Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Snow was glistening, ice was breaking light and Williams’s lashes were already holding little specks of frozen condensation. Despite the cold early December brought in the mountains it was quite a pleasant day; birds who were staying throughout winter, chirping happily and children cheerfully playing in the snow around the resort. William was lounging in the early-afternoon sun with a book in hand, not really paying much attention to the world around him. It had been a good week. Sisky and Mike dragged him to the ski lodge to relax about three days ago and it’d been the most exercise he’d done since he finished high school.
After Sisky and Mike got back from lunch they’d go skiing again, mostly just using up the sun, which would soon leave to make room for a snowstorm.
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The hills were steep, but William has been skiing since he could walk. He and his family would always leave for the annual trip in December. Courtney had always been better. Not that William would admit that, even on his death bed, but she was always more graceful; bending her legs and swaying parallel to the snowed on hilltops. That wasn’t to say William was just a giraffe standing on some logs however. While she might have been better in technique, he was always far faster. His speed made him cocky, leaving Courtney to chase after his rapidly ascending form, looping between the trees.
Despite growing older he’s never shook off the habit of disappearing between the trees, leaving everyone in a daze of snowy dust.
This time had been same as always; William leaving everyone behind to just taste failure behind their scarves and googles.
Sisky had been rather upset when he reached the bottom of the slope and William was nowhere to be found. It was one thing repeatedly showing off, but completely different to ditching you for being slower. He was all pouty when Mike stopped at his side pushing his scarf aside to make his voice clearer “Where’s Bill?” he asked.
Sisky shrugged “Probably at the top again,” he tried his very best not to sound disappointed and to hide his ever growing pout.
Everything was fine, until it wasn’t.
William was just trying to annoy Sisky a bit, skiing between the trees, going off the trails where the snow was softer, yet crisper. It was fun for a while dodging branches, going around and between barely visible peaks of long deserted bushes.
He’d been going fast, jumping on nature made springboards, when his skis didn’t just land on the ground. They had gone sideways. His ski boots were clicked off. He was sent plying in the air, dancing with the slowly falling snowflakes.
He was weightless in the air, yet nowhere near graceful, just rolling in the space between trees.
He wished his hair was shorter, when it started curling around his head right in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see a damn thing. He tried turning his head to at least see something, but nothing came. Soon he could see again; the elastic holding the googles to his head got caught on one branch or the other and they were left behind.
He slammed on the ground his wrist hitting against a stray branch, shaking half of the spruce. His hair was dusted in an array of spruce needles, the ones missing his face stabbing the softly chilled skin around his eyes. He hoped he’d stop now, but his lithe body went on rolling down the hill. He hit a stump; he hit it so hard it smashed the breath right out of him.
Tumbling lower, he grazed a frozen bush. Broken sharp nubs growing out of the tree were sharp enough to pierce his jacket in some places and its isolation was spewing out.
There was an array of things he hit after, each more painful than the previous and his body and crying were screaming for a break.
The underside of his nails was stuffed with snow from when he tried to break his fall and by now his fingers were cold enough for it not to melt anymore.
The blinding pain was making him want to vomit, but he was shaking enough already.
He promised himself, he’d only lie in the snow blanket for a moment, gaining enough energy to stand.
Snow started picking up, decorating the already pale plateaus with more snow. The cold was biting William in every inch of his body, taking only bare minutes to attack skin shielded by his thick winter clothes. After a while the cold became unbearably hot, burning him to no end, but as everything before, it past soon becoming a soothing pillow. Maybe he should just sleep. He hasn’t been quite this comfortable in a while, always concerning about school, exams making him yearn to shut his eyes, to no avail; they stung no matter how hard he tried to just make them go back to normal. Not now though, everything was soft and fuzzy around the corners. Didn’t everyone always say how lower temperatures were the optimal sleeping situation.
He was almost completely asleep, slumber rocking his mind far away from its sad position, when a crunching sound encased his ears. He didn’t want to move. Maybe if he just ignored everything it would all go back to how it was before.
His eyes unfortunately opened, looking for the source of the crunch and finding a pair of thick winter boots in front of his face. A hand came to feel his neck, indecisive for a moment, before it found what it was looking for. His body, completely rigid from the snow was covered in a blanket of some sort, burning his chilled skin. The oddest part of it all however was how he was flying for a moment. Yet again in the air, this time felt nicer however. Not so much as if he was just waiting to fall, more so knowing he’d have somewhere to land, reassured by the two strong hands lifting him up. Usually he’d be completely red in the face from explaining how he isn’t a fragile little flower, meant to be picked up, but today he decided to just seek the warmth coming from his right side. After an unpleasant second the heat became awfully important, his body following it with all its might, curling up against his deity given radiator.
He let a little breath of air leave his purple lips and set his head on a padded flat surface.
Everything had been fine, until he was made to sit and wind started blasting in his face. He was pretty sure he was moving very, very fast compared to his former stillness and he groaned in discomfort. It was over in a couple of minutes that really just dragged on like hours.
Then he was being lifted again and this time his whole body was bathed in warmth not just his right side. His soaked jacket got taken off and so did his boots and socks and he was gently placed on a matters and covered with a comforter. He curled in on his side, trying to heat his body up, but all he got was cold knees pressing up against his arms and chest. It was all so cold it burned like salt on an open wound. He was shuddering even worse now; the little warmth presented to him made him only seek it out more.
And then finally he was asleep.
Chapter 2
The first time he woke up, his whole body was desperately cold. The tips of his fingers seemed to not exist anymore; completely numb to the air they were stirring. At the brink of tears he sobbed for everything to go back to normal; to wake up and forget about all pain. He tired imagining another version of himself. One that was in deep in the Alps in the summer where there was only sunshine and light breezes that cooled not bit, because there was none where this William was.
The other William is smiling and running down a grassy hilltop. It was so odd and he wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen so many shades of green. The sky was a light pleasant blue and the grass around him was lively and the further he looked the more blue hue it got. Rolled daisies rained from his hair and laughter echoed around the mountain tops. The sun was petting his kin and the grass was tickling his elbows. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sun. He laughed and smiled and rolled over on his right hip; stretching out his back like a cat.
It was hard however, to keep that memory never to be in existence, when the center of his entire being was on frozen fire. He didn’t think he ever felt so bad, ever felt the ache deep down in his bones. He still couldn’t tell if what he felt atop his skin; the needle like prods were sparkling hot, like they were glowing from the heat or smoking from the cold, or already seeping through down his joints and around his muscles.
...
He woke up a few times after that, always a tad bit better than before. But never well; always just hoping he could sleep more. And sleep wasn’t much like sleep either; it was blacking out and waking up even more tired than he was before he went back to sleep. Something he didn’t expect to be so prominent was the dizziness. It shook his head and the little thoughts still tumbling around his head.
Despite all of the cold his mind was surrounded by his body liked the idea of burning alive much better; his sweaty body stuck to the sheets- he thought they were white, but with all of his vertigo they might as well have been neon pink. Damp salty hair was sticking to his face and neck and he tried to tuck it back behind his ears, but just ended up looking odd with his arms weirdly flailing at his sides. Fortunately the pain was tying his worn out frame to the bedpost and soon enough he was back to blacking out.
...
Everything was so warm and he sighed dipping further. He must have been swimming in clouds, their lenient fingers, brushing his tangled hair back to soft silk. He was no longer strapped to the ground, like gravity just didn’t exist anymore. Even though he couldn’t breathe all that well he still preferred the quiet labored wheezes to being lucid. He didn’t know where he was and he wasn’t too concerned with finding out. He still ached, but it was alright if he didn’t move. Dreams slipped away a second ago, but he was still chasing after them, reliving the joy.
Someone who in their entire life never felt more discomfort than a simple bruise decided it would be nothing but expectable to pull the warmth away from his face and pull him up so he was sitting. William was the first to point out it wasn’t and he grunted, annoyed. He settled back down on the raised pillow and tried to hide his face in the softness, calling for the dreams to come back.
“You could get back to sleep if you just cooperated a little,” some deep voice said. If William was more connected to the things around him he would see the voice didn’t mean to be deep at all. Only the way a few hours of staying awake past the barrier of exhaustion could do that.
William wasn’t in the mood to pull his usual snarky comments he’d sprinkle in if he was tired and complied for the benefits of the both of them.
“There you go,” the tone was softer now; caring and pleased. Then a glass of cold water was pressed to his lips and when it settled in the crook of his bottom lip it slowly tipped forward.
William had no idea he was thirsty, but the moment he got some water into his mouth, he just couldn’t stop his throat muscles from working with all their might.
It didn’t take long to finish the glass; he whined in a high pitch, he was just so damn thirsty. The nice voice chuckled and gave him a glass of water, careful fingers wiping hair away from his mouth. Usually William would find numerous problems with being chuckled at, but is simply sounded happy and accommodating, therefore he settled in deeper.
This time he could lean back successfully and he was finally able to rest some more.
Quickly he fell asleep again, grazing stars with his eyelashes and dipping his fingers into pools of the inky black universe. Damp fingers were leaving a trail of droplets, catching up to him akin to starry roads. There was no ground for his feet to balance on, but invisible steps formed seemingly by the power of his will and he bounced off them. He was floating around the endless air of existence and it made him feel so alone, yet not an ounce of lonesomeness seeped through the strain between solar systems. A tranquil voice was singing about eyes opening, never to sleep again. It was splendid.
He was woken up several times in what felt like minutes and years simultaneously, either to drink water or eat some bland tasting food. Every times he was pushed out of his dreams he desperately tried to cling on for dear life to all of their pleasantries, but appeared to forget no matter what he did. No matter his remorsefulness and sleep deprivation caused irritation the person who so generously helped him felt solid and amiable. By the fifth time he was woken he could breathe much smoother.
Every time he woke that same song was sung at him and even though it seemed the song was meant to be from the depths of someone’s unfortunate melancholy it decoyed him back to sleep perpetually.
Chapter 3
When William woke up, nothing was wrong with the place he was sleeping on, but his shoulders and back still ached from the amount of time he’d been laying in one set position. He stretched like a cat, shifting his shoulder blades and twisting his spine. When all of his joints have cracked and he felt properly awake, he realized with a start, he had completely no idea where he was and for some reason his wrist hurt like hell. It didn’t seem to be broken, maybe moderately sprained and he wrapped his other hand around it, as if protecting from something that might jump at him. His face ached all over and he had tiny red welts on every part of his body where his clothes couldn’t protect him from stray branches.
He looked around and saw a worn, old teal and read rug running alongside the twin sized bed he was sitting on, a small desk with one of those old bank lamps and a wobbly chair tucked between the desk legs, but what confused him, was the strange amount of food supplies. He looked behind himself, to see more of the rather small room, to find a bedside table with a navy cup of lukewarm tea. The light was coming into the room form a decent sized window, that seemed a bit overbearing in the tiny space, but at least it made it seem more open. He shuffled to it and looked outside; he was staying somewhere near a river, its flow fast enough to still be rushing despite the probably atrociously low temperatures, if the copious amounts of snow and window frost hiding behind red, blue and green curtains were of any indication. He himself however was nice and toasty in his beige sweater. Where had he gotten a sweater?
He decided not to panic and stood up deciding to look around in hope of finding out anything about this place and hopefully find his ice for the wrist. He stepped out of the room, turning left towards two stairs that seemed to lead into a living room area.
It seemed the entire house was decorated in the same shades of blue, red and the occasional green. Besides the color scheme it also looked like whoever designed the cottage had an affinity for big windows. Behind the couch were three connected windows looking down on the river and the outskirts of a forest. He continued pacing in tiny steps, turning the corner and noting a lovely kitchenette adjoined with a “dining room”. It was only a tiny, round, dark wood table, probably cherry, which seemed odd as the weather looked like it firmly prohibited fragile cherry trees from ever truly growing up here. What caught his attention most was a man leaning back in one of the chairs matched to the table, with his legs occupying the companying chair, reading a well-loved green paperback.
Even sitting down William could tell he was tall as a sky scraper, with broad shoulders, tightly curled dark hair and tan skin. He was lounging in worn jeans and a forest green flannel that looked like it was taken from the 70s. From the little gap at his collarbones a white t-shirt was peeking out. He looked both completely at home and somehow not at the same time. His posture was relaxed, but his shoulders were stiff, knotting up his upper back and neck muscles.
He seemed to not have heard William, when he was coming towards the kitchen, so William cleared his throat, hoping to get his attention.
The man looked up sharply and even though the shade of brown his eyes were, was soothingly warm, his eyes appeared somewhat cold and distant. “I see you woke up,” he said in a tone was emulating his eyes. It was cold and William despised it. It sounded like a rich comforting voice wrapped in a firm seal of glass shards, puncturing away all kinds of pleasantries.
“I suppose so?” William responded, not completely sure what he was meant to say. He still tried to make his tone lighter and cheery, hoping to make the other man more inviting. He smiled a bit, so the resonating tone wouldn’t have to bear the cheering alone.
It was all to no avail though, the man still as brooding s ever.
“Would you like a glass of water?” despite it being a polite gesture it still seemed distant, like it was just too much to ask of him.
“Yes please, that would be lovely” if they were riding the polite train, William sure as hell wasn’t going to slack behind.
He stood up to his full height, his posture was a bit too good maybe, similar to the likes of important people who still felt guilty about changing the muddy overalls of their childhood for crisp white wrist cuffs and properly sewed lapels.
While the man was pouring him a glass of water into a square glass that faded into a blue towards the bottom William got impatient,
“What’s your name?”
“Gabe,” he made it seem answering was s a huge burden, like he couldn’t do another thing as he handed William the glass. William smiled, they were bonding!
“I’m William,” he offered without being prompt to. He swung his body up on the counter, weary of his wrist and started swinging his legs back and forth “So I wouldn’t like to be too much of a bother,” at that Gabe seemed to become even more moody, arching his dark eyebrow at him, “but how exactly did I get here?” he started drinking the water, not realizing just how thirsty he was. He speedily downed the whole glass and just helped himself to another one.
“You don’t remember?” Gabe asked, for the first time sounding anything but vaguely annoyed. The emotion was maybe as passing as a regular persons’ care was for in state elections.
“Not a thing,” William affirmed, nodding deeply several times to affirm.
“Huh, well I found you half passed out in the snow and brought you here,” Gabe said shrugging off the help like it was nothing, turning to look through the window above the kitchen sink. Everything outside was white and blue.
William now remembered at least a part of what happened, well at least to a certain extent. He remembered making Sisky chase after him and hitting a tree and falling asleep in the snow, but everything after that was just a cold blur. Sisky and Mike must be worried sick.
“Do you have a phone I could borrow?” he asked, a bit now desperate to make sure they didn’t worry any more than they had to. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and tapping his fingers against each other.
“Uh, over there,” he said pointing a long finger without outstretching his arm at a phone attached to the wall. The passing feel for everything was getting a bit worrying, but William didn’t have enough empathy to spare.
He scrambled to it, quickly stabbing the buttons for Sisky’s number and showing the phone in his hair next to his ear.
It took a couple of rings, but when he answered Sisky sounded dreadfully sleepy, “Hello?”
“Hey Sisky, it’s William,” he said a bit uncertainty, sort of like he didn’t know his name at all.
Sisky shouted for Mike to get in there right now and started scolding him similar to a terrified mother “Where on earth are you, why’d you just leave us like that, and why didn’t you call?”
“Uh I got lost and hit something and, I guess it got pretty bad, but this guy- Gabe, found me and I crashed at his place,” William hurried, reassuring them he was fine and curling towards the phone.
“So when are you coming back?” he asked, relief flushing through the speaker. William could bet he had his head tipped back over the end of the bed; his gangly body spread starfish on it.
“Uh, when am I coming back?” he looked at Gabe more timidly than he was willing to admit. He was somewhat irrationally afraid Gabe wasn’t going to help him get there at all.
“Well it snowed pretty badly for the past day and a half, so the roads are unusable, and probably will be for the next week or so,” he looked remorseful, tucking the bottom of his fingers in the pockets of his dark jeans, but it seemed most of it came from the thought of being trapped with a complete stranger in a confined space.
“Gabe says in like a week,” William hoped he could save the panic sure to happen for later.
“A week! He said a week. Did you hear that Mike, he’s gonna be gone for a week,” back was the mother voice, taking on an outraged tone in place of the previous concern. William threaded his fingers together, hooking his pinkie over the ring finger.
“I’m sure everything’ll be fine,” William wasn’t, but he would have a tad more hope if he said it out loud, not completely sure if he was reassuring Sisky or himself.
He was staring at his feet, wiggling his toes, a week tactic of distracting himself and only now realizing his feet weren’t one bit cold despite his absence of any footwear.
“Yeah, I just worry,” Sisky seemed to have calmed down, breathing evenly so his breaths weren’t obscuring the words leaving his mouth in concerned shouts.
“I guess I’m gonna go then? He sounded unsure of himself, but Sisky just hummed, a second later a thump was heard, probably his back hitting the surely undone bed.
After saying goodbye William didn’t want to be the first one to click off, cradling the phone in the crooks of his palms, but thankfully Sisky did it first. He clicked the phone back at its holder spinning around to face Gabe, a questioning look on his face, “I’m really sorry to bother you again, but can I maybe have something to eat?” it came out far more uncertain than William ever had the patience for, but it seemed appropriate at least.
“Yeah, sure?” William didn’t know why it was a question if this was his home, with his kitchen, filled with his food, bit he decided to not be more of a hassle than he was proving to be, just stepping to the fridge door and taking out some peanut butter and jelly. He took a moment to look around for bread, taking two slices from the little basket sitting near the plane white paper towels and the coffee filled jar. He looked at Gabe “knives?” and Gabe nodded his head at the golden drawer handle his hand was resting on.
When William was spreading the peanut butter he got it all over his fingertips where they were gripping the edges of the bread and licked them clean. A pained noise came from his left.
“What?” he asked around his finger.
“Nothing,” Gabe sure looked like it was nothing. But he also looked the type to use coasters and place settings.
William shrugged him of turning back to his sandwich and presumed putting it together. Peanut butter sandwiches had a tendency, around William, to have the same qualities as burgers; you bite in and everything comes out at the other end. His mother always told him it was due to him overstuffing them, but William liked jam better than bread, so he never saw a problem with just washing his hands afterwards.
He bit in, unsurprisingly making the jam push past the bread and just a he went to put his hand under to catch the mess, a plate materialized out of nowhere and caught it all. Gabe raised his eyebrow, but said nothing; William just hopelessly raised his shoulders and tried to look apologetic. William took the plate in his hand and swallowed, “Thank you.” Grunting appeared to be Gabe’s default response to everything, so he did it again.
After finishing he even cleaned up after himself and then turned towards Gabe, “So what now?”
“I’m gonna read,” the way he said it finalized his unconcern for what William was to do greatly. He picked up his book, tucked his feet in between the ridges and the seat of the other chair and got back to the story.
William stood in the mid-way between the kitchen and the living room not knowing what to do. He obviously didn’t bring anything to distract him and solely standing around seemed creepy.
“Do you have any books?”
“Only ones without pictures,” it was maybe a bit harsh and Gabe didn’t even spare a glance from his book. A strange thing Gabe was good at was making simple- mundane words hit everything with sharp stabs. It felt akin to trying to find a lost needle in a pin cushion and being stabbed with little pins you didn’t even know were there. The pages made a rustling sound as he turned the page. He was a steady reader; he didn’t take too long to turn the page and he stayed nearly completely still while reading. William always wanted to be so relaxed, but he constantly had to do something with his hands, or bounce his leg.
“That’s alright. Um, while I’m staying here, do I have to pay you rent and the bills and all that, cause I didn’t bring any money, obviously, but I’m sure I could get someone to transfer some money from my account to yours,” William never liked feeling like he was intruding in on something and Gabe was possibly the type of person who took offence if you so much as breathed the air in a hundred feet radius of him.
“No,” William didn’t know what the no was referring to, but he decided it meant he didn’t have to pay rent.
Gabe, now completely immersed in his reading, wasn’t going to be of much help so William took it upon himself to find something halfway decent to read.
Pushed up against a wall was a dark wood bookshelf, matching the dining room table and William didn’t know how he missed it. It was so loud once he got to it all; titles screaming at his face to pick up. Some he already knew, either from class or long hours spent avoiding sleep, but others were completely new and he took his time reading the blurbs. Most were thrillers; not the ones an average housewife take pleasure in waving around in book club on Thursdays, but real stories about grim men with odd jobs.
He picked up a book that wasn’t a thriller; they were too melancholy and long for a light read and settled on an armchair. Everything in this house had at least one match and it suited it well. The collar of his sweater was already a bit stretched from a bad habit and tucked it to his chin.
The book was a far cry from his current situation, leading him by the hand to the worlds of submarines and dark blues of the ocean, drowning away any thoughts of snow isolated reality.
Chapter 4
The cottage was limiting to William. He never lived in such a small space and having to share put an even bigger damper on it all. Gabe was a quiet man with simple needs and he never saw the one of them to converse with William and that lead to mostly just grunting in response in all the wrong places.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” William wasn’t sure in all honesty if he heard correctly, but he perked up, “Mine too!” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
Gabe never had words ready and preferred to be spontaneously quiet. They were eating cereal for breakfast -William’s choice. Gabe, just as predicted did use table setters.
William was trying to get to know Gabe and Gabe was trying to be as far away from him as possible. They were rounding the table; William wiggling his chair closer to Gabe and Gabe adding even more room between them than before.
“What’s your favorite movie? No wait! What’s your favorite book? Do you like desserts and if yes which one do you like best?” Gabe backtracked and didn’t answer any more questions, but William wasn’t the slightest bit deterred. Determined he pulled the green sleeves of his sweater to his palms and grabbed them with his fingers.
“What am I saying, who doesn’t like desserts,” expectantly he looked at Gabe, never giving it a though he could possibly disagree.
“Me,” Gabe answered, convinced William would stop now. He was staring at the rapidly milk absorbing cereal. It was the whet kind without any flashy food dyes.
William paused, “Do you like fruit then?” he let go of his sleeves and tucked a palm under his chin.
“No,” Gabe in fact did like fruit, but declaring it so openly would only give rise to more questions. He hunched his shoulders closer to the table.
William tried all throughout breakfast, never deterring in spite of Gabe’s apparent distaste in his company. Much of the day continues by the same now firmly dug crease of actions.
.
William can’t stomach any real food, so they eat cereal for lunch yet again. William can’t be sure if Gabe is eating it because he wants to, because he wasn’t in the mood to make a whole meal after hours of Williams nagging or because he doesn’t want William to be the only one stuck eating sugar with milk. He wasn’t complaining, but neither was he talking.
Gabe, William observed, doesn’t do much. He reads and sometimes he logs onto the boxy old computer shoved up against a wall and looks at boring looking forms. Sometimes he just sits looking out the window and every once in a while writing something down in a beaten blue notebook. He uses a black plastic pen and blocky small letters. William himself prefers those heavy fountainpens- they stay secure between his slender fingers and blue ink. He always liked big loopy dramatic handwriting, but never got around to learning how to use it. He draws small tightly packed letters, somewhat connected to each other.
He hasn’t told Gabe yet, he’s left him to do as he would otherwise, partially hoping Gabe would come to him- ask him some questions, or at least offer up some answers, but no such luck. Boredom was always William’s one true enemy.
Playing around with whatever got under his hand wasn’t ideal, neither was the accidental tossing of said objects, when he wasn’t paying enough attention.
.
It was nearing four in the afternoon and the sun was almost set. The cottage was warm, but anything hadn’t been on and the green furnace was just begging to be lit.
“Can we start a fire?” William wasn’t all that hopeful Gabe would comply, but he was freezing under a blanket he found. His arms were trapped between his thighs and chest, trying to keep in the warmth. The blanket was light and breezy and even if William wrapped it as tightly around himself as possible didn’t do much good. The snow started falling again around half an hour before nightfall and wind was crashing against the sides of the cottage like violent waves.
Apparently though he looked pitiful enough as Gabe stood up and grabbed some logs setting them in the furnace. The moment the fire started and the door to the furnace were shut, William jumped near it, stretching out his hands; chasing the comfort of feeling his fingers. Shrugging his shoulders, to get the blanket settled around them he hunched forward.
“It’s nice,” he was smiling softly, not looking for an answer, just simply stating his mind.
Gabe, much like before didn’t care about anything; resting his feet, crossed at the ankles on the coffee able and leaning back, nose stuck in a book.
William sat on the edge of the couch, still snuggled in the blanket until he fell asleep to the sounds of snowflakes hitting the window.
Chapter 5
William woke up early. When he was at home it was a wonder if he ever woke up before ten, only ever to chase after green tea. It’s mostly why he took afternoon classes.
Sleeping near the furnace was such a relief, he was hugged by the light it emitted, lulling him to sleep with the patterns the tongues of the flames were making, twirling around each other. In the middle of the night when he woke for no particular reason, he could just stare at the now mostly extinguished little flames and marvel at the child-like joy they seemed to exist in.
The morning was cold as hell, his breath chasing after the wind was visible and his shoulders were shaking, only covered by two layers. He wouldn’t dare borrow some of Gabe’s warm looking jackets.
He was standing on the doorstep of the house, looking out into the woods, looking for birds or small animals. It was only somewhat snowing, snowflakes decorating smooth planes of hills, getting lost in the river. He looked towards where the road should be, somehow just as buried under the snow as the grassy hills. It didn’t look like he would be able to go home at all; not until spring, when all of it melted away. His hair kept getting stuck to his lips, wet from him licking them to prevent chapping. He hated chapped lips; he couldn’t smile right.
Once he’d had enough of being chilled half to death he stepped back inside, contented by the warmth.
Gabe wasn’t up yet, or at least he hasn’t come down to the main room. It wasn’t William’s intention at all to annoy Gabe or push him further than he was already keeping himself. But the cottage was so boring; having someone to talk to would be the best solution. Gabe however never appeared to be bored, he did live in this cottage for most of the time, William thought. He probably did something for fun, but he for the life of him couldn’t figure it out; he didn’t think Gabe was much of a puzzle guy, he probably didn’t knit or crochet, that computer looked like it couldn’t take any more work than looking at boring files for the maximum of three hours a week. William was determined to figure out as much about him as possible.
Since he wasn’t so drained from barely existing making breakfast seemed to be a polite gesture. He didn’t want to go overboard; that would only result in him burning down the house, but just something simple. Eggs and toast couldn’t possibly be too hard to make.
Somewhere between nearly chopping of his ring finger and setting the onions on fire Gabe walks into the kitchen. He’s already dressed, looking somewhat like a lumberjack if he grew up in the city.
“You’re cooking?” as it would appear Gabe is at least somewhat animated in the mornings. William smiles; he initiated a conversation! “Hope you like eggs and toast.”
“Eggs are fine,” Gabe allows this time sounding more sleepy than irritated.
“Sleep well?” William feels a bit daring, not really expecting an answer, handing over a cup of coffee.
“Mhmm,” Gabe holds the mug close to his face; feeling the steam rising from it.
Breakfast was eaten in quiet, only the clinking of forks on plates was filling the room.
William waited until they were putting away the dishes to start any sort of conversation; making it seem nonchalant, “So, you have quite some books,” he paused.
“Mhmm,” Gabe wasn’t looking at him.
“And I was wondering, you know if I could maybe borrow one. Or a few. It just seems like we’re gonna be here for a while and I don’t even have my phone, even though I don’t think there’s any signal here and your company is great and everything, but it gets a bit boring sometimes, kinda,” he usually wasn’t this unsure of thing, but Gabe didn’t seem to be the type to do many favors.
“Sure,” it wasn’t an enthusiastic reply, but William was. The last time he read something was two days ago, but he didn’t feel all that comfortable with just taking more of Gabe’s books. He liked the pretentious air that came with being an English lit student and no matter what he claimed, he liked to indulge in it every once in a while. His dark leather bag, his pressed trousers and sometimes an obnoxious scarf were possibly his favorite things to wear. He didn’t wear that entire ensemble often; doing laundry and ironing was a rarely thought of chore in a dorm and he felt like a bit of a mess next to Ryan. He tried not to dwell on it too much; Ryan was weird in every meaning of the word.
“What kind of books do you have?”
“The ones I like,” Gabe didn’t say it in a snarky way at least, so it counted as a win.
“Then what kinds of books do you like?” it wasn’t his most impressive performance of wit, but it’ll have to do.
“The books I have.”
With that the conversation ended, but it would be fine; for certain things William knew how to be patient. They ate the breakfast William made in silence; William was straining his ears to hear some bird singing outside and Gabe was stoically lost in thought.
Gabe offered to clean up and William liked to believe it was because he felt like being nice; being nice to him; he liked being on the good sides of people, and not because he saw William as incompetent.
William strolled to the bookshelf and started running his fingers along the titles on the spines. Most books appeared to be quite old, but still mostly in tacked. When he flipped through the pages all of them were still crisp; a large majority was turning a bit yellowish on the edges of the paper, and none of them had any dog ears. William appreciated it immensely.
He settled for a generic Bronte novel; he’d read it a million times already, but he just wanted some comfort that came in the presence of familiar things. Settling on the edge of the couch near the furnace was becoming his designated spot; Gabe never used it. Long bony fingers were running along the pages, almost as if petting the book for its comfort wasn’t a conscious thought.
Getting lost in a book wasn’t hard when it was one of your favorite past-times and sometimes the getting back to reality bit was a tad harder, or sudden, than desired.
“I thought you’d go for something with pictures,” it was kind of mean, but William decided to overlook it.
“I couldn’t find any. Are there any? Cause if so then you can’t laugh at me.” William wasn’t bouncing yet, but he liked drawings- they were pretty.
“There’s one,” he said it quite smugly; kind of like he knew William was going to go crazy trying to find it. Williams eyes widened in wonder, leaving Gabe’s face in turn of staring at the densely packed bookshelf. Gabe didn’t want him to be excited, he wanted him to be quiet and if making him grumpy was what it took, he’d gladly do it.
William’s been around enough of his dad’s moody old man friends to know that, but ignored the slight sting it brought.
“Which one?” it wasn’t a question, it was a plea. His eyes were sparking and soaked with wonder. He put down the book; face up- never folding corners and crossed his wrists and set them on his knees.
“Why’d I tell you?” Gabe might have been pleased with himself, not for William’s questions- never for William’s questions, but mostly just getting some of his privacy back. He didn’t show it on his face; he appeared to never, but he did sound a tad more joyous than when he wasn’t answering William about his favorite bread over breakfast cereal.
“Umm,” William didn’t think any of the answers he could offer up would be seen as a valid reason in Gabe’s eyes.
Neither of them said anything and it started to get uncomfortable. William didn’t want to stick his neck out again and say something stupid, so he just picked up the book and continued reading.
They sat in silence for hours, each in their own chair and each in their own world. William didn’t know what Gabe was reading and he didn’t dare ask. He peeked over his book at the cover of Gabe’s. It had flowy golden cursive, so flowy he couldn’t read it.
Straining his eyes for fifteen minutes was a bad idea; his eyes burned- he’s blinked four times so far and Gabe saw him.
“What’re you doing?” he was bored and vaguely annoyed.
“Nothing,” he quickly looked back, staring at the words and not reading a word.
Gabe raised an eyebrow, but went back to reading nonetheless.
Trying to mimic Gabe, he went back to reading, but no matter how many times he read over a short paragraph he didn’t get any closer to knowing what it was about.
Filling the time was proving to be difficult. He looked at the time- 4.36 pm, then through the window- the river was still running over the rocks and the snow was still keeping the road frozen. The cuffs of his sweater were stretched from him fulling on it, but at least it was long enough; most sweaters and shirts alike had a tendency to show off his flat stomach. His blunt nails started pulling at the threads coming loose and he was twining them together in as many ways as he could come up with. Mind now rid of overwhelming boredom he turned back to the book and fell back into the 19th century.
He finished the book at 7 pm; an hour or so after Gabe went back to his room. He made two bowls of cereal and he probably had to have been quite noisy since Gabe came to join him.
William had the decency to wait for Gabe to sit down before he attacked him with a book analysis his professors would have been cringingly proud of.
“He didn’t have to have stayed- but, but he did! On the other end though, she could have left with George- that’s her son. Or well maybe she couldn’t have since her aunt and uncle oppressed her and supported her alcoholic husband. I mean really, who gets their 3 year old son drunk! And yeah I know, I know times were different and all, but c’mon!” he was speaking loudly, trying to drill into Gabe’s mind how important it was Gilbert didn’t just quit.
“Uhuh,” Gabe didn’t much care how important this was to William, he’d read the book- it was his, but he read books quietly and then put them down and let them live their own lives between the covers.
“And even after all of what he did to her, she, she came back to her husband and I really don’t think it was just for the money either. She still had that initial positive role of him, when he was all cool and gentlemanly and stuff and she couldn’t bear loosing that idea, that idealism she saw her life becoming, back, back when they met.”
Gabe looked at Williams gleaming face, urging him to engage in the conversation, “Are you gonna stop soon?”
William’s smile crashed at the speed of light, little shattered pieces falling in his lap. He looked down in shame; silly and childish. He sounded like a moron; trying to contribute to a book out for over a century, debating life as if he had any idea what it was like, as if he could ever say anything remotely as profound and important as literary critics have before. So he stopped and looked down and didn’t say a word. The splotchy milk and cereal looked uncomfortably damp and sad and he couldn’t stand another spoonful.
It was dumb really, to get upset over such a small comment- he was rambling so he deserved it. He smiled anyway, “Sorry, sometimes I talk too much.”
He finished his dinner, took the bowl to the sink and washed it, dried both it and the spoon and put it away. He liked his bedroom for having a door to shield him a bit.