Chapter Text
New York winters are cold. Albert DaSilva knows this. Albert DaSilva is wearing a sweatshirt and a jacket and a beanie and gloves and a scarf. And fuzzy socks and boots. Albert DaSilva might not be warm, but he definitely isn’t cold. It’s not like the cold weather came as a surprise to anyone. December had kicked down the door of Manhattan with blustery winds and freezing rain for a solid week. Now the roads and sidewalks were icy and yet, Albert DaSilva still has classes to get to. So he leaves his apartment with plenty of time and a travel mug of coffee and starts walking to class.
New York winters are cold. Racetrack Higgins does not know this. Racetrack Higgins is wearing a short sleeved shirt and a zip up hoodie. And vans sneakers. Racetrack Higgins is freezing . And maybe he’s trying to prove a point because before Albert had left their apartment that morning he had warned Race how cold it would be. And Race had scoffed. So here he is, trying to walk down the sidewalk without falling over so he can just get to class. Racetrack Higgins is just a little bit of an idiot. Somehow, he makes it to class and suffers through an entire advanced calculus lecture, still shaking. The person sitting next to him passes him a hand warmer from their pocket and offers him a bit of their fuzzy blanket and he almost laughs out loud. College . But the lecture ends and he’s just starting to get warm, but he packs up his bag and braves the cold once more. At least he only has two classes today.
Albert’s class time means he gets home a half hour earlier than Race on Thursdays, and usually he just makes something easy for lunch and waits for him to get home but today he just pulls off his jacket, shoes, gloves, and beanie and falls face first onto the couch, barely having enough presence to pull a blanket haphazardly over him before he starts dozing. Not really all the way asleep, but definitely not awake either. He figures he’ll wake up when Race opens the door, loud as always, looking for something to eat and someone to listen to him complain about the aggravating guy in his criminal justice elective. Albert’s always there so what’s one time? He can sleep. It’ll be fine.
Race’s hands are shaking so badly he can’t get his keys out of his pocket and it takes him way too many tries to get the key in the lock. He’d knocked, loudly , but either Albert wasn’t home (unlikely) or he was ignoring him (more unlikely, unless he’d left his hair in the drain again) (he didn’t think he had). Once he finally manages to get the door open, he steps inside and shuts the door, leaning back against it and frowning at the kitchen. Usually Albert makes them both lunch on Thursdays, not that he has to, and usually Race would be fine with making food but not today. Today of all days, Race does not want to do anything except curl up with one of Albert’s hoodies and about fifteen blankets. And maybe Albert. If he can forgive him for not answering the door. Although that really might be unforgivable. Race starts walking unsteadily to one of the bedrooms, (which ever’s closest, he’s not picky), but he stops once he sees Albert sprawled out on the couch, laying on his back. His fuzzy-sock covered feet are poking out from the end of a blanket that really is only covering his legs, and his (or, no wait, that’s Race’s) sweatshirt is riding up a bit, and his hair is an absolute mess. He looks amazing. And warm.
Race drops his bag on the ground and flops on top of Albert, shoving his ice-cold hands up his sweatshirt and his toes onto his ankles. Albert yelps, although from the cold or the fall onto him, Race doesn’t know, and he just pushes his nose into Albert’s neck and tries to stop shaking.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you-” Albert starts and Race picks his head up and kisses him, sliding his hands around to his back. Albert kisses him back, freeing his hands from the blanket and cupping Race’s face with one hand while the other goes to the small of his back.
“Jesus you’re freezing,” he mutters and Race just looks at him for a moment.
“No sh-shit,” he stutters and Albert laughs quietly, running the fingers of one hand through Race’s hair and pulling him closer with the other.
“Why didn’t you wear a coat, you dork?”
“Because you s-said it was t-too cold to g-go without one,”
“Ah,” Albert nods sagely, “Your fragile masculinity.” Race pulls a hand out from his sweatshirt just to hit Albert’s chest lightly. Albert catches his wrist though, and laces their fingers together. Everything’s quiet for a moment and Race’s teeth stop chattering after a bit. Albert’s fingers on Race’s waist slide just under his shirt, thumb rubbing over his spine softly and Race relaxes just a little more. Albert feels like he might fall asleep again and lets his eyes slip closed, hand stilling on his back. Race makes a soft noise of protest so Albert starts moving his thumb again, and Race smiles sleepily into his neck.
“Do you want to move to the bed?” Albert mumbles after another minute and Race groans,
“Don’t wanna move.”
“Bed would probably be warmer,” Albert points out, and Race grumbles for a minute, until Albert sits up slowly, scooping Race up and standing. He makes a pleased noise and wraps his arms around Albert’s neck as he walks them both into their bedroom. Or, really it’s just his, but he’s got the better bed and they almost always both sleep in his room because of it. Albert dumps Race on the bed and pulls his shoes off of him and lets him pull the blankets over himself, while he goes to the closet and grabs a few extra blankets from his top shelf and covers Race with those too, for good measure, before climbing in himself. Race wraps a leg around him and sticks a hand up his sweatshirt again, and Albert wraps an arm around him. And maybe it’s just past noon on a Thursday in December, but they couldn’t care less, wrapped up in the blankets and each other.