Chapter Text
The chill in the air had numbed Gavin’s face to the point he wasn’t sure how much or how little expression it held. Despite how strange it felt to move his lips, he continued his conversation with Kent. “I remember playing that at my uncle’s. That shit got so intense, one of my cousins almost broke the TV when she lost a tennis match.”
From next to him, he heard a quiet huff of amusement. Lately, the sound had started to feel like an achievement. “My sister snubbed me during a Thanksgiving gathering because of it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. We were bored the night before we went on a road trip to Indiana and knew we’d have no video games for a few days, so we marathon-played MarioKart and kept a tally going. By the last race it was a draw, and we decided to settle it with Rainbow Road.”
Gavin let out a short laugh, remembering the long-buried anguish of racing his relatives on it and losing sorely. “Naturally.”
“ Yeah. She was in the lead, I was close behind, and in the last lap I got a red shell and used it. She fell behind and wound up getting pushed off the road by another character. I finished in first place, she was eleventh and pissed, screeching bloody murder through the whole end of the race. Afterwards, she demanded a re-match. I didn’t want one since I’d won fair and square, and our ensuing argument was so loud our mom came out of her room and took the remotes from us. That was one silent road trip the next day, and it made Thanksgiving dinner even more awkward at times. We didn’t acknowledge each other’s existence in conversations and our relatives were so bewildered. As an angsty teen, I thought that was hilarious.”
Gavin grinned at that, or at least tried to. “I never knew you were so petty, old man.”
In mock defense, he replied, “hey, Jocelyn started it. Besides, everyone knows the stress that game can put on relationships.”
“I guess so,” Gavin replied, his focus turning elsewhere. He tried to clench his fists and found his fingers difficult to move. His apartment was drawing nearer, but it was still a bit of a walk, and he began to wring his hands. Even in his attempt to warm himself up, the cold from the evening continued pressing in on him.
“You don’t have siblings, do you?” Kent guessed.
“You got me.”
That earned another huff of amusement. Gavin’s heart stirred at the sound, and he shifted his attention elsewhere. He glanced over the light of the dying sun reflecting on the windows across the street, and even paid more attention to the chill that grasped at him. Anything that wasn’t that strange, long-buried feeling and its feeble fight for recognition.
The wind nudged at the duo as they retraced their steps back to Gavin’s place, and a silence settled over them. It didn’t concern Gavin; it seemed a good half of their time spent together was wordless companionship. Drinking coffee, aimless walks by their places, working out. In a way it was for the better, less chances to fuck up a conversation and drive his friend away in a repeat of past habits. On that winter night, it was the perfect opportunity to ignore strange feelings, ones that went beyond feeling like his face had turned into an icicle.
From the corner of his vision, he saw Kent look at him. Before Gavin could think much about it, he continued staring forward, intent on their route.
Gavin wondered if Kent wanted to speak again. Though Kent walked with his typical, confident stride, stiffened a bit by the intensifying chill, it seemed like a possibility. Why else would he be looking over at him? Once Gavin was defrosted, he’d complain about the events of his day, how incompetent his colleagues could be with filling out paperwork. A typical conversation piece for the both of them.
He let his hands fall back to his sides, his efforts to warm them futile.
The little cafe on the street corner caught Gavin’s attention with its stock photo-quality decal and familiar red door. He grew reassured they’d be indoors soon, out of the invasive cold of another winter night. Gavin hadn’t expected it to be so damn windy that day or for the temperature to drop so much, but it proved a harsh reminder of what season they were still in.
It was strange when Kent glanced over again, looking Gavin up and down before turning his attention away. Since when was that a habit? Kent preferred vigilance, always casting his sharp gaze over their public surroundings with the same attentiveness, whether it was the firing range or a mellow little coffee shop.
He wrote it off as a coincidence, though he didn’t know what of, and ignored his own growing interest. Instead, he mentally recalled how he’d complained over Garcia’s shoulder earlier that day, jabbing his finger at the transparent screen and the glaring inaccuracies on the report before them. His jaw clenched in frustration.
Kent shot him another brief glance. And then, following what must’ve been a couple minutes, another. Gavin began to tense up.
It happened yet again, and Gavin’s irritation at being the target of such unusual attention displayed itself.
“What?” He asked, impatient. Of all the people to befriend, Gavin had chosen one that’d proven himself a master of ambiguous expressions. At times it was fascinating, even impressive that Kent could keep such a steadfast appearance while maintaining an underlying intensity. Other times, like that evening, it became a point of frustration.
“You look cold,” Kent remarked, a neutral observation to match his neutral scrutinizing.
“Cause it is,” Gavin stated the obvious right back at him, looking him over in suspicion. Beneath the pale streetlights, Kent’s cheeks and nose were tinted a notable shade of pink.
“You don’t have gloves on.”
“I’m off-duty. I don’t need them.” Gavin plunged his numbed hands into his already-filled pockets.
Kent’s dry amusement lightened his question. “You sure about that?”
Gavin squared his shoulders, trying to nestle his fingers into the soft and warm lining to no avail. “Course I’m sure.” His teeth clenched at the dull ache in his joints.
Kent didn’t press further. A silence returned between them; the passing of cars, pedestrians, and occasional piercing wind gusts became white noise. Gavin figured their little exchange was over.
Handling his own key fob was a struggle with chilled fingers. It was an inconvenience more than a true threat, but Gavin still disliked how he fumbled at unlocking his front door, almost dropping the keys before an audience of one.
They both settled in; Gavin stepped out of his shoes, grateful he didn’t have to deal with untying them, and flopped onto his couch with a tired sigh. His body sank into the worn upholstery, and he flexed his hands, fighting through the sluggishness in an attempt to warm them back up.
Kent settled next to him on the couch, looking him over with that same damned expression.
Gavin made a face at him in question and turned his focus to his TV, wondering if he should put something on.
“Let me see your hands.”
Gavin froze, his thoughts halting as he processed the quiet request. He contemplated asking Kent what the Hell he wanted to do.
Instead, Gavin turned and looked at him. He brought his hands between them, slow and cautious.
Kent took them in his own, free of the black gloves he’d worn during their walk. Cradling Gavin’s hands, Kent inspected his fingers. They were a shade of agitated pink as they trembled from temperature change and uncertainty alike.
“Christ, they’re cold,” Kent cursed, his prominent eyebrows furrowed in concern. He enveloped Gavin’s fingers and began to rub at them. The motion was so gentle, Gavin hardly noticed how his fingers began to sting.
He fought down the heat traveling to his face at being touched in such a way, and he couldn’t bring himself to look Kent in the eye.
Kent remained focused on Gavin’s hands, coaxing feeling back into them with a cautious touch. “You idiot,” he murmured the insult with clear fondness. “Not wearing gloves. Are you trying to get frostbite?”
It took a second to process his words, distracted by how warm Kent’s hands were as they massaged his fingers. “Of course not,” he defended, no bite to his words. The stinging began to subside, and Gavin remained mesmerized by the very-real sight of Kent’s hands on his own.
The more feeling that returned, the more Gavin noticed the occasional roughness of calluses on the pads of Kent’s fingers, how gentle his touch remained. How his thumbs caressed Gavin’s finger pads in a gradual motion, as though he were committing the feel of Gavin’s skin to memory. The mere thought of that idea felt ridiculous, but even if Gavin had wanted to, he couldn’t shift his gaze away.
A warmth settled over Gavin, one that didn’t come from his more comfortable surroundings. It spread from something else, a little spark of heat in his chest. A feeling he wanted, beyond anything else, to ignore. Kent was a friend fretting over him in a way he’d never expected to encounter, that was all there was to their little interaction.
Talking himself out of what he felt did nothing to cool the growing heat in his face.
Kent stopped, but didn’t let go. “Warmed up now?”
Gavin nodded, and he spared a glance up at him. Kent’s eyes locked with his, soft and observant, and Gavin swore a blush still dusted his face. Those green eyes watched him in such a tender way he hadn’t witnessed before, and to his aggravation his heart sped up at that. How was he the subject of that kind of attention? And why wasn’t he so angry over that?
He asked questions he didn’t want to know the answer to.
In a moment, Kent’s expression turned neutral once more, and he let go of Gavin’s hands. “Good,” he remarked with a curt nod, moving out of Gavin’s reach.
His hands hovered for a moment where Kent left them. Kent lounged back on the opposite side of the couch, and Gavin let his hands fall onto his lap. Before he could think too hard about what just happened, Gavin occupied himself with the familiar routine of brewing coffee.
“The usual?” Gavin asked, as unwavered as he could sound. He already knew the answer; Kent didn’t surprise him with his beverage preferences anymore.
“Yes, please.”
The return of predictability soothed a part of Gavin, and he decided whatever just happened must’ve been an exception.
Even as Gavin went through the well-recited process of preparing coffee, his hands working at the machine through muscle memory, they felt strange without Kent’s hands surrounding them. Barren. Gavin wanted that to be a side effect of dethawing hands, but he knew it wasn’t so simple.
It was a naive part of him, a tiny voice he longed to silence, that hoped he’d feel Kent’s hands on his own again.