company bought us soft pretzels, but that was just to cheer us up after he ran over Duckie in front of us.”

Baz had looked up from the wine menu. “He ran over a duck?”

“No, just one of those used car lot tube guys with the wavy arms.” Simon demonstrated, even though he thought Baz got it the first time. “It was kind of our mascot. I know it sounds dumb, but you have to take joy where you can find it.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Baz had said, but he was looking at Simon much more softly than Simon would have expected. And then he’d shifted his foot so they were touching under the table, just a bit. Simon knows it must have been inadvertent, but he’ll take it all the same.

So yes, Simon considered the evening a success up to this point. But now, Simon and Baz both stand in the doorway to their sizable hotel room, staring at the giant bed in front of them.

“They said it would be two beds,” Baz finally says. “When I called to find out if they had another room available, they said no because the World Clown Association Convention is in town, but they assured me many times that it was fine because there would be two twin beds.”

“Well,” Simon says, rolling his brand new carry-on into the room, the carry-on he bought especially for this trip, “there aren’t. There’s only one bed.”

Baz still hasn’t moved. “This is unacceptable.”

“Look, if it really bothers you that much, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Simon offers, hoping with every fiber of his being that Baz doesn’t make him sleep on the floor. He’s too old for that to be a real suggestion. He hopes Baz knows that, but he feels like he has to offer. Anything to make this not quite so awkward as it is.

“No, Snow,” Baz sighs. Simon likes that he calls him Snow; he’s never had a nickname before. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. It’s a California King, there’s plenty of room. We can even put pillows down the middle since we don’t know each other well, if you’re worried about it.”

“No, it’s fine. We’re both adults,” Simon says, knowing that nothing, not even a wall of pillows, is going to stop him from waking up spooning the shit out of this man. I mean, he’s going to try! He is absolutely going to mentally will himself to stay on his side of the bed. But since he finds himself drawn to Baz like a magnet when he’s awake, Simon can’t imagine asleep will be much better. 

Simon’s shocked and thrilled when he wakes up in the morning to discover that Baz has knocked down the pillow wall in his sleep and has Simon wrapped tightly in his arms. Simon allows himself exactly two minutes of luxuriating before easing himself out of the bed and into the shower so they can both pretend like they enjoyed a professional, co-worker-appropriate snuggle-free night. He wonders, though, if maybe he wasn’t the only one awake; as Simon began to extricate himself reluctantly, he could have sworn Baz smelled his hair.

Simon even managed to get Baz’s number at the beginning of the trip “just in case we get separated.”

All in all, a success.

Chapter Text

“Please?” Simon begs.

“No,” Baz says flatly. “Ask Bunce.”

“She already said no.” 

“Why does she get to say no and I don’t?”

“No one would believe Pen and I are dating. There’s no chemistry.” Simon doesn’t say he hopes the same’s not true for him and Baz. He’s concerned it’s painfully obvious at this point but he’s attempting to not look it in the face.

“Why is the coffee shop even having a couples’ discount? Feels dated. And prejudiced.”

“Ebb’s a lesbian.”

“Lesbians can be dated and prejudiced. Let lesbians have flaws.”

“Ebb said it’s her coffee shop and if she likes to see people in love come in, she’s allowed. And then she gave me a free cookie.”

“I see. Bribery, is it? So much for your ethics.”

“I have ethics, but none of them apply to the opportunity for legally obtained free food.”

Baz huffs. “Can’t I just buy you a coffee? I’d rather buy one than have to lie about being in a relationship.”

Simon doesn’t say that it wouldn’t have to be a lie. He’s very professional about it, thanks. “It’s a coffee and a scone and it’s the principle of the thing.”

“The principle being obtaining merchandise under false pretenses?”

“I’m an orphan!”

“You can’t…” Baz closes his eyes. “You can’t say that every time you don’t get your way.”

“Come on, Baz. I’m single, you’re single…” Simon pauses for a heartbreaking moment in case Baz has a reason to contradict this, then barrels forward, “...and it’s not fair for couples to get free things.”

Baz shakes his head. It’s the same as a ringing endorsement in anyone else. 

At the door to the elevator, Simon reaches for Baz’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“They’re gonna know we’re not a couple…” Simon pauses for a moment to let Baz contradict that, which doesn’t even make any sense, what would Baz contradict, but discovering he was in a relationship with Baz without knowing it wouldn’t come close to being the weirdest thing that’s happened to him since starting here, “...if you don’t hold my hand.”

“They’re not even paying that close attention.”

“Gareth tried to fake a relationship last week and now he’s banned for life.”

Baz had allowed Simon to grasp his fingers loosely but now he pulled away. “Okay, this isn’t worth it.”

“Please?” Simon begs again. “I know you like those overly sweet drinks that cost, like, fifteen dollars.”

“Ugh. fine. For an orphan.”

You like me, Simon thinks, pleased. He hopes. 

Simon takes his hand for real this time. It’s cool. It—it’s nice. He likes it. 

Baz complains less the next day and by the end of the week, he’s barely bothering.

It’s wonderful.

Two weeks later, they happen to be leaving the building at the same time. As usual, Simon’s telling Baz the latest drama (Braden’s announced a new company-wide initiative to make all small businesses in the country with a hundred employees or less go under, on the grounds that only large corporations can appropriately look out for people’s best interests, and Josh has amnesia, again, which at this point just feels like he’s not even trying to keep his memories). As usual, Baz is half-listening and half-reading email on his phone. And when they get to the elevator, Baz takes Simon’s hand automatically, just like he always does when they leave the office and head to the coffee shop.

Except, of course, it’s after seven in the evening and they’re not going for the lovebird discount at Ebb’s. They’re not even going the same direction once they leave the front doors; Baz will be heading to the parking lot and Simon will take the bus home.

Simon’s story stutters but he catches himself before Baz notices; he tries to act as normal, to remember how to act normal. 

What if this could be his normal? Leaving with Baz, on purpose. Getting to go the same way home.

He gets to hold Baz’s hand all the way through the front doors before Baz notices what he’s done, turns bright red, and suddenly pretends he’s running late for a meeting and runs off to his car. 

Simon’s both elated and despairing. It feels like—well, that’s probably it, isn’t it? If Baz is that embarrassed or upset about holding his hand when it’s not for a slightly-fraudulently-obtained markdown, Simon isn’t likely to be able to convince him to go to Ebb’s again. For someone as obviously well off and fancy and smart and beautiful as Baz, Simon’s probably pushed the charade as far as he could in the name of a 50% discount on coffee.

So Simon’s surprised when, the next day, Baz comes by the break room. Simon’s just gotten his first opportunity of the day for down time, after having to stand watch outside the doors of a board meeting that lasted four hours and included (he heard through the door) resolutions to declare war on blood-sucking vampires and processed sugar, and to incorporate more microplastics in the next line of smoothies, and he’s thirsty, and hangry, and tired, and all he really wants to do is hold an HR professional’s hand while he eats his feelings. “You look like you need a scone,” Baz says, and takes his hand when they leave the elevators.

Simon loves Ebb’s lovebird discount. He hopes she never, ever stops running it. Or at least, never tells anyone if she does.

Chapter Text

“Hey Gareth, have you seen Baz? I need to redo my investment form.”

“Admiral, have you seen Baz Pitch? I need to see him about my tax deductions.”

“Pippa, you haven’t seen Baz, have you? He’s usually in by now.”

“Pen, where’s Baz? I haven’t seen him at all.”

“You have a quota, Simon.”

“I can’t hit it if I can’t find him.”

“Go ask his secretary then, since it’s so pressing.”

“Ms. Possibelf, have you seen Baz?”

She looks up at him with big silver eyes. “Mr. Pitch is taking a personal day.”

“Is he okay? Only, he doesn’t take personal days.”

“He does, because he’s taking one today.”

Simon wavers. He has Baz’s number from the memorable trip when they had to share a bed—I mean, had to engage in very professional work activities!!—but he hasn’t had an excuse to use it. Surely this is an emergency that warrants it, though.

Hey Baz, I noticed you weren’t at work today. Is everything all right? would be a normal, reasonable, professional text to send. ARE YOU OKAY PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T VIOLATE YOUR OWN POLICY OF GIVING 2 WEEKS NOTICE BEFORE DYING!! would be less reasonable, but Simon’s never been accused of being a reasonable man where Baz Pitch is concerned.

It takes Baz a worrying amount of time to respond.

HR Hottie: Who is this? How did you get this number?

Shit. Um—It’s Simon Snow. From work.

From dating? 

Not real dating. 

Not that you’d forget real dating.

Just discount dating.

I mean, dating for a discount

And from sleeping together?

No, just on the business trip.

I MEAN that’s how I have your number. From the business trip we took together where we happened to share a bed but it was totally professional and not a big deal.

Simon wishes he’d thought about the possibility that Baz hadn’t actually saved his number before he’d launched straight into a message looking for proof of life.

HR Hottie: I’m joking, Snow. I took your number, too, remember?

Simon lets out a relieved breath but doesn’t reply; Baz’s bubbles are bubbling.

HR Hottie: Thank you for checking on me. I’m not dead. I just have a horrible cold. Although this reminds me that I need to establish a protocol for who I would give my two weeks’ death notice to…

HR Hottie: Sorry to cause you to miss your discount. As soon as my throat stops aching, I’ll be back in.

Simon’s break is up, so he heads back on duty standing guard over the Big Cherry, Braden’s bright red cyber truck, which somehow keeps ending up with I’M A FASCIST spray-painted on the side. (Simon suspects it might be Minos who’s doing the graffiti. He sighs really heavily every time he looks at it. Although maybe he’s discouraged that he survived cholera just to be put on security for the stupidest vehicle ever made.) But although Simon’s outwardly surveying the PKE meter for spiritual vandalizers, he can’t help thinking about Baz, feeling achy and miserable. He knows Baz lives alone from a comment he made while they were waiting for Braden to be turned over after Jeff Bezos kidnapped him for a practical joke; Baz had said he didn’t think anyone would pay a ransom for him, not even his crazy aunt. And he seemed to mean this affectionately? 

Clearly, Baz isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to take good care of himself, definitely not in the way he deserves. And he doesn’t seem to ever get sick, he won’t know what to do! Does he even have medicine at his place? Or cough drops, or soup? Simon got the impression he does a lot of takeout. 

Simon thinks about how lucky he is that when he’s been sick, he’s been able to camp out on his gran’s pink sofa and she’ll happily feed him an endless supply of chicken noodle. It’s never failed to make him feel better, both because it’s objectively delicious (Penny asks for it every time she has a cold) and because it feels good to have someone care enough to tend to you.

He makes up his mind, and calls Ruth the next time he can step off duty.

That evening, it’s only after he’s texted Baz, Are you well enough to come out? as he’s walking up to Baz’s front door that it occurs to him this might be really, really weird, showing up at someone’s house unannounced, without them having volunteered their address. It’s Dev’s fault, though. He wouldn’t have given Simon the address if it had been weird, right?

But before he can drop his things and run, Baz opens the door. He’s wearing a plush, worn-looking robe and pajama pants, and his hair’s a mess; his nose is bright red and his eyes are puffy. He’s got a fistful of tissues and he’s coughing while opening the door. Simon smiles despite himself. Baz is so lovely. 

After he finishes coughing, Baz finally looks at Simon and blinks. He looks stunned. Simon hopes he’s not going to call the police on him for creeper behavior. “Snow, you’re…you’re wearing glasses.”

“Oh!” Simon reaches up and touches them self-consciously, then runs his hands down his front, over his faded hoodie, his baggy jeans. Maybe he should have made more of an effort, but he’d been in a hurry. “I ran home after work and changed. Braden’s trying to create a perfume that smells like anthrax but it was really irritating my eyes.” He holds up the hamper, embarrassed. “And I brought you some things. Or, my gran made some things for you.”

Baz looks like he wants to say something else, but instead sneezes fifteen times in a row until Simon gets worried he’s going to fall over. Finally, he blows his nose and says, “Come in, come in. Dev let me know you might be showing up.”

Inside the doorway, Simon kicks off his shoes and follows Baz down the hall. It’s a nice place, but sterile and empty-looking, and they end up in a combo kitchen/living room that’s sparkling like it never sees much action. “Sorry if this is weird.”

Baz blows his nose again, throws away his tissues, and washes his hands while Simon unpacks enough food from his hamper to feed an army. Gran had been thrilled when she got his call earlier in the day, and maybe she’s overdone it a bit. He’s got at least a gallon of chicken noodle soup that’s still steaming when he peels the lid off; she also sent fresh-baked bread, one literal pound of menthol cough drops, and chamomile tea she grew in her own tiny garden. Simon added in a humidifier, just in case, and some flowers. You can bring flowers to a sick co-worker, right?

“Is all this for me?” Baz finally says, blowing his nose again.

“Um. Yeah,” Simon says, ruffling his hair. “That’s my gran’s chicken soup, and it’s guaranteed to have you better in no time. It’s never failed me.”

“Your grandmother made me soup?” Baz says finally, seeming utterly baffled. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“Well…I might have told my gran you were sick, and I might have mentioned you to her before…I mean, only once or twice. Probably. And I might have sounded a little concerned when I called her.” 

“Simon…” Baz says weakly. He leans against the kitchen island and puts his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says in a small voice. “This is weird, isn’t it? I was just worried about you and I couldn’t stand the thought of you not feeling good.”

Baz peeks through his fingers. “I’m mad at you,” he finally says.

Simon feels his stomach drop. “Hey, we can pretend this never happened, okay? I’m sorry. Please don’t—you don’t have to issue a new policy memo about me, I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”

“I’m mad at you,” Baz continues, as if Simon hadn’t said anything, “because I want to kiss you.”

Simon feels like maybe he’s losing his mind. “Wha—what?”

“I want to kiss you, and I feel terrible,” Baz whines. “Everything aches and I can taste my own spit and I’ve been through a box and a half of tissues already, and this is not how I pictured our first kiss going.”

Simon finally huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You—you’ve pictured our first kiss?”

Baz gives him a look like Simon’s an idiot, and well, maybe Simon is, because he finds himself moving toward him with his arms out almost involuntarily, germs notwithstanding. But Baz wards him off. “Of course I have, and it can’t happen when I’m contagious and miserable!”

Simon is about to argue with that aggressively because excuse me, it absolutely can, contagion has nothing on the terrible case of Incurable Pining that Simon’s been doing for months. 

But Baz starts coughing, and no. Because the thing is, Simon’s also pictured their first kiss—a lot—and their second and third and fourth one, too, and a lot of other things, some rated T and some…not, but in none of those imaginings did Baz sound like he was auditioning for the role of Consumption Victim #2. Baz deserves better than Simon trying to stick his tongue down his throat when what he needs down his throat are fluids. 

No, not that kind of fluids! Good lord, all of you. He needs tea. Simon looks around the kitchen, finds an electric kettle to click on, and brings Baz a glass of water. “You’re going to sit down,” he orders, “on that thing that I think is a sofa. It looks like a slab of concrete. Is it one of those pieces of furniture that looks uncomfortable but is really like a cloud?” 

Baz looks at it and shrugs. “The place was furnished when I rented it. I don’t think I’ve ever sat on it.”

This man. Someone’s got to do something about him. Simon’s determined it’s going to be him. “At least find yourself a blanket,” Simon says firmly, “and sit there and don’t move.”

Baz wanders off and comes back with a giant knitted thing over his shoulders to a cup of tea Simon’s got steeping for him. “Will you—” Baz clears his throat. “Will you at least stay and have some soup with me? It seems a shame for you to not get to enjoy it too.”

Simon’s on the verge of telling him no, Baz needs rest, he needs to sleep. But he looks so small hunched over in his blanket, and what if he starts running a fever, and he said he wants to kiss me—

“Okay,” says Simon. “I’ll stay.”